Okay! Greetings all
I have gathered a selection of four or five dreadful to moderate scenes that I recall from work I've proofed/edited/or co-worked on in the recent pass. Character names have been changed. If this works out, after my wisdom teeth/back molars stop trying to collectively kill me, I will switch over and show you some of the good to excellent things I've seen.
I would really like to know what you guys think of these selections...so without any further ado....!
================================================== ========================
1: This was an excerpt from a short story anthology:
-------------------------------------
?So, anyway. The doctors say he?ll be in plaster for about two months, and he?ll have some cool-looking scars to show off to his friends. You know how boys are.?
I got scars, too. Think they?d wanna see?
She didn?t answer; she never did. Sometimes I don?t know why I kept trying. It was like banging my head against a brick wall. So I assumed, at any rate. Never tried it, but this certainly seemed as futile.
?Two days home, and he can?t hold still. Hopping around, trying to do stunts with his crutches. You?d think it was all fun and games.?
Seriously. My scars are better than his. C?mon, I bet the guys would love ?em. Bring everyone in to see me. I?m much cooler.
?I keep trying to get him to sit still, but it?s impossible. He won?t even watch Red River Falls with me like he used to.?
Ugh, I don?t blame him. I don?t even like to hold still to watch that. Granted, I don?t have much choice, but that?s not the point. That?s cruel and unusual punishment for falling off the roof.
She never listened to me. Sometimes I wondered if she was going deaf as well as blind. She always fidgeted with her glasses whenever she talked about Kevin. , she liked to fuss over the youngest of all us kids. It didn?t matter that he was nearly fifteen, but he still thought he was six.
?Ah, Meg. What am I going on about??
I dunno, I stopped paying attention when you started talking about how often the new dog licks his own balls.That should have been her cue to laugh. Instead, she took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. Good thing I never set my heart on a career in comedy. Now?s when you tell me that I?m bored, and you?re tired. [/i]
?I know, you must getting bored with me prattling on. I keep meaning to bring you new magazines, but I?ve been so busy lately.?
It?s not like I could read them anyway, remember?Sometimes she was so thick. Denial, denial, denial; that?s my mum. Someday I?d figure out just what part of ?quadriplegic? she misunderstood.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
2)
Ashlye Cantrell hurried between the marble and granite headstones. It was high summer, the heat as dry as the bones that baked beneath the earth. The statuary shimmered as if under water and even the crows were silent, but Ashlye barely noticed. Her right eye was swollen shut and her lip crusted with blood. Robert ?Bacon? Cantrell hadn?t been happy with the quality of her house-keeping?again.Ash-can couldn?t, just like always. Somehow Ashlye had managed to get away from him and had come here, to the place of the dead.
She hadn?t come to seek solace, for she had no family buried in this parched pocket of Australian earth. Her people still lived in Ireland?s wet hills and in the snow-capped mountains of the west coast of the US. Nor had she come to seek advice from some long dead friend, for there was none. She had come to find a way out. Sweat stung her battered face as she searched frantically amongst the steles and broken angels. The glare made her eyes water and the angels seemed to flex their stone wings in readiness for flight.
If only theycouldfly, rise like the real angels had on their magnificent wings and bear her and baby-sister Bec away. Ashlye swayed and clutched at a headstone to steady herself. Its inscription had been eaten away by time yet there were places where time could be as brief as a blink or as slow as the birth of a mountain. But here her time was as short as Bacon?s grog-fueled temper. Shemustget herself and Bec to safety.
Something moved on the edge of Ashlye?s vision and she turned. God in Heaven! He had followed her! The booze still held him and he swayed, but he carried some sort of cudgel; maybe a picket torn from the cemetery fence. Ashlye didn?t have time to find out. The wood caught her on the side of the head and she staggered to her knees. Blood turned the dust red but somehow she managed to crawl behind a tomb. The cemetery was the worst place to be; the weeds shoulder high and the sweltering day keeping others away.
----------------------------------------
3) A partial prologue from the slush pile. I?ve kept this one, because I couldn?t help but wonder how many fantasy clich?s and tropes the author could fit in. How many can YOU find? (This is me testing you guys now
Read this one, and make a list of all the things that *shouldn?t* be a part of the story
The sun was setting, spilling its golden light across the treetops of the forest that followed
the ancient borders between the lands of Caran and the sovereign mountainlands of the Perimeter. It was beneath this vast blanket of green and gold, not far from a village that was thusfar unaware of their presence, three dark-cloaked, blue-clad figures sat round a gleaming blue fire. The fire was not a fire of the normal, natural varieties, just as the men who stared into its depths were far from normal men.
Somewhere high amongst the treetops, a small bird took wing, startling one of the fire-watchers. His head jerked up, sending back the hood that concealed his features. Dark crimson eyes narrowed, following the bird's flight path. Anger laced their edges as the blue flames sputtered and wavered. The horses nearby pawed the ground, prancing uneasily. He faced the other men, light from the fire casting pale features into harsh relief.
"By the Lady," he hissed, "where are they?" Narrow lips frowned between a long, aristocratic nose.
"Relax." Blue eyes framed by thick blonde lashes lifted to regard him. "They'll be back."
The man with crimson eyes scowled, raking long white curls back from his face with hands gloved in the color of new-fallen snow. He blinked slowly, breathing deeply, and the flames blazed a little higher.
You're too tense. They know what they're doing." The other man stretched, still cloaked in shadows.
"Your brother can be an irresponsible fool," the albino complained, turning on his companion.
"Liraen," the blue-eyed man whispered in warning.
"Rene may be a little undisciplined, but he's not a fool," the third responded, his voice barely betraying the tension that had gripped them all. The scouts were late in returning, At the Perimeter, that meant danger, and they all knew it.
Liraen lowered his eyes, hunching his shoulders for a moment. When he raised his gaze again, his anger had fled. " I am sorry, Trev. Forgive me."
Trev shrugged. "With luck we'll all be home soon. It's not your fault." He pushed back his hood, revealing straight brown hair that barely touched the top of his collar. Pleasant brown eyes smiled warmly in a rather unremarkable face.
Grimly the albino began pacing. He frowned at the touch of the sun's dying rays upon his bared face, but otherwise ignored his surroundings. The other men frowned.
"Liraen, stop it." Six-fingered hand plucked absently at a belt pouch as angled blue eyes fixed upon the albino. He went unheeded. Standing, he threw back his cloak. Fine blonde hair was pulled back and fastened at the nape of his neck , tumbling in a golden cascade across his blue-clad shoulders and back. His aqualine face, what had been called both haughty and beautiful by many people, was shadowed, lending him a decided dark quality. He scratched absently at one pale, pointed, beringed ear.
"Liraen, your nerves are effecting us all. Get control." He frowned for a moment, and his voice softened as he switched to his native tongue. "What is it? I've never seen you like this, Lir."
The strange, sing-song language of the Sh'ijr drew a sudden look from Trev, who sat at the edge of the fire, warming his hands against the chilling air. His blade lay naked across his knees, a sign of the tension that had blossomed in the darkness. The albino stopped pacing, fists clenched. A shudder passed through his lank body, his eyes focused on nothing.
"Time is growing short. We have to find him."
The blonde moved forward, putting his hand tenderly on Liraen's shoulder. Crimson eyes met blue. Crimson fell first.
"I am sorry, Thyme." Liraen's voice was barely audible over the crackling of the fire.
"I understand, brother. That boy, whomever he is, will be found. His power is hurting us all. But fretting will do nothing to help the situation, Lir. Control yourself. "
Liraen nodded slowly, restraining himself. Old disciplines rose to the surface, calming him. Thyme sensed this change and nodded his approval. Though they were not brothers by birth, they were cut from the same cloth.
Near the fire, Trev spoke into the silence. "Liraen, what do you think--"
Liraen's head snapped up, dark eyes flashing with the sudden movement. He held up a warning hand. Trev fell silent, one hand grasping the sword balanced on the knees while Thyme looked around them, trying to pierce the darkness.
A long heartbeat later, Liraen frowned, dropping his arm. He glared at Trev. "An irresponsible fool," he growled, resuming his pacing. As he stalked away, a shadow came to life and mock-stabbed him with a broken tree branch. "Gotcha."
Liraen pushed the offending limb away with a snort as a second shadow stepped forward, approaching Thyme.
"What's wrong with him? We shouldn't have been able to get that close."
The first man removed the black cloak concealing his identity. Long hair fell unrestrained over his face and shoulders, dark as a moonless midnight sky. His face was lean and slightly dusty, with a thin nose that was perhaps a trifle too long, and a generous mouth that smiled often. His eyes still held a spark of mischief in their emerald depths as he approached the fire. The second man had also removed his cloak and settled like a mirror image across from his twin.
Thyme turned upon the two. "What in the Lady's Name was that all about? Were you trying to get killed? "
The black haired man sighed, and bit back a retort, seeing the anger in his superior's eyes. Rene straightened, and suddenly his gaze shifted to the left, his brown eyes widened. "Lir? " he whispered.
The others turned, Thyme drawing in a sharp breath. Liraen, balancing himself against a tree with one hand, was trembling, depending entirely upon the trunk for support. His crimson eyes were dilated , and his breathing had grown rapid. Sweat beaded his face. He was murmuring under his breath, shaking his head in denial.
Thyme cursed, moved quickly to Lir's side. He knew the albino's power was immense, but to see it in action was always surprising and humbling. The albino nearly doubled in a sudden spasm and lurched away from the tree. "Se?ran! No!" He ran few steps into the forest and stumbled, falling to his hands and knees. Exchanging confused glances, the others followed.
When the albino looked up, his eyes narrowed, twin crimson flames in a face of sculptured snow. He raised one hand to his lips, tore off the glove with his teeth, spat it aside. The pale, almost skeletal hand reached out and pulled something from the leaves and moss that littered the forest floor. He raised it for inspection, careful as if it had been a precious jewel. He spoke a single, harsh syllable, and the tiny treasure began to glow. He shook his head, causing long curls of the palest crystal to tumble into his face. An expression of wry tolerance crossed his features for but a moment. Raising his other hand, he beckoned, speaking one word.
"Thyme."
One of the four regarding him stepped forward. He ran a nervous hand through bangs of golden corn. He approached, and knelt near the crouched albino. " What is it, Liraen?" Thyme's voice was almost musical, like water falling over rocks.
The albino raised his head, raking his curls back with one hand. Then he pointed to the ground they sat on. To the leaves. The leaves that were burned and blackened, though there was no other sign of fire. Thyme inhaled sharply and looked at Liraen. The albino nodded.
"I never noticed these. How could I...how could we have been so blind? Here- the trees and the leaves he burned. He's so close, and he's growing stronger every moment......." Liraen's voice trailed off. "Such raw Power...how can I hope to control him?"
Thyme squeezed Liraen's shoulder. " You will. What else?"
Liraen held up the small item he had found. Thyme took it, turned it over in his hand, holding it up to the light. A fine line appeared between his furrowed brows as
\recognition and confusion fought for control of his features.
"It's an identity badge. A family seal of sorts. Many southern landholders use them to mark their people or property. This one I've heard of: Derrida. Myllar, by name. This badge is his son's......." Thyme's voice trailed off, wonder filling him. The name on the badge was the same one Liraen had cried out moments before.
"Se?ran, " he stated flatly.
"Se?ran Derrida..." Liraen tasted the name, eyes closed briefly as pain lined his face. "So that's the specter's name."Liraen's hands began to shake. Crouched next to him, Thyme began to worry.
"Lir, what is it? What do you see? " Thyme gripped the albino's shoulder, shook him gently. Liraen raised his eyes and their gazes locked, blue eyes and crimson. Thyme looked away first, seeing the pain and fear in Liraen's eyes. Thyme had never seen the albino so distraught. He felt a slight touch in his mind, the gentle touch of Liraen. Images flooded him; Foresight, fear, sorrow, pain, confusion. He squeezed Liraen's hand in his own, feeling the ring that had been his gift to the albino years ago biting into his palm. He gripped his bond-brother's shoulder. "I understand."
Liraen regarded him, fighting for control. The only sound in the strangely silent forest was his ragged breathing.
"This must come to an end. We must find him. "
--------------------------------------------------
4)And now, for your mental health, imagine that you *had* to read more than 200 pages of the narrative voice below....
---------------------
Whooshwas the sound the air made as it was cut by a swinging object. It was simply his legs, flapping back and forth like a child as he sat on a ledge high above the door to the inn. Dangling his feet as such gave him a subtle peace, like being a child again. No worries, no cares. Now though, times were different and a man had to make his money the only way he could. Even if it meant killing others for it. He had been hired to oversee the death of the one they refer to simply as Vega, though she hadn?t always been known so simply. He sat high above as he watched another stranger enter the inn.
I wonder... he thought to himself as he saw the man dressed in black.I wonder if he's friend or foe. Either way, it is of no matter. I'll fight two. I'll fight twenty. I care not.
Shadowfang felt the itch of his Coldfire blade against his back. Adrenaline pumping through his veins with the speed and force of a thousand horse-pulled carriages. Sweat beaded onto his brow and fell to the ground like a sweet spring rain shower.
The time was now?the blade hungered. He slid down a nearby lamp post and took his sword off of his back and attached it under his coat. Feeling the uneasy tension of another assignment, he opened the door and begin to survey the area.
He knew he probably wasn't the only one looking for this woman assassin so he'd better find her first or find a new job. He began to search the room for signs of her
I can?t read what came next in mu hardcopy because I had blacked everything out like a redacted CIA document from the 50s!)
Shadowfang watched in horror as the medallion fell to his feet. Hearing her denial of assistance, Shadowfang began to feel, once again....
RAGE
His fangs began to grow as his eyes went from their dark brown color to a glowing blue. Using his jumping ability afforded to him as an undead, Shadowfang leapt to the rooftop of the cabin. He stood in front of her, the burning itch of his sword propelling him to ex tract it from it's sheath upon his back.
Shadowfang could not help but obey its command. One thing you should know....I'm a lot better than last time. Remember, I told you we'd end it here. Prepare to make your last stand!
With that, Shadowfang unsheathed his Coldfire blade and, with saliva dripping from his fangs, began to move across the roof towards the woman.
--------------------------- -----------
I have already reviewed these; now it is YOUR turn! (any home remedies for the kind of tooth headaches that make your inner ear hurt, too, will be rewared with Rep, and my eternal board-love!)
I have gathered a selection of four or five dreadful to moderate scenes that I recall from work I've proofed/edited/or co-worked on in the recent pass. Character names have been changed. If this works out, after my wisdom teeth/back molars stop trying to collectively kill me, I will switch over and show you some of the good to excellent things I've seen.
I would really like to know what you guys think of these selections...so without any further ado....!
================================================== ========================
1: This was an excerpt from a short story anthology:
-------------------------------------
?So, anyway. The doctors say he?ll be in plaster for about two months, and he?ll have some cool-looking scars to show off to his friends. You know how boys are.?
I got scars, too. Think they?d wanna see?
She didn?t answer; she never did. Sometimes I don?t know why I kept trying. It was like banging my head against a brick wall. So I assumed, at any rate. Never tried it, but this certainly seemed as futile.
?Two days home, and he can?t hold still. Hopping around, trying to do stunts with his crutches. You?d think it was all fun and games.?
Seriously. My scars are better than his. C?mon, I bet the guys would love ?em. Bring everyone in to see me. I?m much cooler.
?I keep trying to get him to sit still, but it?s impossible. He won?t even watch Red River Falls with me like he used to.?
Ugh, I don?t blame him. I don?t even like to hold still to watch that. Granted, I don?t have much choice, but that?s not the point. That?s cruel and unusual punishment for falling off the roof.
She never listened to me. Sometimes I wondered if she was going deaf as well as blind. She always fidgeted with her glasses whenever she talked about Kevin. , she liked to fuss over the youngest of all us kids. It didn?t matter that he was nearly fifteen, but he still thought he was six.
?Ah, Meg. What am I going on about??
I dunno, I stopped paying attention when you started talking about how often the new dog licks his own balls.That should have been her cue to laugh. Instead, she took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. Good thing I never set my heart on a career in comedy. Now?s when you tell me that I?m bored, and you?re tired. [/i]
?I know, you must getting bored with me prattling on. I keep meaning to bring you new magazines, but I?ve been so busy lately.?
It?s not like I could read them anyway, remember?Sometimes she was so thick. Denial, denial, denial; that?s my mum. Someday I?d figure out just what part of ?quadriplegic? she misunderstood.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
2)
Ashlye Cantrell hurried between the marble and granite headstones. It was high summer, the heat as dry as the bones that baked beneath the earth. The statuary shimmered as if under water and even the crows were silent, but Ashlye barely noticed. Her right eye was swollen shut and her lip crusted with blood. Robert ?Bacon? Cantrell hadn?t been happy with the quality of her house-keeping?again.Ash-can couldn?t, just like always. Somehow Ashlye had managed to get away from him and had come here, to the place of the dead.
She hadn?t come to seek solace, for she had no family buried in this parched pocket of Australian earth. Her people still lived in Ireland?s wet hills and in the snow-capped mountains of the west coast of the US. Nor had she come to seek advice from some long dead friend, for there was none. She had come to find a way out. Sweat stung her battered face as she searched frantically amongst the steles and broken angels. The glare made her eyes water and the angels seemed to flex their stone wings in readiness for flight.
If only theycouldfly, rise like the real angels had on their magnificent wings and bear her and baby-sister Bec away. Ashlye swayed and clutched at a headstone to steady herself. Its inscription had been eaten away by time yet there were places where time could be as brief as a blink or as slow as the birth of a mountain. But here her time was as short as Bacon?s grog-fueled temper. Shemustget herself and Bec to safety.
Something moved on the edge of Ashlye?s vision and she turned. God in Heaven! He had followed her! The booze still held him and he swayed, but he carried some sort of cudgel; maybe a picket torn from the cemetery fence. Ashlye didn?t have time to find out. The wood caught her on the side of the head and she staggered to her knees. Blood turned the dust red but somehow she managed to crawl behind a tomb. The cemetery was the worst place to be; the weeds shoulder high and the sweltering day keeping others away.
----------------------------------------
3) A partial prologue from the slush pile. I?ve kept this one, because I couldn?t help but wonder how many fantasy clich?s and tropes the author could fit in. How many can YOU find? (This is me testing you guys now
The sun was setting, spilling its golden light across the treetops of the forest that followed
the ancient borders between the lands of Caran and the sovereign mountainlands of the Perimeter. It was beneath this vast blanket of green and gold, not far from a village that was thusfar unaware of their presence, three dark-cloaked, blue-clad figures sat round a gleaming blue fire. The fire was not a fire of the normal, natural varieties, just as the men who stared into its depths were far from normal men.
Somewhere high amongst the treetops, a small bird took wing, startling one of the fire-watchers. His head jerked up, sending back the hood that concealed his features. Dark crimson eyes narrowed, following the bird's flight path. Anger laced their edges as the blue flames sputtered and wavered. The horses nearby pawed the ground, prancing uneasily. He faced the other men, light from the fire casting pale features into harsh relief.
"By the Lady," he hissed, "where are they?" Narrow lips frowned between a long, aristocratic nose.
"Relax." Blue eyes framed by thick blonde lashes lifted to regard him. "They'll be back."
The man with crimson eyes scowled, raking long white curls back from his face with hands gloved in the color of new-fallen snow. He blinked slowly, breathing deeply, and the flames blazed a little higher.
You're too tense. They know what they're doing." The other man stretched, still cloaked in shadows.
"Your brother can be an irresponsible fool," the albino complained, turning on his companion.
"Liraen," the blue-eyed man whispered in warning.
"Rene may be a little undisciplined, but he's not a fool," the third responded, his voice barely betraying the tension that had gripped them all. The scouts were late in returning, At the Perimeter, that meant danger, and they all knew it.
Liraen lowered his eyes, hunching his shoulders for a moment. When he raised his gaze again, his anger had fled. " I am sorry, Trev. Forgive me."
Trev shrugged. "With luck we'll all be home soon. It's not your fault." He pushed back his hood, revealing straight brown hair that barely touched the top of his collar. Pleasant brown eyes smiled warmly in a rather unremarkable face.
Grimly the albino began pacing. He frowned at the touch of the sun's dying rays upon his bared face, but otherwise ignored his surroundings. The other men frowned.
"Liraen, stop it." Six-fingered hand plucked absently at a belt pouch as angled blue eyes fixed upon the albino. He went unheeded. Standing, he threw back his cloak. Fine blonde hair was pulled back and fastened at the nape of his neck , tumbling in a golden cascade across his blue-clad shoulders and back. His aqualine face, what had been called both haughty and beautiful by many people, was shadowed, lending him a decided dark quality. He scratched absently at one pale, pointed, beringed ear.
"Liraen, your nerves are effecting us all. Get control." He frowned for a moment, and his voice softened as he switched to his native tongue. "What is it? I've never seen you like this, Lir."
The strange, sing-song language of the Sh'ijr drew a sudden look from Trev, who sat at the edge of the fire, warming his hands against the chilling air. His blade lay naked across his knees, a sign of the tension that had blossomed in the darkness. The albino stopped pacing, fists clenched. A shudder passed through his lank body, his eyes focused on nothing.
"Time is growing short. We have to find him."
The blonde moved forward, putting his hand tenderly on Liraen's shoulder. Crimson eyes met blue. Crimson fell first.
"I am sorry, Thyme." Liraen's voice was barely audible over the crackling of the fire.
"I understand, brother. That boy, whomever he is, will be found. His power is hurting us all. But fretting will do nothing to help the situation, Lir. Control yourself. "
Liraen nodded slowly, restraining himself. Old disciplines rose to the surface, calming him. Thyme sensed this change and nodded his approval. Though they were not brothers by birth, they were cut from the same cloth.
Near the fire, Trev spoke into the silence. "Liraen, what do you think--"
Liraen's head snapped up, dark eyes flashing with the sudden movement. He held up a warning hand. Trev fell silent, one hand grasping the sword balanced on the knees while Thyme looked around them, trying to pierce the darkness.
A long heartbeat later, Liraen frowned, dropping his arm. He glared at Trev. "An irresponsible fool," he growled, resuming his pacing. As he stalked away, a shadow came to life and mock-stabbed him with a broken tree branch. "Gotcha."
Liraen pushed the offending limb away with a snort as a second shadow stepped forward, approaching Thyme.
"What's wrong with him? We shouldn't have been able to get that close."
The first man removed the black cloak concealing his identity. Long hair fell unrestrained over his face and shoulders, dark as a moonless midnight sky. His face was lean and slightly dusty, with a thin nose that was perhaps a trifle too long, and a generous mouth that smiled often. His eyes still held a spark of mischief in their emerald depths as he approached the fire. The second man had also removed his cloak and settled like a mirror image across from his twin.
Thyme turned upon the two. "What in the Lady's Name was that all about? Were you trying to get killed? "
The black haired man sighed, and bit back a retort, seeing the anger in his superior's eyes. Rene straightened, and suddenly his gaze shifted to the left, his brown eyes widened. "Lir? " he whispered.
The others turned, Thyme drawing in a sharp breath. Liraen, balancing himself against a tree with one hand, was trembling, depending entirely upon the trunk for support. His crimson eyes were dilated , and his breathing had grown rapid. Sweat beaded his face. He was murmuring under his breath, shaking his head in denial.
Thyme cursed, moved quickly to Lir's side. He knew the albino's power was immense, but to see it in action was always surprising and humbling. The albino nearly doubled in a sudden spasm and lurched away from the tree. "Se?ran! No!" He ran few steps into the forest and stumbled, falling to his hands and knees. Exchanging confused glances, the others followed.
When the albino looked up, his eyes narrowed, twin crimson flames in a face of sculptured snow. He raised one hand to his lips, tore off the glove with his teeth, spat it aside. The pale, almost skeletal hand reached out and pulled something from the leaves and moss that littered the forest floor. He raised it for inspection, careful as if it had been a precious jewel. He spoke a single, harsh syllable, and the tiny treasure began to glow. He shook his head, causing long curls of the palest crystal to tumble into his face. An expression of wry tolerance crossed his features for but a moment. Raising his other hand, he beckoned, speaking one word.
"Thyme."
One of the four regarding him stepped forward. He ran a nervous hand through bangs of golden corn. He approached, and knelt near the crouched albino. " What is it, Liraen?" Thyme's voice was almost musical, like water falling over rocks.
The albino raised his head, raking his curls back with one hand. Then he pointed to the ground they sat on. To the leaves. The leaves that were burned and blackened, though there was no other sign of fire. Thyme inhaled sharply and looked at Liraen. The albino nodded.
"I never noticed these. How could I...how could we have been so blind? Here- the trees and the leaves he burned. He's so close, and he's growing stronger every moment......." Liraen's voice trailed off. "Such raw Power...how can I hope to control him?"
Thyme squeezed Liraen's shoulder. " You will. What else?"
Liraen held up the small item he had found. Thyme took it, turned it over in his hand, holding it up to the light. A fine line appeared between his furrowed brows as
\recognition and confusion fought for control of his features.
"It's an identity badge. A family seal of sorts. Many southern landholders use them to mark their people or property. This one I've heard of: Derrida. Myllar, by name. This badge is his son's......." Thyme's voice trailed off, wonder filling him. The name on the badge was the same one Liraen had cried out moments before.
"Se?ran, " he stated flatly.
"Se?ran Derrida..." Liraen tasted the name, eyes closed briefly as pain lined his face. "So that's the specter's name."Liraen's hands began to shake. Crouched next to him, Thyme began to worry.
"Lir, what is it? What do you see? " Thyme gripped the albino's shoulder, shook him gently. Liraen raised his eyes and their gazes locked, blue eyes and crimson. Thyme looked away first, seeing the pain and fear in Liraen's eyes. Thyme had never seen the albino so distraught. He felt a slight touch in his mind, the gentle touch of Liraen. Images flooded him; Foresight, fear, sorrow, pain, confusion. He squeezed Liraen's hand in his own, feeling the ring that had been his gift to the albino years ago biting into his palm. He gripped his bond-brother's shoulder. "I understand."
Liraen regarded him, fighting for control. The only sound in the strangely silent forest was his ragged breathing.
"This must come to an end. We must find him. "
--------------------------------------------------
4)And now, for your mental health, imagine that you *had* to read more than 200 pages of the narrative voice below....
---------------------
Whooshwas the sound the air made as it was cut by a swinging object. It was simply his legs, flapping back and forth like a child as he sat on a ledge high above the door to the inn. Dangling his feet as such gave him a subtle peace, like being a child again. No worries, no cares. Now though, times were different and a man had to make his money the only way he could. Even if it meant killing others for it. He had been hired to oversee the death of the one they refer to simply as Vega, though she hadn?t always been known so simply. He sat high above as he watched another stranger enter the inn.
I wonder... he thought to himself as he saw the man dressed in black.I wonder if he's friend or foe. Either way, it is of no matter. I'll fight two. I'll fight twenty. I care not.
Shadowfang felt the itch of his Coldfire blade against his back. Adrenaline pumping through his veins with the speed and force of a thousand horse-pulled carriages. Sweat beaded onto his brow and fell to the ground like a sweet spring rain shower.
The time was now?the blade hungered. He slid down a nearby lamp post and took his sword off of his back and attached it under his coat. Feeling the uneasy tension of another assignment, he opened the door and begin to survey the area.
He knew he probably wasn't the only one looking for this woman assassin so he'd better find her first or find a new job. He began to search the room for signs of her
I can?t read what came next in mu hardcopy because I had blacked everything out like a redacted CIA document from the 50s!)
Shadowfang watched in horror as the medallion fell to his feet. Hearing her denial of assistance, Shadowfang began to feel, once again....
RAGE
His fangs began to grow as his eyes went from their dark brown color to a glowing blue. Using his jumping ability afforded to him as an undead, Shadowfang leapt to the rooftop of the cabin. He stood in front of her, the burning itch of his sword propelling him to ex tract it from it's sheath upon his back.
Shadowfang could not help but obey its command. One thing you should know....I'm a lot better than last time. Remember, I told you we'd end it here. Prepare to make your last stand!
With that, Shadowfang unsheathed his Coldfire blade and, with saliva dripping from his fangs, began to move across the roof towards the woman.
--------------------------- -----------
I have already reviewed these; now it is YOUR turn! (any home remedies for the kind of tooth headaches that make your inner ear hurt, too, will be rewared with Rep, and my eternal board-love!)
