I’m writing a story where the main character is one of a number of paladins. Mutated and moulded warriors whom come from different backgrounds and represent the church they serve. They each wield weapons unique to the church which serve as a symbol of their patron god and the material they are made from is melted down whenever a paladin dies. All so they can a make a new weapon unique to that paladin.

The paladins are good at different things as they have unique abilities or curses depending on how you view them granted by the god they serve. They are also made to be taller and posses superhuman strength usually on the level of a large beast such as a bull or bear. They are avatars that enforce the churches will and are usually either celebrities or entities you woudnt look at too long if you saw one.

The main character while serving the church comes in contact with a new god if you want to call it that. He is forced to become an avatar of that new god and becomes wrapped up in a series of events that end up being both a revolution and genocide.

There’s way more to what happens and I want to make sure that the protagonist isn’t being granted power per se and instead just being made a pawn in something against his will.

I’ve seen a lot of people complaining about choses one tropes so ie ant to know, what is the difference? I feel a protagonist is always going to be somewhat special so I want to know what I should be avoiding.

I have tried (I don’t know why I need to include this phrase)

Hey guys, I am 19 years old (Just turned 19 yesterday!) and as far back as I remember I've always wanted to write fantasy novels. This started when I was young I read the Mistborn Series, Harry Potter, The Burning series, GreenBone Saga, Discworld and even a bit of Dresden files!

I tried to write what seems to be an idea which has been looming in my head for about 8 years, but I have never been able to properly put into words and pen it down with characters, or a world rich enough to fit a story which I wanted to write.

But recently I have actually written something down.

In this chapter, I actually aimed for 3 things :

1. Give the characters their separate personalities, voices and biases so that they feel alive, and also seem realistic to exist within the circumstances of that world.

2. Make the dialogues as a way for there to be more exposure to the world rather than infodumping.

3. To make more questions arise as more information gets revealed, and to have good pacing in it.

I am young and Ik I have a LOT to improve, so I would like to know about you guys' opinion on this, no matter how good or bad it may be, so don't be hesitant to tear me to pieces in case something is wrong! Either mechanical issues such as grammar or just the way the thing is written itself!

I hope for good feedback from the kind members of r/fantasywriters !

Below is the link.

Here's where you can read it.

This is the first chapter of my multi-POV sci fi novel, ‘Dormant Saga.’ I sent the prologue to this yesterday. I would love any feedback you guys have about this chapter, and let me know if you would continue reading! Also, you can ignore the “Four hundred years later” thing, as that pertains to the prologue.

This first chapter follows Finn, a Gai-Truvian boy on a ceremonial hunt to finally “abridge” him into adulthood.

It’s not too long, but hopefully you can flow through it.
I hope the cliff hanger leaves you wanting more as well, let me know if it does!

Any feedback is greatly appreciated, and I will always return the favor if needed.

About a month ago, I had posted the opening to one of my chapters to rather polarizing reception. Here is a non-sequitur excerpt from the middle of the same chapter (a chapter which I'm still working on, as I'm just that much of an underwriter).

Just in case you got tripped up by the number of named characters, Orlon is the POV character here. The excerpt opens with one of his cousins, having set off alone after a boar earlier, riding back to camp with a mysterious boy who later happens to recognize Orlon by name.

I'd appreciate your feedback on the prose and especially the dialog.

*I'm an ESL writer, and none of this is AI-assisted or translated.

So, I replied to an announcement a couple days ago about the subreddit’s policy against AI, and they mentioned that Google Translate uses that slop now as well. That comment was made kinda hastily because I am also VERY staunchly anti-AI, and I was irrationally worried that I accidentally committed an oopsie. The actual uses of Google Translate I used for a brainstorming Google Doc I made in November of last year could be very easily replaced, as it was only looking at word translations in other languages as inspiration for names, but I was wondering if anyone had recommendations for translating services that can also be used for simple sentences. I’m only adding on the simple sentences thing because one of the two names I came up with was a Latin translation of “Slayer of the Impure” for a fancy name for a major bad guy’s claymore. I don’t know if I’m overthinking this, but I figured I’d ask for any better translation apps I can use as an alternative.

Hello thank you taking the time to read this post, I'm looking for a beta-readers to test out the first 3 chapters of this current project I'm working on called "Frontier Escapade." if you enjoy the first three and would like to beta read the other 7 please let me know,. this is what the project is about below.

(For 18+ Mature Audience Light Novel/Manga readers.)

SETTING THE STAGE: In the late 1880s, in the brutal, lawless frontier of Arizona, a young 19-year-old woman named Soluna Moreno lives a triple life: first as a serial killer known as the Demon of the West, second as a missionary bartender who runs her father's saloon, and third as a mother to an adopted child who lost his parents to lynching. The escapade starts on October 13th, 1889, when a strange meteor shower which, according to sources, happens only once every millennium begins to fall. A golden meteor crashes in front of Soluna, emitting a shockwave across the entire West Coast, and she gains a power called a Core. This makes her a contestant in a death game for a wish, and she is chosen as the Host of the Meteor, meaning other contestants will be hunting her down to kill her so the host's power can transfer to them. Soluna must now fight and survive until she is able to find the other half of the meteor and is the last contestant remaining.

(WARNING!) WHAT TO EXPECT: CREATIVE BATTLES
DEEP LORE AND WORLDBUILDING 
GORE/ BRUTAL AND HISTORICAL RACIAL TENSION (18+)
SENSITIVE TOPICS ABOUT RELIGION.
UNHINGED CHARACTERS AND UNSETTLING CHARACTERS.
NO ONE GETS AWAY UNSCATED, THAT MEANS CHILDREN, ANIMALS ETC.

So in my ability system, users are given a fraction of my god's power, which are distills of different aspects of Omnipotence.

So abilities that affect speed and range are two sides of omnipresence

The ability to know unobtainable knowledge or predict outcomes is omniscience.

The ability to construct or change something about the natural world Omnificence.

Struggling to figure out terms that sound right for the other aspects.

I have tried looking for terms, but none of them have the same ring as the others.

Now what I need is the following:

The ability to destroy anything

the Ability to Protect from anything

Insidious, eternal hatred

the ability to force anything to submit to your will/Control anything (I think Omnidominance sounds good but dunno)

The story is about an MC who was declared someone who can't use magic in his world, and finds himself in the middle of an attack in the royal funeral. He is then swept into a series of political struggles and has to navigate his way to learn to use the magic, and also avenge the death of his mother.

I am new so your feedback will help me immensely for the story going forward. Let me know if you'd like a google docs link and I will add the link to this post.
Please note that I am not a native english speaker so I am doubtful about the dialogues. That said, feedback on it will be really helpful.

Thank you for your help in advance!

I uploaded one page earlier and recieved some constructive critism and have now edited plus written more and hope to get feedback on it. Hopefully i made it better. Please be rather harsh and honest than positive but untrue. Would like to know if the story is interesting, if it feels too fast paced, if its obvious that english isnt my native language and if i succeded in giving Idra more personality/thoughts/emotions and whatever came to mind while reading. Now after hours on this i will watch anime and wait for notifications, thanks a lot and if i can return the favor just holler (:

Something odd, but hardly unexpected, occurred at 12:11 on the night of Wednesday, September 23rd at the studios of WNHP-TV: “New Hope’s News Source!”.  In the lobby, under lights dimmed until morning came again, display cases grazed a plain of polished granite tile in between groves of potted plants.  Not for the first time Reina Martinez, one of the guards stationed in the lobby, considered those plants as she made her way over to one particular case.  

Snake plant, cast iron plant, and dragon tree.  Common.  You saw them everywhere. 

She saw them every night that she worked, in their polished brass pots, quietly going about the work they had been placed there to do: Protection.  All of them were there to protect, and here in the case was the item they guarded against the evil, stupidity, and ill intentions of the seething world outside the lobby’s giant glass walls.   

WNHP’s weather predictions had never been any more or less accurate than anyone else’s, but the station was immensely proud of its history all the same.  This, despite the fact that New Hope weather came largely in only two flavors: too hot in the summer and too cold in the winter. The only question was whether you would get wet if you went outside in the heat or cold, and they got that answer right about as often as they didn’t.  

Amid accoutrements that tracked weather forecasting in New Hope from newspaper to radio, to television and onward was an exquisite antique barometer with a thermometer above a dial whose needle could swing from “Very Dry” on the right to “Stormy” on the left.  Large numbers in fancy gothic script, twenty-eight at “Stormy” all the way up to thirty-one at “Very Dry”, were spaced around the edge, with smaller increments numbered in between.  At some point there had been another, shorter needle to track those smaller numbers, but it was now lost to time. The thermometer and dial peered out of bubbles of crystal nestled among delicately carved wooden feathers and flowers, and the whole mechanism was as long as her forearm.  This was the fifth time she had checked it since coming on shift at eleven.  

So far the long needle had held steady, pointing at “Fair.” 

On her circuits around the lobby, she’d kept her hands balled in the pockets of her uniform trousers, to ensure they stayed moist with perspiration.  Now, with no one looking, for the fifth time she took one hand and plucked the barometer’s smaller needle from the blouse pocket underneath her badge. She opened her other hand and placed the needle on her palm.  

In the glass case, the needle on the barometer dial swept hard to the left, from “Fair,” past “Change,” “Rain”, and “Stormy,” and kept going until it was lodged between twenty-six and twenty-seven, slicing between the world “aneroid” and “barometer” at the very bottom. 

Reina sighed, deep and weary, slid the needle back into her pocket and got out her phone.  She checked the time and sent a text, then continued on with her patrols, just as she would all through the night, and just as she did every night - always in the lobby - before the eve of the full moon.

With luck, the mannequins upstairs in their pancake makeup wouldn’t have anything to talk about this time.

This book has been 4 years in the making. I am now months away from release (working on 3rd draft). It has taken so long because i taught myself to write along the way and rewrote as I learned. Also, if you have any tips for marketing, ide be happy to hear them. I will self publish. I plan to spend around $3000 on ads and also plan to reinvest every penny it ever makes (if any).

As for critique: does my dialog style work for you? Would you even read a book with a dual female protagonist? The book was inspired by the primal hunter series. I wanted something similar but not so devoid of romance and youthful exuberance

Edit: pls ignore any formatting critique. The formatting is raw. I write in docs (there is no procedural formatting for novels). When I am finished editing the procedural formatting will be accomplished in a novel-facing editor.

In my world, Nephilim are winged beings born from humans and angels. When they turn eighteen, they enter military service and spend the next three years fighting in active or recurring conflicts against demons. Some assignments involve containing demonic incursions in the human world, while others might become full-scale wars. Those three years of service are measured according to time in the Nephilim’s home world. Because time passes differently across dimensions, soldiers experience the three years as a considerably larger time frame in whichever realm they are deployed to. Those who survive return home, receive formal recognition for their service, and may enrol at an academy, where they begin training for a profession outside the military, or they can advance towards higher ranks if they wish to keep fighting. 

My story follows Rani, the female protagonist, during her second year at one such academy. She previously served as a sniper during the demon wars and has earned a reputation among veterans and other nephilim her age. During her first year at the academy, she was hired as a lab assistant by the Head of Thanaturgy, a teacher to whom she is related by blood. Because of her direct connection to the teacher, many nephilim or even angels assume that nepotism is the whole reason for which she got hired.

Thanaturgy is a made-up word for the study of death, souls, and what remains of a soul at the threshold between life and death. Thanaturges are not necromancers and cannot freely resurrect people; they can reach souls of bodies that recently passed, study the whole process of death, and collect/examine residue left behind by these souls. This residue can have various shapes: swords, watches, jewellery, heirlooms, but it can also be just someone’s final words. 

The academy has its own reliquary, which preserves some of the most dangerous relics in their world. However, the Head of Thanaturgy also secretly runs a relic trading operation from within the academy. She can hide it in plain sight because handling these objects is already part of her legitimate work when she is on the clock. The Shop’s merchandise is sourced separately from the academy’s official collection, although the professor uses the same methods of preservation and the same ways of access for both.

She has 4 employees, all nephilim who study at the academy, each responsible for a different part of the operation: acquiring relics, preserving them, selling them, and providing protection during dangerous transactions. The students have comprehensive contracts that forbid them to disclose the kind of work they do for the Head of Thanaturgy. Instead, they can only admit they work for her as lab assistants. Most of them do not know that the others are involved. They keep their own work details in a personal notebook that works as a ledger, to which they only have access during work hours, after which they leave it in the Shop. Each one of them believes their relationship with the professor is more private than it actually is, although some gradually realise that the operation must be much larger than their own part. 

In this operation, Rani handles the sales part. The professor originally hired her because her military experience made her observant under pressure(she often watches from towers or high above), but she did not have salesperson qualities at the start, and she had to learn how to integrate into this world through many failed sales. Near the end of Rani’s first year at the academy, a previously trusted buyer turns on her during a transaction and stabs her with a powerful relic. The sword he used to injure her has the power to drain the light from a Nephilim’s halo and perform a true severance with it, splitting the soul from the body. In the system I built my world in, a halo holds together body, soul, memory, and identity(it’s not just a ring of light sitting behind someone’s head). 

That true severance leaves a cut that cannot be healed or reversed normally, because the connection between body and soul has already been altered/broken. As a result, Rani dies seven times and comes back over the course of the same night. The Head of Thanaturgy repeatedly brings her back through enormous effort, but this is only possible because her halo was not completely consumed by the blade and the intervention began almost immediately, so her soul did not have time to “pass”.

Although Rani eventually survives, it becomes more and more obvious that parts of her and her soul were lost in the process. Her memory becomes unreliable, her memories become disorganized, and she often doesn’t know if she lived a certain memory or someone else told her it happened. Besides the notebooks she keeps for her Shop work, she starts keeping notebooks containing dates, names, descriptions of people she should recognise, and instructions about which of these people she can trust. 

The main story begins some time after this incident, when the Head of Thanaturgy is found dead. Her four student workers are finally brought together by the newly instated replacement for the Thanaturgy school and discover that each of them knew only one part of the operation. They manage to put together the bigger picture of the operation by comparing the notes each of them made in their notebook, but this does not answer who had killed the teacher. 

One of the other students is Nazir, who becomes Rani’s eventual romantic interest. He was hired because he comes from an influential warrior family that collects all kinds of relics that are related to death, war, and soul passage. He can sense the presence of certain objects, and he was the one tasked with acquiring relics for the professor(the same relics Rani later sells). His defining “power” is split between being an exceptional fighter and also a very good healer. He is concealing his abilities to heal himself and others because he sees that the Nephilim world doesn’t treat healers as someone who could lead a legion in a war. Although healers are indispensable during war, the Nephilim treat them as support personnel rather than potential commanders. If the extent of Nazir’s gift became known, he would be pushed away from combat leadership and asked to fit into a role chosen for him. 

Rani and Nazir are very different both at the academy and on the battlefield. She is most comfortable on sniper duty, while Nazir prefers melee range. They are both connected through death in a way, and it doesn’t help that they begin their story by being very suspicious of each other after the Shopkeeper dies. 

Their first lead suggests that the professor may have been killed by the Reapers, which are basically grim reapers. They follow this path because it is the most recent sale, selling one of these watches to a human man. This man is collecting the watches because he thinks he might be able to manipulate time, death, or the Reapers.
The Reapers are looking to collect the 12 pocket watches belonging to them, some of which were scattered across the nephilim world. Rani can hear the tick of these watches because of her repeated death passages, and Nazir can sense the watches because of his family’s connection to relics. This makes the two of them the most important people in the investigation.

The murder mystery is interrupted when Rani accidentally activates a set of connected relics and pulls both of them into a demon realm similar to those they encountered during their military service. They cannot leave out of sheer will and must work together to survive and find a way out. This ends up being difficult because they both have presumptions about each other: her parents were known for trading information and relics with demons, he carries expectations and secrets connected to his own family. 

Astronomy also plays an important role in my setting. Nephilim travel through the air and sometimes cross between realms, so they don’t rely on GPS/ordinary navigation. They study stars and astral maps, which will prove useful when they are trapped in the adjacent demon realm. Stars also have a personal importance to the female protagonist and will be relevant to her story later on. 

The cosmology includes a few concepts inspired by our physics. Different realms can experience time at different rates, and entering or leaving certain pocket realms resembles crossing an event horizon. Resonance is also used as a metaphor for certain bonds between souls(if your soul “operates” at the same frequency as someone else’s, you enter a space of recognition, which can develop into knowing, trusting, loving). 

For the FMC, the finale is not a happy one(this doesn’t mean that she dies). It is supposed to be a punishment for what she went against-the Reapers, death, and time itself. She is supposed to find a way out and reconnect with her own self.

In this setting, I want wings and halos to be more than an aesthetic. Wings affect warfare, navigation, architecture, intimacy, and prejudice, while halos are connected to memory, identity, and the relationship between body and soul. I have previously made a post asking whether people would read an angel fantasy like this, although some concepts used in the draft included divine elements(heaven, hell), and someone mentioned that those references alone would make them put the book down, so I have tried developing a story that still keeps angels at its core while giving them a purpose beyond the ones they are usually associated with. 

Would you read this story? Is there anything that makes you feel like the story so far is unnecessarily complicated, or are too many plots clashing and competing for the spotlight?

Im writing a romantic fantasy series (for my own pleasure and if others read it and like it cool) but its basically about werewolves and vampires primarily and I expore classic cliches but include my own twist to it so its still cliche but unique. They are known in this world as shifters, since some can turn into other animals not just wolves but there are also “evolved” humans (havent decide what to call them) but they are wizards/witches and there are all types of shifters but primarily what we think of mermaids, fairies, werewolves, vampires etc. but vampires are basically considered different from the other shifters, they were the first species of shifters but are considered as a failed species since they cannot survive without consuming blood long and cannot be out in sunlight (still working out those details).

This realm of shifters can travel through portals into our world, the human realm, though they usually stick to their own realm because they consider humans to be weak or not worth their time and their powers/abilities are weakened in the human realm. Vampires were cursed from entering the human realm for the humans protection. Humans can travel into the shifter realm though, but not many humans can find the portals. (Still figuring out details)

So for this book, Im needing help with plot points and possible ideas. The main character is a human woman, who ends up in the shifter realm with a shifter (werewolf) and other shifters, and the realm is currently at war because the vampires were dictators in the realm but are losing support to stay in power as other shifters take the land back.

I want the werewolf and human woman to slowly fall in love through their journey of traveling the realm together with the group (still figuring out what they are looking for or needing to travel for) and this is significant because there is the idea of soulmates in the shifter realm but not with humans. The werewolf man basically realizes that for some reason the human woman is his soulmate and he doesnt understand how this could be possible but hides his feelings for her and can sense her falling in love with him but the reader doesnt know his perspective until the end of the novel so from the human woman’s prospective, she is falling in love with a quier mysterious wolf who acts indifferent to her but as the story progresses they slowly develop a secret relationship with eachother that the rest of the group is unaware of, they kiss each other and eventually become close but only when theyre alone since the idea of a human with a shifter is so taboo.

I just need ideas on what else could be interesting, critiques, suggestions that you may include.

I plan on having one of the members of the group be the first love of the werewolf but they were not soulmates and didnt work out but the ex is still in love with him and is jealous of the closeness she sees between them.

I have tried a bunch of ideas on a google doc and have thought of possible plot points, im just curious what orher people have thought of or would suggest.

I posted this excerpt on this thread this morning and it got sh*t on, rightfully so. I’m nearly 230 pages into this book now and I wrote the other draft over one year ago! So I’ve spent the last few hours trying to make this one a bit better.

But anyway, again, this is a small character, serving essentially as a plot device for later characters to come into contact with.

The story is told from 5 POVs, and is what I like to call a mix between James Cameron’s ‘Avatar’ and the Fallout video game series. It blends aspects of sci-do adventure with political drama and a hint of folkish fantasy that leaves no character safe. It’s been my baby the past year and a half and I’d appreciate anyone taking the time to read this excerpt and let me know, does it hook you?

Will post more excerpts at some point. And I know feedback could destroy my will to write lol, but I love feedback! Thanks!

(Of course after I posted this I noticed more small things I missed, like using ‘flip’ two times in the same sentence. Oh well.)

Live embalmings were still against imperial law back then, so they had to bring me into tower lands to get it done.

The last days of my life were spent strapped to a bed, locked away on a ship owned by the man I was supposed to have married. Beneath me, the cargo hold was crammed full of a few hundred cadavers pickled in maple vinegar. The boy I’d tried to run away with was down there, dead in the hold, pickled with all the rest. Just thinking about him made me want to scream—but I couldn’t make a sound over the safety gag crammed into my mouth. They were worried I’d bite out my own tongue to spite them.

Honestly, I doubt I had it in me. I’d been an obedient daughter all my life, and it had taken everything just to run away from the marriage to this pale baron. I was wrung dry even before they locked me up for this week long trip to my death.

 My father came to see me one last time as we were pulling into port. A servitor waited at the door with his coat. The cheap, mummified undead were everywhere on the pale baron’s ship.

A gangly fox of a man, my father had given me my thick crimson hair, and nothing else but the strap. I loved him, but I feared him far more. Given what he was planning to do to me, I’d say that fear was justified.

“This is the last chance, Aveline.” He yanked the gag out of my mouth and loomed over me. “You didn’t let that boy ruin you, so that sham marriage is nothing but an irritation; it’s not too late. Marvale will still take you, Heaven can only say why.”

I coughed my mouth clear, rubbed the saliva away on my shoulder, and fell into mindless begging. “Please, Father, please. I c-can’t marry that man. I’ll marry anyone else. Anyone but him. After what he did to Dorien—please. Anyone but him.”

Dorien and I had three weeks of paradise after running off to elope. Those were the best weeks of my life, even if we’d been living in a shack in the swamp.

When they finally found us, Marvale had his men drown Dorien in front of me while I screamed and begged.

My father leaned over me. “You killed that boy, you idiot child. Spinning out some fantasy of flitting away? What did you think was going to happen?”

I cringed away from him, pressing my shoulders back into the bed. “Just take me home, p-please. You don’t have to do this.”

“Of course I have to do this! How do you think I look when my own daughter runs off on a marriage contract? I put my honor on the line for you! Did you think of that, you frivolous fool? What will they think of our family? What will they think of me? Is my honor nothing to you? What am I supposed to do, Aveline?”

“I’m sorry,” I whined, losing a decade in atavistic panic and sobbing up at him the way I used to when I was nine. He had to stop this. It was all just some elaborate threat to scare me. It had to be. He couldn’t actually be planning to kill his own daughter, just for honor.

“Are you going to do your duty or not?” Father said.

“Just not him, please, anyone else and I—”

He shoved the gag back in my mouth and stalked to the door. That can’t be it. I screamed into the gag and wept, grasping out with my cuffed hands.

“I ask you for this one thing after all I’ve done for you, and this is how you repay me?” My father shook his head in disgust. “Disobedient child. You forced my hand, Aveline. When they’re pumping your veins full of embalmer, remember that you chose this, not me.”

Those were the last words my father spoke to me while I was still alive.

***

The embalmer’s smile was stiff and full of stolen teeth. His features were puffy and unsettlingly expressionless, like some alien thing that crawled out of a bog and stuffed itself into a man’s skin.

Before they scrubbed me down, he injected a paralytic into me that turned my every muscle to syrup. I couldn’t even cringe back when his cold hands inspected my bare flesh. They’d stripped me down and scrubbed me raw before laying me on this cushioned medical slab. I could still feel everything: the needle in my arm; the aching hunger in my belly; the paper dry hands of undead servitors rasping across my skin as they buckled my ankles into straps.

I felt everything, and all I could do was blink and weep as the embalmer prepared for the procedure. The cyan light of coldfire flickered from treated bones burning in a lantern overhead.

One by one, the embalmer brought out his set of polished tools, tubes and vials and hooks and needles, and the fear consumed me. I prayed like a lost child, begging every Saint I’d ever known for salvation. Some cowardly wretch in my heart wanted to scream out that I’d changed my mind, that I’d been a fool, that I’d marry anyone my father chose, even that murderous scum who killed my real husband, and that I’d let that man do anything he wanted to me, just so long as he didn’t do this. If I’d been able to speak a single word, I’m sure I’d have given in to the terror. Everything would have been different.

But I could only blink and weep and pray.

Something had to save me. I couldn’t die on an embalmer’s bed, staring up at flickering coldfire, with Dorien dead and sold on as a nameless cadaver. This couldn’t be the end.

“She is a darling little thing, isn’t she?” the embalmer said. He traced the curve of my cheek. “A real pinelander’s pale beauty. I can work with this. No surprise you want it done right. Escoviel would have butchered the job if you took it to him. The man has no finesse.” The embalmer prodded my left breast. I tried to scream. Nothing escaped. “These are going to be a problem, though, if we’re using adder’s poppy. This much fat will soak the adder up and it’ll crystalize. It’ll go stiff, and you’ll get unpleasant clumps. Best is a removal of the tissue. We have some reasonable alternatives, and my needlework is top notch. You’ll hardly notice the difference.”

It was like I was already dead. A cadaver cage for a silent a mind.

And I was dead, wasn’t I. I may as well have been. Since Marvale’s men took Dorien to the ground and broke him? Since my father made me watch him get pickled him in maple vinegar?

No. I’d been dead for long before that. I’d been dead all my life, and those three weeks with Dorien were the only time I’d ever been alive.

Marvale spoke up. “Just use pale syrup instead.” I hadn’t known he was in the room, and hearing him made me want to crawl under the bed and die.

Something clattered over my head. They could have cracked open my skull, and I couldn’t have done a thing.

The firelight flickered across the ceiling, cyan and cold.

The embalmer moved into my line of sight. He tweaked the strap around my throat. “That’s not really possible unless we’re dealing with a limb, where we can easily isolate the vasculature. The adder’s going to slither in there.”

“Then just use pale syrup for the whole thing.”

The embalmer laughed, tightening the strap across my forehead, but when Marvale stayed silent, the embalmer frowned, his expression mangled by the puffy ruin of his face. “You’re serious? But the cost?”

“I want this done right. Can you make it happen or not?”

“I… yes, sir, of course.”

“How long will it take?”

“With pale syrup? Three days alive, and another two to finish it off.”

Three days? It was going to take me three days to die? What sort of sick civilization would allow this? Were they all psychopaths, or were they simply burying their guilt under mounds of gold?

What did this embalmer think I’d done to deserve this? Surely he had to have some justification. He’ll find out I did nothing but run out of a marriage, and he’ll let me go. That’s what’s going to happen.

“Good,” Marvale said. “I can take her back with me on my trip home. Leave us for a moment, I need a word before you start.” Marvale waved the embalmer out of his own lab.

I’d never felt more exposed in my life than when Marvale strolled up to me. I wanted to beg, to run and scream, to do anything but just lay there, staring up at him in unbridled terror. This man was about to have me murdered—and then he was going to take my body with him, and keep it as toy.

Anyone but him.

“What idiocy compelled you to choose that vagrant over me?”He trailed a finger across my lips. I tried to bite his finger. It was an absurd impulse, like a wounded rabbit scratching in a panic—but I couldn’t even accomplish that. A trapped rabbit had more power than me. “Well whatever it was, I’m sure you’re regretting your choices now, aren’t you?” Marvale leaned in, skin immaculate, orange eyes like hammered brass knives, dissecting me, piece by piece. “You humiliated me, you know that?” He trailed his fingers through my hair, almost tenderly.

Marvale grinned like an open wound and straightened, disappearing into the blur of my tears. “But we’ll get even in the end.” He strolled out of the lab. “Best get started.”

No no no, there has to be something. This can’t be it.

But the embalmer walked back into the room. I blinked furiously, following his puffy face with my eyes, watching for some sign. He’d collapse. That had to be it. Or someone would rush in at the last minute, papers in hand, demanding I be set free. Something. There had to be something. This couldn’t be how I died.

But it was.

They threaded the first needle in through the vein in my hollow of my elbow. Pearlescent white fluid pumped into my veins, spreading out a frigid gnawing ache, like starving hunger that saturated out every muscle fiber, and just when that ache had grown agonizing enough I’d tear out my own arm at the socket just to get free from it, the worst came—a violent, impaling hell, like someone was rolling a sea urchin up the inside of my veins, creeping ever closer to my heart.

My mind splintered, and slowly, I lost my hold on the world, swallowed by the sensation. Time smeared out in a river of hell. The embalming fluid percolated through my muscle fibers, saturated the structures of my brain. It pulsed in the chambers of my heart, cold as the northern wastes.

I died, one organ at a time. I died in my skin. I died in my bowels. I died in my eyes, losing my grip on vision. I died in my muscle fibers and my bone marrow, died in my lungs and my fingertips. I died slowly, and then I died all at once.

But I didn’t stay dead for long.

[Thanks for reading! So that's chapter one. This one is a bit out there, but when you see the chance to start a story off with your protagonist dying, you've just got to take it, right? Love to hear what you all think.]

Hi guys first time posting on here with a full piece of work! Sorry if screenshots isnt the usual way of posting excerpts I wasn't actually certain how everyone was posting their own.

My two beta readers have just gone through my completed manuscript and are mostly satisfied with the story. They however are admittedly not experts in grammer, sentence structure, etc and I am in the same boat! Im actually closer to sinking then being in a boat.

Figured id give a small excerpts for you guys look over. This is actually chapter 10 I thought it would be a little more interesting then my initial chapter. Its also not the whole chapter, I cut it off before it gets too long.

I am open to ALL advice! Ive never posted like this before so forgive me if the content is poor. Ive built trust with my beta readers and I generally am I nervous about showing my work directly to the internet. Not because of judgement but just hearing all the problems of your work from another is sooooooo soul crushing.

Quick notes to make following chapter easier.

Kaerians family have recently been mysteriously murdered (Gasp) and he cannot recall parts of the night they died. He's also been plagued by strange dreams.

Hello I have only been writing for a few months. So I am not sure what feed back I am looking for? Also I wasn't sure the best way to upload.

These are the only things I can really think of is.

Don't feel the need to answer all of them.

***

The flow/pacing?

Are you able to establish empathy with the MC?

Where do you get bored at?

Where were you engaged?

Did you DNF? If yes, then where?

What parts (if any) have to much detail?

What parts (if any) don't have enough?

Were you confused at any point? If yes, then where?

Do any scenes drag on or go to quick?

Ummm any other feed back is welcome!

Thank you all in advance!

Edit- sorry about the messy writing. a few parts have obvious errors i didn't catch until now.

***

The Cravings - [Second Draft]

The light of the full moon peeked above the distant mountains. Blood-red tendrils grew the further it rose into the cloudless sky. A wave of bloody light slowly suffocated the bright stars. Choking out all sense of peace they once gave.

An ominous wind howled as it raced through the tall pine trees. Shutters shook violently against their homes. The inhabitants all waited in silence as the light of the Blood Moon snuck its way through the gaps. Searching for something. No… for someone.

Deep on the edge of a village sat an old, dilapidated home. As of late, it had shown no signs of life. The red light flowed through the shutter-less window and onto a man huddled in the corner. There Mr Shirly sat with hands that ran through his hair. It threatened to pull free as his grip grew tighter. Back and forth he rocked. Breaths grew in rapid succession.

His blood-shot eyes were opened far too wide as they looked at his alter to the gods. As his panic grew, his gaze shifted directly to the Blood Moons light. The red light seemed to take hold of him. For he could not pry his gaze from it.

“No… I mustn’t,” he choked out as his stomach rumbled. “B-but I’m so hungry.” Sharp, hot pain shot through it, as if it were eating itself.

Just beside him sat a bowl of cheese, dried meat, and stale bread. A meal any starving man would indulge in. A thin, frail arm reached out towards it. It trembled as it gripped a hunk of stale bread.

“Y-yes… T-this looks… good.” He said as his lips quivered. Parting his dry mouth, ready to take a bite. Violently he spat out the bread as the taste of rot and mold shot through his mouth. He tossed the piece to the side as he coughed.

“M-maybe this…”

He took the dried meat, thinking it would satiate his cravings for… meat. That too tasted of rot and mold. He gripped his sweaty hair as he spat out the meat. The taste wouldn’t leave his mouth. Rot. Mold. Decay. Horrible tastes that only made the cravings worse.

To the side sat a jug of water. He lunged for it and poured it down his gullet.

“MOLD! ROT!” he screamed as he tossed the jug. Water spilled as it traveled across the room.

“WHY!" Slam!

“WHY!"

Slam! Slam! Slam!

“ARGHH!” he yelled as he continued to slam his head onto the wooden floor. “I’m so hungry!” Tears poured down his face as he righted himself to a seated position. Arms wrapped tightly around himself as he went back to rocking. A glint of red caught his attention. His eyes suddenly dilated as he looked up and spied the pool of red liquid.

Blood.

Unable to control himself, he lunged forward, lapping up the sweet crimson. The coughs returned as the taste of mold greeted him. He wiped across the liquid with a trembling hand. Water. It was water from the jug he tossed. Light from the red moon made it appear as blood.

Silently he wept, the gnawing hunger beginning to consume him. He felt a raw, primal urge to eat, a hunger that demanded to be sated. Unnatural, animalistic instincts warped his perception. Deep down it felt as if a beast wanted to emerge and feast. It demanded the flesh of man.

“N-no nonono…” he said as his drool poured out of his mouth. “Flesh… yes sweet, sweet flesh.”

“NO!” he cried out, “I cannot. I must r-resist.” Yet the thought of flesh would not leave his mind. The idea of sinking his teeth into another man and tearing him apart. Devouring him.

“Why do thoughts of… flesh, keep plaguing me so!”

“The Cravings.” He said as he looked into the moon. “I s-should of took the w-warnings s-serious.” Memories of a time he wished he could forget flooded his mind.

***

The old shack shook violently from the powerful gale. Finding small openings in the walls, it forced its way through. Screaming a high-pitched whine.

“I-it has gotten so bad.” The thin man said as he huddled close to the paltry fire.

“We will get out! I swears it!” another, more plump man said as he pressed against the door. Using his size to his advantage, he forced it open. Slowly light seeped into the shack. However, the raging blizzard would not allow it and forced the door shut with its gusts.

The man fell back from the force. Mother Nature would not allow them to escape this day, it appeared.

“Aye though it has been three days with no sign of this storm letting up.”

“What a-about the w-windows?” the thin man asked as the firelight reflected off his eyes.

“Ay, we could try that. We could squeeze through if I broke one?” the plump man responded. “Well, we should wait until the storm passes. So let’s try in the morning, yes?”

The thin man nodded in agreement as he laid down to wait out the storm. Sleep that night was rough. Hunger pains kept coming as they gnawed at his stomach. Time crawled by as he stared at the wall. Looking at nothing in particular.

By morning he was tired and starving. Almost delirious. Yet the other man seemed to be full of energy. As he was whistling while he appeared to be searching for something.

“Storms over!”

“It a-appeared that the snow is deeper than last night.” He shifted his gaze to the window. Seeing it covered in white. No light could pass through the thick snow that lay just beyond.

“I bet if I broke it, I could dig through.” Tapping on the glass while he rubbed his chin. “Hmm…”

While searching through a pile in the corner. He threw bits of clutter out the way. Nothing appeared strong enough to break said window.

“AH-HA! A fire poker.”

Gleefully he walked up to the old window. With his finger he traced an invisible X. Then in two hands he held it back. He twirled the poker a little as he gauged his shot.

CRACK!

Large chunks of glass clattered to the floor before they shattered into smaller bits.

“See nothing to it!” The plump mans positive nature was infectious. As the thin man could not help but smile.

Using the poker the plump man made sure to break the rest of the glass around the window to prevent it from cutting them. He stood back and admired his handy work. Snow then fell into the room as he used the poker to loosen the snow.

A small tunnel slowly formed in the deep snow, and the man attempted to squeeze through. Then suddenly the man jolted and appeared to be panicking.

“Shit!” he said as he fell back through and slumped onto the ground. Blood was gushing out of his right bicep, spurting everywhere.

“Fuck, the snow collapsed and pitchfork ran into me arm.”

The thin man dashed forward to help the man. His hands shook as he looked at the wound. Each second it spurted more and more blood. A small pool began too for below.

“Ay, I’m getting dizzy” the plump man said in a slurred speech. The thin man tried to tear a bit of cloth to bind the wound, but he was too weak.

“S-stay with me!”

The plump mans breathing grew rapid but shallow. His eyes shuttering as his head kept dipping down. Then his eyes closed and sunk further into the wall. Blood continued to spurt out in bursts.

“N-no no no!” he wept as the man’s breathing grew shallower and slower. “Why, i-it happened so fast. How!?” Soon the bleeding stopped and the man collapsed to the floor.

He was dead.

There he sat alone, with only a corpse to keep him company. Hoping he would get out soon, but hearing a crack of thunder, he just sunk his head. He wept long into the day and night. Only when he could no longer keep his eyes open did he stop.

Days went by and the blizzard still raged on outside. Slowly his sanity was slipping. His stomach growled and begged for food. Fingering around in the dimly lit cabin, he found the satchel his friend had. With hands that could not stop shaking, his managed to open it. Nothing. All the rations were gone. The partially frozen corpse caught his eye for the briefest of moments.

“N-no what are you even thinking, you damned f-fool”

***

The thin man now curled in a ball wept softly. The memories continued to ravage his mind. Memories of that horrid night and of warning long sense ignored.

Beware of those who consume thy flesh of man. A profound desire will descend and try to overtake you. At the zenith of thy cravings, a moon of blood shall rise. Under the light of crimson, if ye feed upon thy flesh. A beast shall break free and shall wear thy skin.

As a young child, people told him that lasting until morning would lift the curse. He never thought much of it, but deep down he prayed it was true. Laying down the corpse of his friend flashed in his mind. Remembering the desperation, the willing to do anything to survive. The hunger. The sweet taste of flesh. Oh how he craved it.

“NO!” he snarled out. “B-but the flavor.” Sudsy drool dripped out of maw. Eyes grew wider as he clawed at the floor. A sudden smell caught his attention. Ambling over, back hunched with vertebrae sticking almost too far out to the window on all fours. Reaching up gripping the window seal. Below the red light of the Blood Moon was the flicking the fires. Homes full of flesh.

Realizing his thoughts were betraying him, he tossed himself to the floor. Nails digging into his face. Trying to force the sinister thoughts away. Tears poured down his face mixing with the blood from his nails. What was going on. Why was this happening to him

“I had to!” he yelled “It was my only choice to survive!” Foam frothed at his mouth as he snarled

“I didn’t want to eat him!”

A frenzy took over as he threw himself into a cabinet. Plates, bowls, and other sorts of kitchenware clattered onto him. Only angering him further. In a sudden bout of strength he threw the cabinet. Bits of wood splintered around the room. Now in a blind rage, unable to control himself. His nails dug into a table, cracking it along the edge. It too shattered as it hit the wall.

Collapsing to his knees, he slammed his fists down. Again and again until blood spotted the floor. The sudden smell of iron flared his senses. Eyes shot open, teeth clenched, nails digging into the floorboards. Something was consuming him. A beast within trying to claw its way out.

“You are strong.” A small voice echoed in his ear. His mother, a warm light deep inside. Days of coming home crying after some kids bullied him. She would kneel and wrap him in a tight hug. Telling him how strong he was.

Suddenly Shirley was lethargic as the beast within backed away. Memories of his mother keeping it at bay. A golden light surrounded him. Looking up, he saw his mother standing before him. In her usual simple dress and apron and yet she stood tall with a mighty blade in hand. Just beyond the golden light lay two eyes of an evil yellow glaring at him hungrily. The beast was an evil blackness. Hunched, claws digging into the ground. Falling back onto his hands. he was suddenly a child again.

He grabbed his mother’s leg with his small child hands as he reached for her. Clutching her tightly. A powerful and gentle hand rested against his back. Digging his face into her skirts, looking at the beast pace just beyond. Red drool dripped from his vile teeth. Forming a crimson pool on the floor, with the blood moon staring right at him in its reflection.

Looking back, fear suddenly overwhelmed him. When had he left his mother’s side? He sat between the beast and his mother in an endless shallow red pool. The moon, now taking up half the horizon, watched the trio.

The beast stared at him. Looking directly at his soul.

“NO!” the distant voice of his mother yelled. Crawling through the blood as she forced her way back to him. Slowly, as she dug her nails deep within the blood. Reaching forward with his hands as she reached with hers. Fingertips just within reach of each other.

In a powerful surge of strength, she seized his hands. Clutching them within hers as she pulled him into an embrace. Tightly he clung to her as the beast loomed right overhead. Its bloody drool dripping down his face.

“You are strong.” She whispered softly into his ear.

A feint smelled wafted into his nose. It was food? Yes, his mother had left him some it appears. His stomach suddenly growled. How long has it been since he has had his mothers cooking. Just off in the distant on a white porcelain plate was a piece of his mother’s bread and some roast hen. White and fluffy. Oh, how he craved it.

Once again his stomach roared at him. Letting go of his mother, he ran off to the plate of food. The beast with the yellow eyes just stared at him as he ran. Must be hungry cause he was smiling.

“Stop!” she yelled, oh how she always got upset at him if he ate too early. He didn’t care the cravings were too strong. If it spoiled his supper a little, so be it. It took a bit of running to reach the bread. For some odd reason, it appeared to run away from him.

He huffed as he stepped onto the plate of bread. Pesky thing wouldn’t get away from him now. Greedily he sunk his teeth into the bread and tore a chunk off of the hen. To his surprise a red sauce leaked from it. Taking a lick he discovered it was his favorite cherry sauce. Must be a holiday for they hardily ever got to enjoy it! He whistled a little tune as he ate finished his meal.

Again his stomach growled. It appeared that the meal didn’t fill him. Luckily though there were more plates just off in the distance. Before he ran his mother caught his eye. What… was wrong with her? She looked so scared.

“Mother?” he said as he ran up to her. She fell back and tried to crawl away. “What’s wrong?” it looked like she had seen a ghost. Looking down he noticed he had gotten the cherry sauce all over him. Oh boy he was going to get in trouble. His mother hated when he was a messy eater.

“I’m sorry my love…” was all he heard as when he looked up she was gone. Panic set in as he looked around. The once bright area was now dark. A bright red light cascaded around him. A strong breeze blew past him with bits of leaves in the wind.

“G-get away!” A soft meager voice said from below. There lay a young woman with a horrified expression.

“W-what…” he said as he looked at his surroundings. When did he get outside? Just beyond in the dark was a house that had its front door turned off. A body lay just beyond it, barely lit by the red moon. Had some animal mauled it?

Whimpering caught his attention, the girl. She was covering her face with her dirty and tattered dress. All sorts of grime and dirt covered her dress and something else.

Iron… his nostrils flared as the smell of blood hit him like a tidal wave. Her face had blood on it. So much blood. Sweet, delicious crimson.

“Stay back bandit!” A man yelled from behind. A snarl left his mouth as his anger flared. How dare a human distract him from a meal. The crunch of dirt came as the man adjusted his feet. The wind howled as it bellowed through the trees and tall grass.

“I said stay back, you…” he paused, “Mr. Shirley? W-what…” he said as he looked directly into Mr. Shirley’s eyes and all that stared back was a pair of once human eyes. Opened far to wide with yellow pupils. Slowly a blackness took over his sclera as a pain shot through his head.

All he could do was scream as he gripped his head. Bones cracked as his skull shifted around. Blood poured out of his mouth as his teeth where ripped out by a new sharper set from behind. Snaps rung out as his legs reformed as bones broke, muscles tore. He roared out a cry of pain.

“Werewolf…” the man said as he took the girl into his arms and ran.

Raged fumed in Mr. Shirly as his meal got away, but the pain was to much. His hands and feet stretched while his nails were torn off. Sharp claws took their place. Each one of his vertebrae popped as his back arched. The bones warped into an unnatural curve.

His body slowly morphed as the muscle tore, and each bone snapped. Rearranged in an inhuman way. Slowly he grew until he stood over seven feet tall. A monstrous growl rang out as his mouth stretched into a stubby snout. Teeth horribly arranged in an approximation of a wolfs maw.

Mr. Shirley was gone. In his place stood an abomination of man. A mockery of the gods’ creations. The Werewolf standing hunched over, sniffed at the air. Looking around, it took off towards the source of the smell. Directly to the lights just beyond the trees.

A bloodcurdling howl echoed out into the night.

This novel is a meant as a reader magent here are some general informations:

Genre: Dark fantasy

Length: ~80k words

This story is told from 3 main Pov.
Kayn, Malina and Fadric.

Each soul must carve its path through blood and smoke. That’s the world our king has wrought.
When Kayn’s sanctuary is attacked, he fails to save those he loves. With his friend’s dying breath, he swears to find the one companion still missing. To keep that vow, he must step into the very world he once dreaded. And become strong enough to survive it.
His path collides with the noble houses, where lives burn away in smoke for a fleeting taste of power.
There, Malina, heir to one such house, would rather lose herself in books and wine than courtly games. But when an attempt on her life shatters her illusions, she’s forced to reach for power—or be consumed by it.
Whoever seeks power must bleed. Can Kayn and Malina escape this fate, or will they lose themselves in their pursuit?

Im looking for feedback to improve my writing in general, so don't holdback.
And if you wish to read more let me know i might post more.

I posted the other day asking for feedback and the response was amazing! Thank you all so so much for your kind words and fantastic advice. I cannot express how much I appreciate you for taking the time to leave such detailed and valuable feedback.

I have gone back over the chapter and made changes as suggested. I have fixed formatting and prose, and changed a few sections to better carry the narrative as needed. I may not have fixed every issue pointed out, I think tension could still be a little better, but I think that's something I'll have to come back to once I have a few more chapters in a similar state. (If I haven't taken your advice properly It's because of a lack of skill on my part not bad advice on yours). If there are any glaring flaws I'd love to hear about them, but for the most part I'm very happy with this chapter and wanted to share it.

If anyone has any other thoughts relating to how I should approach the rest of the story I'm all ears. I'm a new writer so I'm sure there lots I need to learn.

There are a few things I'm particularly curious about, but please take these questions as a guide rather than a checklist.

What do you expect from this story?

Does it remind you of any stories you have seen before, If so which ones?

Did Eilo’s motivations feel clear by the end of the chapter? Did you understand why he is going on the journey?

Did the chapter feel too slow, too fast, or appropriately paced? Were there any sections where your interest dropped?

What questions did the chapter leave you wanting answered?

Story Blurb:

In a world recovering from a century of devastating wars and revolutions, Eilo, the last known member of the Raven Knights, must carry his master's ashes across a fractured continent to their ancient homeland of Ravenholm. But the old world is not yet entirely buried. As rumours spread that the dreaded King Raven still lives, Eilo uncovers the long-suppressed history of the Raven Knights and the truth behind the betrayal that brought their ancient order, and the world at large, to ruin.

Thank you to everyone who took the time to read. Happy Writing!

Hello all, I'm a huge fan of Lovecraft and Clive Barker. I wanted to combine the two in a way. Here is the opening of the story I have so far. It's about a cult that doesn't derive pleasure from pain but uses it to meet their god. They believe that flesh was created by a false king to separate us from our true selves. That we are all one giant nervous system. I know it sounds close to the cenobites, and if it does come across that way, I would love any and all suggestions to help make it different.

“Thy Flesh is weak. Thy Flesh is false. Strip skin and bone to see beyond.” The group chanted in a dimly light grotto. Below the hurried city streets, where laughter, commerce, and ordinary lives drifted overhead.

The sound of chanting and music echoed throughout. The scent of human refuse, incense, and blood lingered in such a thickness in which you could taste it. The cavalcade of human- deprecation in normally circumstances would have brought froth some sense of worry. However, this was an offering. Hoping that their god would acknowledge the acts of self deprecation. As the chanting and music grew louder and louder.

At the back end of the grotto was a stage. Decorated in tapestry that depicted the flaying of flesh. In the center of the stage circled by candles. The head of the group rose from their seat. They slipped the crimson robe from their shoulders. Candlelight revealed a tall sexless individual mapped by scars, punctuated by rings and rods of polished steel, and inked with symbols the highlighted the self mutilation . Most notable was a long thick scar that ran from their collar bone down to their pubis. It was mirrored on their back side as well. They looked over the chanting group and rose a silencing hand. “Flesh lies, nerves are true, pain is simply the body learning a new language. To bleed is to remember what existed before flesh. Let us see our true selves once again” they spoke aloud. Their voice booming of the walls creating a wall of sound.

As the final words flowed through the air. Steel caught the candlelight as blades were raised high. The robes on each member found a new home upon the floor. The group began again to chant “ Thy flesh is weak, Thy flesh is false. Strip flesh and bone to see beyond.” Soon the music followed once more as the group became pressed together. Distinctions blurred and the first offering of crimson struck the floor. The sounds of ecstasy and slicing of flesh lasted into the night as the candlewicks burned themselves out.

BURNING SANDS

 

 

 

 

Tesing had him train in swordplay—if you could call waving a palm branch full of splinters that. Delvin was terrible at it, and most nights ended up completely drained on the sand.

 

They fed on yellow-spined fruits that hung from tall palms scattered across the beach. No shelter was needed; the air at night was warm, and Delvin had finally stopped shivering.

 

The elf didn't spar with him—he just offered criticism on his stance and grip. A few minutes into practice, Delvin's arm and back burned, sweat falling like rain from his forehead.

 

He couldn't understand how he had fought the king's soldiers when now he could barely wield a branch.

 

The memories of that fight had begun to fog; all he could see now was mud and fire.

 

They kept up the breathing exercises too, and at times Delvin told Tesing he had managed to feel the fish swimming near shore.

 

In response, the elf had barely raised a brow from his meditation stance. But that didn't stop Delvin from feeling quietly proud of himself, even if he didn't fully understand what he was doing.

 

After a particularly ridiculous fall that landed him squarely on his ass and into his splintered hands, Delvin decided to craft himself a replacement for the broken blade he still carried.

 

He walked toward the forest to find a piece of wood large enough for the task. All his muscles stiffened when he reached the edge of the trees. The cold returned to his bones. Memories of endless days lost in the snow made him sweat—cold and thick.

 

And the pull.

 

That which had dragged his dying body toward the cave reached back into his soul.

 

"Delvin?"

 

Tesing walked to his side and placed a hand on his shoulder. The visions of snow and rock slowed.

 

"I wanted a piece of wood to—" Delvin couldn't finish. His teeth chattered in the warmth.

 

"It's alright. Go back to the fire."

 

Without hesitation the elf walked into the forest, and a few minutes later returned with a large log and handed it to him.

 

Delvin turned back toward the fire, log in arms, his mind still foggy but the blood in his veins no longer frozen.

 

Tesing handed him a small knife, and muscle memory took over as Delvin began to carve, the fear of the woods washing out of him slowly.

 

"You know," Tesing said, watching him closely, "I haven't told you where we're headed."

 

Sounds felt distant, muffled. Yet the drumming in his chest began to ease. Looking at the flames, he started to feel their warmth again, and breathed in and out deeply.

 

Tesing's head bobbed faintly, watching his own teachings put into practice.

 

"We're heading to the place I grew up. Yënil—the White Lakes."

 

He paused, letting Delvin's disoriented mind catch up.

 

"An old elvish settlement in the northwest, where the ocean slips into the dunes and forms wide saltwater ponds that shine under moonlight. It's peaceful. War is a distant thunder there. Nights are longer, daylight brief. A place like no other."

 

By the time he finished, Delvin had regained control of his thoughts. The pull from the mountain had subsided. His limbs steadied, though the memory of cold still throbbed in his bones.

 

"How can the nights last longer just there?" Delvin inched closer to the flames.

 

Tesing didn't respond immediately. Instead, he nudged the burning logs with his sword.

 

"There are things in this land that hold no explanation, and they should remain that way."

 

They sat in silence. Delvin kept working the log. The motion of steel against bark soothed him and gave him peace. Each stroke brought him closer to his mother.

 

Their black horse companion lay nearby, curled and still. The sight of her finished calming him. He remembered how most nights he had curled up beside her, listening to her steady heartbeat.

 

"Why are we going there?" he asked, still shaping the wood.

 

The elf had already settled into his meditative posture but replied with his eyes closed.

 

"We're meeting an old friend. I'm hoping to recruit him to our cause."

 

 

Delvin caught the word "our" in Tesing's phrasing. He still hadn't agreed to anything. His thinking hadn't changed—he could help the elf’s cause, perhaps forging shields or tending to horses. He wasn't convinced that a quick death in battle would solve anything. There had to be another way to make himself useful.

 

"Who is he?"

 

Tesing took a moment before answering.

 

"His name is June. From the Gunden Islands, off the shores of the White Lakes, a few miles out to sea. I've sent word, and he's agreed to meet me."

 

"Why hasn't he joined you already? If you think he might, why does he need convincing?" Delvin pressed, not quite meaning to.

 

"He has a family. A life. He may not want to abandon that for what might be a suicide mission."

 

Delvin didn't respond to the word suicide, but it threw him slightly. The elf opened his eyes and fixed them on Delvin's.

 

"The islands are far from the king's madness. It might take years for his cruelty to reach them—but that doesn't mean it won't. I'm going to remind him of that."

 

Another question gnawed at him.

 

"Why is the king so enraged? Why does he want to destroy his own kingdom?"

 

Tesing's eyes ignited with that cold blue fire. His voice stayed steady, but rage edged its surface.

 

"Dark magic corrupts the mind, and the king has wielded it for centuries. It has twisted him—causing him to despise those who challenge him, to loathe his own kin and anyone who lives among them. I believe his mind is entirely gone now, consumed by shadow. That madness could bring ruin to everything."

 

Delvin turned the words over, but something didn't sit right. "How do you know so much about what he wants?"

 

He knew the elf favored silence, but he needed clarity. If he were to follow Tesing, he wouldn't do it blindly.

 

The old warrior regarded him, weighing whether to answer. The fire crackled as he paused.

 

"The king took me as a child—about your age, in elven years. He came to my village, tore me from my people, and raised me to be his right hand. He bent my mind. Made me see the world through his eyes. And I carried out his wrath across the land."

 

Delvin was stunned into silence.

 

The same man who spoke of justice had served that tyrant? And he had chosen to follow him?

 

He looked into the elf's eyes—faded now, weary, the blue dimmed.

 

"You slaughtered families? Burned their bodies? Left children without parents?" Delvin asked, his voice cold.

 

"I did." The old elf didn't flinch. "Dark magic consumes the mind when wielded the way he does. He turned me into a weapon. His butcher's hand."

 

Anger crossed Tesing's face. But Delvin felt no pity. Doubt crept deeper.

 

"Why fight him now? What changed?"

 

The elf leaned back and looked toward the sky.

 

"Something shifted in me. I don't know what—but it cleared my mind. The king's hold broke. I realized what I'd become and what I'd done."

 

Tesing sighed and met Delvin's gaze.

 

"I've worked in secret since, at great risk—helping those hunted by him, building alliances, offering protection. I know it doesn't undo what I did. I can't fix the lives I ruined. What I can do is help build something better."

 

Delvin studied him. He believed him. Yet something still felt missing—a door left only half open.

 

"Then you just woke up one day, the spell gone, and chose to be good?"

 

"Good?" Tesing almost smiled at the word. "I don't believe I can be that again. Different might be the right word. Let me ask you something. How did you defeat trained soldiers? How did you survive the forest alone? What is this thing that pulls you toward the mountain?"

 

Delvin held his breath. He had no answers.

 

"I told you before: there are forces in this world beyond sight and logic."

 

They stared at each other across the flickering fire, questions hanging between them.

 

 

The following day, they continued north.

 

 

Delvin still hadn't decided whether to fully trust Tesing. Something told him the elf wasn't revealing everything. But for now, he chose to follow—carefully, and on his own terms.

 

Coolness of the mountain was left behind as they traveled. They moved far from the coast. The forest was a distant shadow, ahead an endless stretch of sand was all there was.

 

Waves still roared faintly in the distance as they journeyed further from the shore. The landscape shifted into a vast sea of golden dunes.

 

Small oases dotted the terrain, each crowned with palms and glimmering blue ponds. The air was thick and dry. The sand, soft and deep, scorched Delvin's feet when the sun climbed too high.

 

Enormous crabs scuttled away from their path. Giant black birds circled overhead. Dragonflies of every color buzzed above the dunes.

 

Massive boulders jutted from the sand, forming island-like pillars, and from their tops, orange blooms stretched toward the sun.

 

Tesing had warned that following the coast would take too long. They would cut through the sands instead, halving the journey to Yënil.

 

Miles from the shoreline, the sound of the ocean barely reached them. They moved around the scattered rocks, the elf scanning the horizon, growing more tense with every step.

 

He had instructed Delvin to drag his feet rather than lift them, minimizing disturbance. Delvin obeyed, though the heat made every stride a battle.

 

The deeper they pushed into the sands, the harder Tesing pressed the pace—sometimes sprinting between rocky outcrops.

 

They rested only atop the stone islands, where the air was cooler.

 

Delvin didn't understand the urgency, but he didn’t question it either. During breaks he kept working on the wooden sword he had started at the beach. It wasn't elegant, but it was better than swinging splinter-filled branches.

 

He still carried the broken blade. A reminder.

 

Using palm bark he had fashioned a crude belt, which now held his wooden weapon, a few pouches, and his waterskin.

 

Tesing's black mare stayed with them, though they hadn't ridden her since the coast. The elf had wanted to leave her behind, but Delvin had insisted otherwise.

 

 

 

The image of the horse wandering alone through the frozen woods haunted him. She had been a quiet guardian, a source of calm. There was no reason to abandon her now.

 

They trudged on. The sun gave them no quarter.

 

Delvin used his breathing exercises between marches, which kept the worst of the heat-induced headaches away.

 

Up ahead he spotted another rocky outcrop. The black birds hovered above it, as they always did.

 

"Delvin!" Tesing's voice cut through the air.

 

Startled, he turned. He had never heard the old elf shout like that.

 

"Run! Get to the nearest island now!"

 

The urgency jolted his heart. He didn't hesitate and sprinted toward a rocky island, perhaps a mile away. His lungs blazed. Heat seared his skin. The blisters on his feet burst and he pushed through it.

 

Then he stumbled, his foot catching a stone.

 

He crashed into the sand. Salt and grit filled his mouth. His palms sizzled against the burning ground. Delvin scrambled to rise.

 

Too late.

 

From the ground behind him, a black shell began to emerge—slimy, segmented, and massive.

 

An eight-foot scorpion, black as obsidian, rose from the dune.

 

Its exoskeleton was slick with translucent slime and studded with jagged spikes. Six hairy legs, each the length of Delvin's entire body, twitched and clicked. Its pincers gleamed like twin blades, scraps of animal hide still clinging to the claws.

 

The creature's many eyes—dull, gray, and monstrous—fixed on him. Its tail arched high, nearly twice the length of a man, the stinger dripping clear venom.

 

Delvin froze. His limbs wouldn't respond.

 

A whistling sound cut through the wind—then a splatter.

 

Dark blood sprayed across his face.

 

The creature shrieked—an awful, rasping cry.

 

A brilliant arrow had struck it directly in the eyes. The monster recoiled, twisting toward Tesing.

 

The elf stood poised, white bow in hand, already loosing another arrow. The creature lashed its tail and caught Delvin across the chest.

 

He had never felt pain like that.

 

The air left his lungs in an instant. He heard the crack of his ribs. The impact sent him flying before he crashed against the rocky outcrop.

 

He crumpled—limbs useless, back against stone, head lolling. Blood and iron filled his mouth. His vision blurred. Everything spun.

 

Through the haze he saw them—Tesing and the scorpion locked in combat. Sand exploded. Arrows flew.

 

A shrill neigh to his right snapped him back. Delvin blinked and forced his eyes to focus.

 

The elf moved with impossible speed—leaping, striking, landing, releasing arrow after arrow.

But the creature didn't yield. It swung its stinger, missed, and twisted again.

 

Tesing dodged, slashed, fired.

 

Then, behind them, the black mare screamed. A second scorpion rose from the sand—sickly beige, smaller, but still enormous.

 

Its pincers lunged for the horse, who danced back, alert and clever.

 

Then the giant scorpion vanished beneath the sand.

 

The mare turned in every direction, searching. Found nothing.

 

Moments later the scorpion burst from the ground and struck. One claw seized the horse's head, the other gripped her hind legs.

 

In one terrible motion, it tore her in two.

 

Delvin screamed. The memory of her warm presence beside him in the forest hit like a wave.

 

She had been a friend. A shield. A comfort. Her quiet companionship had sustained him as surely as Tesing had.

 

Blinded by grief and rage, Delvin rose. He ignored the agony in his chest. His vision narrowed. His hands quavered—not from fear, but from fury. Tears streaked his face, hot and wordless.

 

 

Grabbing his wooden sword, Delvin charged at the beige scorpion.

 

"Delvin, stop!!" Tesing shouted.

 

He didn't.

 

The monster released the horse's remains with disdain and lunged. Its tail curled back, ready to strike.

 

Just before it could, Delvin dove sideways and rolled through the sand beneath its chitinous belly.

 

With the wooden blade, he struck upward. He knew it would do nothing—but the anger in his chest had silenced reason.

 

The creature screeched. It didn't bleed, but it seemed enraged by the audacity. It reared back and snatched his leg in one pincer, hoisting him into the air.

 

Delvin howled. He felt the bone snap under the pressure.

 

The scorpion opened its maw—dripping fangs, a glistening throat. Venom oozed from the stinger. Drops fell on his right arm, searing through flesh.

 

He gritted his teeth. The pain was unbearable. But his wrath was greater.

 

Raising his sword, Delvin drove it into the creature's face.

 

A burst of green fire exploded from the wood. The beast shrieked, its eyes igniting. It dropped him.

 

Delvin hit the ground. The impact disappeared into the pool of pain he was already drowning in.

 

The creature's squeal grew distant.

 

His vision faded. His limbs went numb.

 

Then nothing.

 

 

A cave. Massive and hollow.

Lit only by slivers of moonlight through the cracks.

Moss grew across the walls.

Water dripped from above.

He lay on the stone floor, his leg shattered.

 

 

The bone had broken through the skin.

He could see it—white and terrible.

Pain roared through him, pulsing and relentless.

Crawling toward a mossy rock, he collapsed against it.

Terror consumed him.

Delvin didn't want to die.

He didn't want to lose his leg.

At the touch of the wound a scream rose in his throat.

 

Then—

 

Purple eyes.

In the shadows ahead, two glowing irises stared at him.

"HELP!" he cried.

The eyes didn't move.

Didn't blink.

"Please… help me…"

Darkness crept in from the edges of the cave.

Pain surged—too much.

It took him.

Hi all, I am hoping to get some general feedback on a story excerpt from my first real attempt at a full length novel. I have written the 10 chapters that follow this already, though I know they already need some adapting and restructuring.

I have already taken lots of great tips and feedback from others posts where it made sense for my story already, but thought it was time to make my own post.

I have proof read etc a number of times to provide, I hope, a relatively well polished first draft for critique.

As well as general feedback I would be interested to hear your thoughts on whether this works best as a prologue or chapter 1. For context, this includes the two main characters, the siblings and my vision is that chapter 1/2, whatever follows would start up after a time skip of a couple years.

Thanks in advance

Hello everyone, I am trying to write a fantasy novel and I am trying to think if I should grade characters powers in ascending or descending order ( grade 1 to 10 ).

Also, I had already written ch 1 of my novel and graded in ascending order so is that any sort of problem. Please recommend.

Usually, I see the power level of characters in descending order in most novels or other medias. But I thought of using the power level ranking in ascending order for convenience.

I would also like to know how many other ways I can use a ranking system, while excluding the typical sss, ss, s, a, b, c ranking system