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Welcome to the October vignette prompt. This will last from 1st October to the 31st October.
In the spirit of Halloween here is a themed prompt:
Usual rules apply, and can be found here.Quote:
Your character finds themselves trapped within /lost within a haunted house. How did they get there, what makes the place haunted, and how, if they do, do they get out?
It was the smell that disturbed him the most. Rotten flesh and putrid boils made him dry heave. While its clouded milky white eyes that saw nothing, bore into him with an unrivalled intensity that triggered a powerful flight response that gave his legs more strength than he had ever imagined. He didn’t look back, not as he raced through a thicket with the images of a half rotten mouth cranked open wide and stained with blackened blood.
He stumbled across a pathway in the dead of the night and cut his knee on a broken stone. The gnarled Tree’s rached for him in the gloomy moonless sky and snatched at his hooded cloak and yanked him backwards. Sage struggled against his unseen foe and pulled and fought to free himself. He cried and grit his teeth eager to set himself free but to no avail and his cloak grew more twisted the more he struggled.
He felt his fear manifest long before he saw it, leaping over a broken fence and sniffed him out in rapid short bursts, it twitched in his direction and hissed dangerously before launching towards him in a full sprint.
It was upon him in an instant and just as its grasping fingers began to find purchase on his robes, the boy ducked down and under his tangled cloak and escaped by a hairs breadth as the undead nightmare clawed at him through the remains of his cloak.
Sage did not scream, because he was already running as fast as his legs could possibly carry him. His movement was more precise now that he was no longer weighed down by the weight of his cloak. He considered ditching his robes too until he spotted the entrance further down the path.
A furious snarl rang in his ear and he felt his pursuer scrambling at his heels, desperation kept him running and his fear made him keep his eyes on the doorframe. He left the overgrown thicket and crossed the courtyard of dead leaves an eternity later. Sage felt his breath grow heavy and more laboured as the exertion made his chest feel like it was on fire.
He charged up the steps three at a time and raced inside the mansion stopping only long enough to grab the door that had been left ajar and slam it shut with all his might before the undead was atop of him. There was a single moment of paralysing fear as the door was unable to close fully as the creature on the other side slammed into it like a drunken brawler. But Sage was also one to quickly act and slammed the full weight of his body against the other side of the door. The door held fast between the unstoppable force and the immovable object giving no indication over which side would win.
He screamed
The undead growled tonelessly
Ground was lost
and gained as his feet found purchase on the floor.
The undead tried to reach him from around the door while its intact fingers flailed scaping paint and woodchips with broken nails. But it had sacrificed a stable base in its attempt to catch him and Sage was briefly able to push forwards and gain enough momentum to slam the door close.
The door rocked and shook as it tried to regain entry and the door held up but did not look like it could hold up under a relentless assault for long. Much to his relief, Sage saw that there was a wardrobe next to the door that had once been used to hang up the owners coats. it was big, large and very heavy. But if it were to be braced against the door then there was a chance that even if the undead monster broke down the door it would slow it down long enough for him to gain some much-wanted distance.
Sage slammed into its side with a heavy grunt, and used all of his strength to push it into place. It stood fast at first and gave only a mere inch when the boy was blue in the face. But he grit his teeth as the fear and adrenalin fuelled his compulsion to escape so much that he managed to gain a modicum amount of leverage and send the wardrobe falling onto its side and slammed against the ground with an almighty sound.
He breathed heavily but he was not out of danger yet.
He looked around the open foyer to see if he could spot anything that would be of use. Under any other circumstances he would have used one of his spells to ward of his undead attacker but he just could not focus. Visions of teeth tearing into his skin plagued him, and the complex runes and mathematics needed to bring life to his arcane might was shredded into kindle with thoughts of his insides being scooping out by eager hands.
The macabre thoughts did little to settle his mood and his hopes of finding help were drowned under an ocean of terror when he saw that this home had been abandoned for a very long time. Paint and the floral wallpaper hung loosely from the walls, worn and torn from years of being exposed to the elements through the massive hole in the ceiling which gave the foyer a musky plant like smell.
Any thoughts of apologising to the owners was washed from Sage’s mind as he crossed the broken foyer towards the steps. Every foot step on the cracked tiles created a crisp click that echoed too loudly.
And yet even as he was halfway up the stairs his attention was drawn curiously towards the faded painting at the top of the staircase.
Although somewhat warn it was still a relatively intact portrait of a middle-aged severe looking woman with pale features and a white frilly gothic dress. The woman was sat down next to a Doberman breed of dog that he could have easily mistaken for a hellhound. It looked unnatural amongst its surroundings and stood out being relatively untouched unlike the rest of the room.
Sage knew of this place, there had been talk of a haunted mansion at the top of the hill. The locals were hesitant to talk about it, but young eager adventures had let it slip that a noble family had once lived in the manor. But there was also talk of death, of how one by one each family member died often to tragic accidents or to an unexplained illness until only the daughter had survived. After the death of her family it was her servants that were the next in line to suffer a gruesome end, with each death growing more and more violent.
Corpses had been paraded, turned inside out for the young nobles twisted glee. There was talk of demons, and a deal made with a powerful devil in exchange for power, untold riches and eternal youth.
Sage had not believed a single word of it and believed that the stories had been embellished over the years with superstition and a misunderstanding that grew out of hand. Had he not been intent to run for his life if would have very much have liked to investigate if any of those stories held any merit.
He was after all, very good at scrying into the past.
The door suddenly snapped into tinder and alerted the boy to the undead clambering through the splintering door with its arm reaching forward in a demented eagerness. The boy cursed and flew up the rest of the stairs but the steps cracked and snapped as the entire staircase caved in under its own weight. Sage stumbled as the ground gave out beneath him causing him to fall through into the darkness below.
Sage did not have time to panic beyond the initial storm of pandemonium that were his thoughts as he plummeted into the dark depths of the mansion did he come to a very sudden stop. The boy crumpled lifelessly to the ground as the air in his lungs were violently evacuated in the one moment his body bounced on the ground.
His vision swam with as distorted shapes flew around the room and his ears buzzed in a clean white shrieking noise.
He stayed still, his body hurt like it had never had before and he was honestly feeling sorry for himself. Sorry that he had come across a zombie, sorry that he had made for the stairs when the foyer had plenty of other doors he could have chosen.
The boy whimpered as he lay there but looked upwards at the only source of light he had within this bleak darkness and heard the confused hiss of the undead far above him. He knew he couldn’t stay where he was, he was alone and he had to make it out of this place alone. No one would come.
He grit his teeth tightly as he struggled to push himself up into a sitting position, his arm hurt and was rotated into an odd angle. Broken he sourly noted unable to do anything about it. He tried to stay quiet since he did not want the undead finding him and looked up into the room he had fall into.
It was dark, but there was no mistaking that this was once a wine cellar, he had grown up on a vineyard and was more than familiar with such places. But the air was rancid, long had the wine barrels been spoiled and it filled the room with a pungent sickly-sweet aroma. Sage held up his loose sleeve over his mouth and gently muffled his own coughing fit.
…Go away…
Sage paused as he thought he heard something on the wind. He stared into the darkness suspicious of what may be hidden just beyond the vale of shadows. But Sage felt a cold shiver crawl along his back as the longer he stared the more he was convinced that someone was watching him. He started moving, away from the precious light and stepped into the darkness itself.
He raised his good hand to prepare a spell, his light spell would no doubt be priceless in this place. But the spell would not come, his magic would not stir and each time he thought that it did his magic seemed to shrink away from him and out of his control.
Was it because of the zombie? He shuddered with the revelation that was what had stunted his spells, and was dismayed when he realised, he had no idea how long it would take him to calm down before he could even cast his most basic spell.
“I hate zombies†He quietly whined.
He kept his hand out In front of him, sweeping it left and right too feel for anything that might be in his way.
“I will get out of here†He said as a promise to himself
He rubbed his eyes and squinted. Martin's flickering torch did little to pierce the gloom as they made their way through the wending stone passageway. The priest's robes were already black with the silt that hung heavy in the air. Dust undisturbed for decades swirled in their wake. The light struggling in vain to penetrate the murky air left Gallus feeling disoriented, as if he were watching the scene unfold from afar.
"If spirits indeed linger here, no doubt they simply cry out for the maid." Gallus muttered dryly, a poor stab at shirking the unsettled feeling that gripped him. His words echoed against the stone, turning the humor garish, unwelcome. He winced, but Martin only shrugged.
"Unlikely. It's not uncommon for the citizen's of Knife's Edge to complain of unsettling noises coming from within the catacombs. Moans, scratching, and the like: the voice of trapped air and settling limestone."
As if to illustrate his point, a dry groan burgeoned, faintly at first but then louder as it seemed to belch forth through the tunnel walls, before passing them by and fading into silence somewhere behind. In spite of himself the young islander felt the hairs on the back of his neck stiffen.
He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. "Then why order an investigation at all?"
Another shrug. "The Church likes to make a show of taking the common folks' concerns seriously, though I doubt the arch bishops would approve of my saying so. The noise and other phenomena have been explained to them time and again, but they've convinced themselves something nefarious lurks within these tunnels." Martin laughed as they rounded another corner, wending their way deeper yet. "I'm sure you've noticed by now, but Salvar isn't exactly a bastion of logic or reason."
"So you spend good coin on a hired sword and trek through this foul place just to placate them?" The Coronian shook his head, baffled. "Why dignify their superstition with a response?"
"Ah, well, we tried ignoring them at first. But the Church's indifference had a...negative effect on the tithe. I-"
The priest stopped short so suddenly that they collided, Gallus' hauberk jangling as he caught the back of Martin's cassock to keep the smaller man on his feet.
"What is it?" He asked, squinting through the dust. Beyond Martin's torch he could see only roughly hewn stone and filth, the same view he'd been afforded since stepping into the crypts.
"I'm not sure. I…I don't recognize this. We must have missed a turn."
Gallus shrugged and flattened himself against the wall to make room as Martin sidled past, back the way they came. "If you say so. These tunnels all look the same to me." He fell in line behind the priest once more, fighting to ignore the edge of doubt he'd heard in Martin's voice. The thought of wandering the catacombs lost and helpless wasn't exactly a comforting one, but he pushed his concern down, squashing it, and instead focused on his footing, placing his boots carefully on the cracked and jagged stone floor.
They retraced their steps in silence, both men fearing that speaking would give proof of the sudden hysterical edge their thoughts had taken, both men unaware that the other was thinking the same thing.
In Gallus' mind, the shadows cast by their passing seemed to take on a sinister life of their own, leering from their perches of stone and mortar. 'Not that way,' they hissed gleefully. 'Come closer: you're not getting out anyway.'
He swallowed a mouthful of dry grit and returned his gaze to Martin's back, one hand finding the pommel of his sword, gripping it tightly until leather creaked.
Minutes crawled by, filled only with shuffling footsteps and the occasional click and shiver of settling granite until, finally, the priest breathed a sigh of relief as they reached an intersection. Panic evaporated at the sound as suddenly as it had descended, leaving Gallus feeling foolish.
"The final burial chamber we need to inspect should be just ahead."
Gallus hesitated, peering into the adjacent tunnel. Martin's torch lit only a few paces down its length before it took an abrupt turn to the left. From what little he could see it was identical to all the rest, and yet something about it made the Coronian's hackles rise. "You're certain this is the way?" A pause, just long enough for him to feel another wave of cold dread. "Martin?"
"Of course!" The priest snapped, and strode forth. "Fear not, sellsword. Another hour and you'll feel the sun on your face- and gold in your purse."
"Not soon enough," he sighed, following.
Impossibly, the path they now walked was even darker than the one before, still thick with dust but lacking the detritus- cobwebs, dead insects, crushed pottery- that had littered the catacomb's upper levels.
It was colder, too, and the combination felt oppressive. Gallus found himself quickening his pace, hunching in Martin's wake until he was nearly treading on the priest's robes.
Their journey ended abruptly, blocked by a wooden door. Barely large enough for a man to fit through, its crumbling frame was nonetheless jammed tight against the stone walls. Dark lines crossed its face in a myriad of intersecting angles, somehow pristine despite the rotted surface beneath. Both men stopped short, studying it.
Unease gripped the youngest Dre son as his gaze traced the raised symbols. They seemed...familiar, in a fleeting way. Like spotting a friend in the crowd just as they pass you by. He grasped at the faint recognition, too late. Whatever had burgeoned in his subconscious slipped back beneath the surface, lost.
Abruptly he realized they were alien, indecipherable. He shook his head. Strange, thinking he'd seen them before. "Are those...glyphs?"
"A ward of some kind. A seal to restrain the dead, perhaps." Martin replied, unconcerned. He stepped closer, raising his torch as he inspected it. "It's likely harmless."
Gallus didn't move. "Likely?"
"Mm. I imagine some old caretaker learned a few symbols from his nursemaid- along with a slew of dread tales designed to frighten children into minding. Look: there are channels cut into the door's surface, filled with naught but wax. A pellar's trick; see how it melts at a mere kiss from the torch?"
The priest was right. Wax ran in rivulets, now, dripping from the channels and hissing as it spattered against the stone floor. The smell of cooking fat wafted outward to fill the tunnel. Absurdly, Gallus felt a pang of hunger. How long had he been down here? Hours, at least, but the constant darkness and endless stone made everything run together, turning the passing of time liquid.
'Like melting tallow,' he thought suddenly.
Rusted hinges gave a single groan of protest at Martin's touch, and then the door swung inward. Warm, fetid air blasted out immediately, filling the passageway with the humid stench of decay. Wrinkling his nose, Gallus followed in Martin's wake, stepping through the doorway and into the burial chamber.
It was huge, especially after the claustrophobic confines of the tunnels, and yet the wrapped bodies were stacked from the floor to the vaulted ceiling on all sides, secreted within crudely carved depressions just deep enough for the corpses to lay flat.
"Gods, there must be a hundred in this chamber alone."
"At least," Martin agreed cheerily as he strode to the far wall, where a corpse three rows from the bottom had lost some of its wrapping. A mummified arm dangled from the rip in the gauze, fingertips brushing the ground. "Strange," he murmured, leaning close.
Reluctantly, Gallus moved to join him. "What is it?"
Martin gestured to the hanging limb with his free hand. "The gauze is in remarkably good condition. No sign of rot or loose threads...almost as if the wrapping was cut, or ripped open."
The Coronian made a show of leaning in to see for himself, fighting the urge to sprint from the burial chamber, away from Martin, away from the catacombs and whispering walls. The flickering torchlight cast dancing shadows across the dessicated hand, making it almost seem to flex and writhe. He nearly expected the fingers to scramble across the stone. As if-
The hand moved with blinding speed, one minute hanging prone and the next snapping out to seize the front of his jerkin with withered fingers. "Fuck-" Gallus sputtered, before he was yanked forward, against the stone wall. Instinctively he gripped the cadaver's forearm with both hands and braced a booted foot against the wrapped mass.
All in vain: the pressure was relentless, dragging him forward. Over the noise of his panicked exertion, Gallus could hear the horrible sound of fabric stretching, ripping, falling away as something unthinkable tore itself free. One of the islander's hands fell away, clutching frantically for the hilt of his sword.
Martin reached it first, yanking it from his belt with one fluid motion. From the corner of his eye Gallus watched the priest hold the shining blade up, inspecting its length in the light.
Then, he plunged it into the Coronian's side. The tip slid effortlessly through the gap in his hauberk just beneath his armpit, and Gallus opened his mouth to scream. A second dead hand clamped it shut, muffling the noise and lowering him gently to the stone when he sagged.
"Be at peace, my friend." Martin murmured. The blade made a sucking, squelching noise when he withdrew it, blood fountaining from the gaping wound. "The pain will only last a moment, I promise. And fear not: I need only your flesh. Your spirit will be free to wander...within the confines of these catacombs, at least."
Gallus spasmed within the iron grip that held him, coughing blood that sprayed between dessicated fingers. As darkness began creeping around the edges of his vision, pain gave way to a strange, mortal cold that sapped his strength and numbed his senses.
When he was finally still, Martin dug one finger into his wound, and fished loose a clot. With his tongue between his teeth in an almost comical display of concentration, the priest began tracing a symbol on the dying Coronian's forehead. He stopped for a moment as Gallus gave one last, shuddering gasp, then resumed.
The darkness was absolute for a time, impenetrable, all encompassing, impossibly heavy.
Then, abruptly, he rubbed his eyes and squinted. Martin's flickering torch did little to pierce the gloom as they made their way through the wending stone passageway.
Creak...Creak...........Creak
An odd yet persistently annoying creaking sound would echo in Rohrkhel's ears as he groaned and squinted, an eerie glow emanating from a crack in the ceiling as he found himself laying down in a dusty and seemingly broken down home. He'd groan as he pushed himself upright, raising a hand up to his head as he ran his hand against his braided hair. His index finger would reach the end of one of his braids as he pricked his finger with the metal hook that tipped the braid, raising it to his face as he observed the blood. He wasn't dreaming nor was he in any sort of trance...So where was he?
Rohrkhel would mutter to himself as he pushed himself off the floor, dusting himself off as he glanced around to observe his surroundings. Dusty cobwebs, cracked and peeling paint, and an ominous aura surrounding him. His head would turn to the left as he heard ghostly whispers closing around him, a chilling air springing up from the floor boards as a dark mist seemed to form seemingly from nowhere. He'd glance upward, towards the ominous glow that was leaking through a crack in the ceiling that seemed to be calling to him. He'd reach down and grip the handle of his sword that was strapped to his back, slowly pulling it out as he held it out to the side, the segmented blade straight as a standard longsword. He was starting to get an idea of where he was and why - It was time to make a deal; he may as well enjoy himself with his client for the time being.
He'd make his way for the stairs, slowly moving to the second floor as he dragged the tip of his blade against the wooden floor, a raking sound steadily growing louder soon flicking his wrist as the blade shifted, extending itself and turning into a segmented chain blade that was raking against the floor, like shackles dragging. He'd walk down an empty hallway, seeming to gravitate towards one of the rooms with a shut door at the far end that had the same ominous glow showing. He'd arrive as he stood in front of the door and raised his foot up before sending his boot right at the knob, seeming to have little trouble busting the door open as it swung wide to reveal a hooded man with his back turned to him and a summoning circle painted in blood on the floor, the room illuminated by numerous wax candles and a corpse as an offering laying at the center of it all. Rohrkhel would tilt his head to the side as he flicked his wrist, his weapon converting back into a longsword shape as he rested it on his shoulder before speaking with an annoyed tone, " And who the hell are you supposed to be? "
He would be greeted by the man casting off his cloak in Rohrkhel's direction followed by a bolt of fire. Rohrkhel would swing his blade, slicing through the cloak as he shifted his footing and turned his body to avoid the bolt of fire. His arm would flick once more as he sent an extended blade out like a whip, the length of it wrapping around the man's waist who was caught off guard as the segments dug into his flesh and Rohrkhel roughly yanked on the handle to pull the man towards him. Rohrkhel would roughly grab the man by the throat, bringing him in close as his flesh seemed to melt, flames bursting forth from his eyes and orifices as a demon skull was soon revealed growing horns as his entire head became ablaze with a ghostly flame, his jawless skull speaking in a haunting tone " Rude of you to attack me when you were the one to summon me don't you agree? " The man struggled as his feet kicked at empty air while being lifted off the ground as his eyes widened in surprise, gasping for air as he struggled to speak, " I'm sorry I didn't know! "
Rohrkhel would loosen his grip as the man fell to the ground, walking past him as he moved over towards the corpse that lay in the center of the summoning circle. He'd kneel down as he observed the lifeless body of a woman, bruises around her neck to indicate strangulation. He'd reach his hand out, palm facing upwards as he pressed his fingers together before he pressed the tip to the bottom of her ribcage. His hand seemed to phase through her flesh as he pushed further up towards the heart before grasping something, slowly pulling out as his hand soon revealed a faint glowing orb in its grasp - her soul, still intact. It would seem to disperse into tendrils that soon wereabsorbed into his forearm as he spoke in his haunting voice, " So that's half of the payment up front...And what is it that you seek o weary lost soul? " He'd stand up to his full height as he turned around to face the man.
"My wife...Her absence makes my very being ache..." Rohrkhel would tilt his head as he already had an idea of where this was going to go. If his demon form had the ability to show emotions, it would be clear that he was grinning. Unfortunately it did not, and gave the man no indication of how Rohrkhel felt. " Then let's make a deal shall we? The price to see your beloved once more...In exchange for the life of another once your time with her is over. A fair exchange, wouldn't you agree? Especially when you seemed to have little trouble providing the sacrifice to summon me... " The man would nod without second thought or hesitation, though Rohrkhel would continue on. " However...There is something I require in order to bring your beloved from beyond the veil...And that is a closer look at your own soul. " The man seemed to grow slightly pale at the added statement before gulping as he spoke with a shook tone, " Whatever it takes to see her once more... "
Rohrkhel would let out a cackling laugh that sounded like metal grating against metal with screams of agony being drowned out as he stepped forward, holding out his hand. " It's a deal then. A pact is made, and you shall see your beloved once more..." The man would reluctantly take hold of Rohrkhel's hand to seal the pact as he spoke once more, " Try not to pass out...You wouldn't want to miss your beloved's face... " He'd reach his hand out as it phased through the man's chest, seeming to draw life from him as he grew even more pale and started to break out in a cold sweat, feeling as if his heart was being held in a frozen grasp.
Rohrkhel would reach behind him as he rummaged around a small pouch for something before pulling out a small crystal mirror, holding it up to the man's face as it at first showed nothing but his own reflection. Shadows seemed to swirl in the reflection, soon revealing a ghostly visage of a skeleton come into view, followed by muscle fibers, blood vessels and finally flesh to reveal the features of a young woman - the man's beloved but deceased wife having forcibly been brought back into the realm of the living.
The man seemed to calm down as his breathing slowed, seeing the face of his dear wife once more, a small smile forming. Her lovely features would soon contort and twist into one of pain however, before a banshee like shriek could be heard from the reflection, a look of horror coming over the man's features as his wife's reflection was soon deteriorating rapidly; her flesh began to rot, her eyes becoming milky white, her body soon turning into a maggot infested host to reflect her rotting corpse within the grave as the man screamed and pulled away from Rohrkhel, starting to scramble along the floor as he kicked himself away from Rohrkhel. He'd turn as he tried to make a break for the door. Rohrkhel would cackle in amusement as he simply followed after the blundering man who was bumping into the walls as he attempted to flee the worn down home.
The sound of ragged breathing could be heard as the man stumbled down the stairs, the dark mist seeming to thicken and make it more difficult to breathe, his own energy seeming to be drained from his body. He'd fumble with the door to the front porch as he struggled to get it open, having to bash his shoulder into it repeatedly to force it open before stumbling out onto the front yard. Rohrkhel's voice seemed to echo from all directions as he continued to stumble to get away from the decrepit home, "The life of another once your time with her is over. That was the terms of our arrangement... " Not a soul could be seen anywhere around the home, the sudden realization coming over the man as he realized the terms of the deal were meant to result in him being the soul that was promised. He'd reach the iron gates that led to the road only to hear something fly through the air - Rohrkhel's chain blade flying out like a whip as it wrapped around his neck and pulled him backwards, sending him to the ground as he let out a scream of agony while the segmented links dug into his flesh, kicking and thrashing about. It seemed to have little impact as he was slowly dragged back into the decrepit home, his screams echoing and filling the night sky with bone chilling cries soon overwhelmed by Rohrkhel's demonic laughter as the screams soon subsided.
The pact had been fulfilled and the price paid in full. How foolish it was to summon and trust a crossroads demon.
Closed for judgment. Thanks to everyone who participated!
Will be judging this in the coming days. I just want to apologize to everyone for the wait on this, and there will be double rewards given.
Sage
Use of Topic: I enjoyed the spin you put on this topic in such a way to make it your own. I think you handled it well by including the elements I was looking for in this prompt. There was some suspense, character weakness and struggle. I would have liked to see the prompt shine earlier in the entry.
In the spirit of my enjoyment of some of the descriptors you chose to help carry the story, I also noticed a lot of filler that jumbled the pacing and prose. I was snatched back quite a few times like that gnarled tree with Sage. You could have done away with some paragraphs that needn't have been included and the vignette wouldn't have been so bloated and overdrawn.
Creativity: This was the stronger area for you. I was entertained by your creative mind here, and it helped pull me through to the end. You did well painting the imagery and struggle in some areas. You would have done well to build on the suspense and horror longer than you had throughout. Revealing what was after Sage in the first paragraph drew away from capturing the imagination and attention of the reader.
I was also taken aback by the apparent unlimited agility of Sage. Having him race up the stairs three steps at a time and having him move a heavy wardrobe after the struggle of the chase leading up to the mansion left somewhat of a generic feel. However, I enjoyed the snippets of seeing some weakness and clumsiness in areas.
Mechanics: This was a rocky area for the most part. There were multiple spelling, punctuation, and capitalization errors throughout this piece. An example: "The gnarled Tree's rached for him in the gloomy moonless sky and snatched at his hooded cloak and yanked him backwards."
It would have been better served as something like: "The gnarled tree reached for him, snatching back at his hooded cloak under the moonless gloom." It gives just enough information for the imagination of the reader to take off. Most of the aforementioned could easily be rectified with some proofreading. Your wordplay and vocabulary seems vast, which jarred me with overuse of particular words, some of which used in close proximity.
Gallus
Use of Topic: I enjoyed what you did with the topic, and there wasn't a moment I felt hung up and left unsure of when it was going to surface. You utilized the elements I was hoping to see with this topic, and it was great how you spun in Salvar lore and mannerisms. The entry was longer than I would have liked for a Vignette, but it's understandable with the story you were weaving.
Creativity: You were pretty solid here. There were no issues with immersing me into the intricate world you created and held me steadfast until the very end. I enjoyed your creative mind and literary devices here. Imagery was painted vividly which placed me in the story along with your characters. In all honesty, I wanted to stab the priest repeatedly near the end there when he stabbed the main character. xD Kudos.
Mechanics: There really isn't much I can complain about in this area, as mechanics were pretty solid throughout this piece. Wordplay was impressive, and I loved seeing words typically not used widely. I reached a point in which I come across "the youngest Dre son" that sent me backtracking to find the family name spelled Drey up top was confusing.
Rohrkhel
Use of Topic: You certainly had the most unique spin on this topic. I wasn't expecting this approach when I first went to read through your Vignette entry. Great job on that. All the elements I wanted to see from this topic was integrated into a character outside of your own which was certainly refreshing, but it may have been too cryptic for some readers to interpret that.
Like the others, this entry was longer than I typically like to see. A vignette is more like a snapshot or snippet of a topic. Some parts could have been left out altogether and this would of had a smoother transition without feeling lumpy and drawn out like it was.
Creativity: This area by far was a strong point. You have an incredible and intricate creative mind and there is a certain poetry to it. I enjoyed many of the descriptions, but many others were just beat to hell (I'll touch base on that in Mechanics). The descriptions that were on point, and your impressive writing style really pulled me into the vibrant world you created.
You also have a great grasp on your character, and you portray him perfectly to your vision, but he came off as unbelievable and cliche. I felt no connection to him. Everybody loves a good villain, but there is a fine line when writing a good villain. He felt like this all powerful untouchable badass that everything comes easy to. That can be a vital turn off for a reader. It is important that our characters connect with the reader. Ways we can do that are using instances that a reader can relate to. Even Superheroes and Supervillains have relatable qualities and challenges a reader can relate to.
Mechanics: The first thing I'm going to address is something I too was guilty of back in my early days of creative writing many years ago. It was particularly the norm of the site I had chosen before finding Althanas, and the writers I was writing with. Luckily I had this friend/writer pull me aside not long after I started this habit to teach me what I'd like to help you with now.
This pertains to the slaughter of the word 'would' throughout this Vignette entry. 'Would' is a modal verb like can, could, shall, should, ought to, and will. A modal verb is a verb that indicates modality like: likelihood, ability, permission, request, capacity, suggestions, order, obligation or advice. The modal verb 'would' expresses things like the future, intention, request, possibility, always and will.
'Would' isn't a strong verb that expresses a form of action or experience. I'm going to pull a couple of examples here to suggest other ways of going about it. Among the first sentence of the first paragraph- "An odd yet persistently annoying creaking sound would echo in Rohrkhel's ear as he groaned and squinted, an eerie glow eminating from a crack in the ceiling as he found himself laying down in a dusty and seemingly broken down home."
In this you use the word 'would' as an example of describing what Rohrkhel is experiencing when hearing the echo, when striking out 'would' altogether and replacing echo with something like 'echoed' or 'echoes' is effective. Another example from the second paragraph: "Rohrkhel would mutter to himself". Replacing 'would mutter' with something like muttered or mutters nails it.
There were multiple run-on sentences, filler and punctuation errors too. An example of this: "An odd yet persistently annoying creaking sound would echo in Rohrkhel's ear as he groaned and squinted, an eerie glow eminating from a crack in the ceiling as he found himself laying down in a dusty and seemingly broken down home."
Something like- "An odd, yet persistent creaking echoed in Rohrkhel's ear as he groaned and squinted. An eerie glow eminated from a crack in the ceiling, finding himself laying in a dusty seemingly derelict home." reads more fluently. 'Annoying and sound' could be taken out, as a persistent creaking could already be perceived as annoying, and we already know creaking is a sound without doubling down on descriptions. "Dusty and seemingly 'broken down'" in this case could also be summed up with words like decrepit or derelict.
*Note: You remind me a lot of me when I first moved to Althanas many years ago, and I see a ton of talent boiling within you. Maybe these tips can help lift you to the next level!
Congratulations to Gallus for the win!
I typically try not to award ties, but in this case I am so everyone receives GP for the late attention to this. Thank you, and I hope to see future entries from you all! Double rewards for the crazy lateness!
1st Place- Gallus
2nd Place- Rohrkhel and Sage
Sage receives:
640 EXP
300 GP
Gallus receives:
400 EXP
400 GP
Rohrkhel receives:
320 EXP
300 GP
Rewards Added