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Post by WJChesek ((Evern)) on Sept 15, 2009 15:25:27 GMT -5
The Desert Child
By: WJChesek Prologue: “Commander Ruvai, what is the state of the Skalderi Armed Forces?” The dark skinned, well dressed man leaned forward in his chair, the sandstone walls of the room framing his bright clothes. Fingers nearly encased in jewel encrusted gold folded together, the pointers touching the man’s neatly trimmed beard as it ran from ear to ear, looping around the mouth in a connected mustache. A breeze made his head covering; a silk hat with shade providing sides that fit under a gold circlet brushed over his kindly black eyes swept the room, locking on another figure, this one a woman, the Commander Ruvai. Ruvai leaned forward, shuffling parchment with her small hands, the pommel of the massive scimitar on her back glinting in the afternoon sun. Dark eyes of her own gazed at the papers for a little bit, then she looked up at the current “King” of the desert land of Skalder, she smiled, showing off perfectly white teeth, the long folds of her own sand colored clothing draping upon the simple wooden table as she leaned forward. Finally, her eyes met the King’s, “All is quiet, m’lord.” She nodded, “The outposts report nothing from any of the three sides, and our navy is holding our coast well.” She offered a sly smirk, stretching from the right side of her mouth up her cheek, giving the pretty woman a seductive countenance, “Oh, and there is one more thing, m’lord.” She said as she stood, her long legs taking a mere three strides to make it to his end of the table. She smiled, leaned in, and rammed a dagger into the King’s neck, “Your land, is now mine.” The King gaped, his dark eyes staring wide into Commander, now Queen, Kuvai, entirely in shock. And in the end, he saw his fatal flaw, the reason this could happen without his knowledge; He relied on Kuvai for all his information in that respect. Though, the last thought his brain had before he entered the darkness was morbid curiosity of what Kuvai would do to his people. After the King’s eyes closed, Kuvai stood up straight, and pulled the bloody knife from the dead monarch’s neck, pointing it at each of the people around the table, as the guards stepped forward, spears raised slightly off the ground, eyes wide with surprise, “You all answer to me now.” |
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Post by WJChesek ((Evern)) on Sept 15, 2009 22:12:59 GMT -5
Chapter One
The streets of the city were bustling with activity early in the morning. Stalls were opened before the first rays of light were visible from the highest tower of the palace, and the customers were around just after it was. Now, with the moon and its shattered sister sinking just below the horizon, the area was at its busiest. The perfect time for a boy like Otengo Chewen to be out and about his business, a bustling marketplace provided an excellent work environment for both the stall owners, and the people unable to afford anything under the Empress’s iron fist regime. Even the Skalderian Army appeared to be tired of the way things were going lately. And, with the war raging in the valley to the south between Skalder’s two neighbors, it seemed like the Empress would throw their lot in with whoever offered more first. And that thought did nothing to assuage the family members of these military men and women.
None of this seemed to bother Otengo though; he simply slipped through the crowd, peeking at all the stands as though looking for something. After some searching, by the sun was just starting to crest the city’s walls, the boy found what he was looking for, a fruit stall, and next to it, one touting all sorts of baked goods, and one beyond that, meat. He grinned, quickly grabbing a loaf of bread off one stand, and a pair of cactus apples off the other, sprinting off into the crowd.
He laughed at the shouts coming from the stands, and turned the corner before any of the guard could see who was running. Then, skidding to a stop, he examined his loot. The bread was second rate to any rich sap, and had a crust of mold from where it was kept the previous night, but was still good. The apples were bruised, and smaller than he had thought, but edible nonetheless.
“He went around that corner!” an angry shout echoed through the alley, and Otengo grimaced taking off down the alley. To be caught would mean removal of his fingers, and eventually death by starvation. And that wouldn’t do at all. In a flash he had his loot stuffed into a makeshift bag that was looped over his shoulder, and he began climbing a lattice to his right, to the top of the building. From there, now in sight of a great deal of the guards, he sprinted to the end and jumped the three foot space between the buildings. After thirty seconds of this, he turned right, jumping to the inner wall of the city, the wall that separated the slums from the richer sections, and scrabbled up the side.
As one of his hands grasped the edge of the wall loosely, he lost his footing, and suddenly found himself hanging by his fingertips off the edge of a three story drop. Such a fall would certainly mean his death. He shut his eyes to the long distance, and groped with his other hand for the edge, he might still be ab-
A hand wrapped around his wrist, and lifted him up in a strong grip, placing him on his feet at the top of the wall. Otengo opened an eye to see the face of his savior, and met the wrapped face of one of the wall guard, frowning at him with disappointment, “I’m sorry sir, terribly sorry, it won’t happen again I pr-“ The guard held a finger up to his bearded mouth, and winked at the boy in his grip.
As the mass of city guards came running up, the wall guard with Otengo in his possession leaned over the wall, “I got him. Go back to your posts, I’ll take him to where he belongs.”
Otengo frowned, turning his head to see the man around his upraised arm, “And, uh, where would that be, sir?”
The guard grinned, grabbing the boy’s other hand and looping a rope around both wrists and leaning in close, “I hope you stole a lot, kid.” He said, his voice oddly fatherly, as though he regretted what he was about to do, and started walking to the gatehouse, “You’ll need it.”
A swift blow to the head left Otengo reeling, his eyes bleary and tearing up, and a red hand shaped mark that reached up to his ears, “My recommendation, head southwest.” Then, Otengo lost all sense of direction, time, and balance. He threw up.
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Post by WJChesek ((Evern)) on Oct 1, 2009 15:59:24 GMT -5
Empress Ruvai stared out her window, grimacing at the sunrise. Her city below, sandstone buildings packed tightly together to ease the defense of the city. In the center, right next to the Palace, sat a near perfect circle filled with water, cool crisp water. An oasis in the desert that was the Empire of Skalder, as she had renamed the country to fit her new title. The people, peasants that they were, had continued to call it simply Skalder, as though to defy her will. She let them have that small victory, only because in this perfect city, all else obeyed her will. The white curtains blew inward with a breeze, and she smiled, holding her arms out as though to embrace the wind. She closed her eyes, breathing in deeply, and the exhaling, twirling around in such a way that her arms seemed to funnel the air around her, and to a desk coated with papers. The papers threatened to blow about the room wildly, and were stilled with but a look for a half moment before they did so, disobeying her silent order to taunt her and the new arrival in the room.
Ruvai sat on the bed, her dress showing off the curves of her lady like figure and yet letting everyone know that she was in charge. There were many rumors floating about when she had first risen to the rank of Commander, under the old king. They called her a whore, a slut, someone who sold her body for power. And they were mostly right too, except for the fact that she was a near genius with troop movements, coordination across the dunes. It had been Ruvai who had invented the way that the Sand Guard used to communicate across long distances, a code utilizing a single small mirror, and the light of the sun or moons. It had been Ruvai who, instead of marrying the king for power, had murdered him in his own wardroom. It had been Ruvai who, as a simple infantrywoman, had come up with the concept of the Sand Guard in the first place, only to have it stolen by her commanding officer, a petty man named Seacrest, he had been the first to die by her order. And now it would be Ruvai who would lead her desert nation to prosperity and wealth, just as soon as she took care of herself.
"Ma'am..." the man said, "I bring interesting news from the census commission..." he paused, fearful of some imagined repercussion.
Ruvai nodded slowly, a hand keeping her hair out of her face, "Go ahead, killing the bearer of bad news simply results in no one wishing to be a messenger. You will not be harmed for what you say now."
The man nodded, not quite believing her words, "They say that more people have been disappearing from the city. We've lost at least a contingent of soldiers collectively from all guards."
The Empress stared into the man's eyes with her piercing dark ones, "And?"
The man swallowed a lump in his throat, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand, "Well... Your generals worry that a rebellion might be in the making." He started visibly sweating now, wet splotches materializing on his clothes.
Ruvai nodded, once again tucking her black hair back, and leaning back on her bed. She propped herself up on her elbows and arched her back, staring at a small hole in the center of the domed ceiling, "Very well. Tell the generals to bolster our defenses, especially around my palace. And I want everyone in this building questioned thoroughly, no spies shall make their home within my walls." She paused, bringing her legs up and getting back into a sitting position, "Also, bring in Saladan." The man stood in rapt attention, waiting for all of his tasks, earning a small frown from his Empress, "Dismissed."
The messenger bowed in deference to Ruvai, and quickly left the room by way of giant doors, lest she remember something else that she wished him to do. He started off with a jog down the spiral staircase that led up to the tower, his bare feet slapping against the stone structure and bringing up small clouds of tan dust. He leapt the last five steps to the landing where he turned right, down the hall another few feet, and poked his head through a silk covered door, "Chief Advisor Saladan, She would like to see you."
Another man, this one wearing what had to be a heavy black and gold turban looked up from the papers all over his desk, and frowned, the tiniest clump of hair smoothed into a small point seemed to extend with the expression. Heavy black eyebrows that were slowly gaining gray furrowed, the advisor clearly unhappy with the latest interruption. He set down the feniks feather quill, and dark green eyes met those of the messenger, "Now?" he asked, annoyance in his rough voice.
"Yes, she said immediately, sir." The man nodded, almost hopping from foot to foot as though eager to be off.
"Very well," Saladan said, standing up and brushing his white and gold robes with his dark hands, "You may go." And the messenger was gone as quickly as he came.
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Post by WJChesek ((Evern)) on Oct 2, 2009 15:18:57 GMT -5
Otengo stretched, yawning wide and inhaling a mouthful of sand in the process. The boy gagged, coughing and spitting to clear his mouth before looking around. He gasped, he was beyond the gates... No civilian was allowed beyond the gates unless... Unless they were exiled... Otengo closed his eyes, whimpering slightly. This was undoubtedly worse than whatever else they could do to him, all over a loaf of bread and a handful of fruit. The street thief groaned, and started walking southwest, on some forgotten memory, maybe there was an oasis there?
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Post by WJChesek ((Evern)) on Oct 2, 2009 16:32:48 GMT -5
Saladan stepped through the wide arch into the Empress' chambers, his expression neutral. She was standing off by the window once more, though looking beyond the city. "You called, m'lady?" She turned when he spoke, offering a predatory smile.
"Yes, I did, Quensan." She stepped toward him, "The generals tell me that we are suffering from deserters. What are your thoughts?"
"My thoughts, My Empre-"
He was cut off by a raised hand, "Please, Quensan, use my first name, we are not in public. And such procedure can bog down the thinking process. Besides, it's been long enough."
Saladan smiled, this was why he didn't mind working so closely with her. The rest of those in the employ of the Royal House, as it was now called, feared her for her ruthlessness with the previous sovereign ruler of this nation. He respected her for it, and liked how she treated those directly beneath her. "Very well, Adiah, I think that there are two possibilities. The first; people are emigrating the country. This is simply because they wish a change of scenery, or they do not like the way you have taken power." He treaded carefully with those words, his smile evaporated, "Otherwise... We have to be aware that they might be forming a resistance to your beauteous rule."
Ruvai's face was marred by a frown, "Dispense with the pleasantries, Quensan. What do you suggest we do?"
"I suggest we send out scouts to find the location of a potential resistance encampment. If there is one out there, we can find it, and deal with it." Saladan nodded, bowing his head slightly.
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Post by WJChesek ((Evern)) on Oct 2, 2009 21:05:25 GMT -5
((Thanks, Agro! Comments/feedback is appreciated!))
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Post by WJChesek ((Evern)) on Oct 8, 2009 19:18:14 GMT -5
Chapter Two
Otengo wiped the sweat off his face for the thousandth time that day, and grumbled to himself about the heat for the hundredth time.
The scorching sun above and ahead outlined the thief’s destination. What appeared to be a camp around some structure or other that seemed to possess thin uneven towers at odd places. Everywhere else that Otengo looked, he saw nothing but sand and cacti, the dunes seeming to trap the thief in a giant sandy bowl, the city well beyond the lip behind him. As the boy drew closer, he saw that the towers were not towers, but the remains of some old stone building, half buried beneath the sand. Tall, once ornate, pillars stood, blasted by sand when the wind blew across the dunes, smoothing out the neat curvature, removing the small bumps and malformations. And making it impossible to tell what stories had once been carved on them. At least, Otengo thought they might have been stories, but he wasn’t a historian. All he cared about was that there were people there, and they had shade, probably food, and water. He’d steal it if he had to.
He didn’t make it that far. Otengo collapsed shortly after setting foot inside the camp, earning himself yet another mouthful of sand. The ground felt so relaxing, the thief felt he could lie there forever. He heard muffled voices, as though someone was shouting from far away, and behind a wall. Suddenly, the ground fell from underneath him, and there was a pressure on his arms. Eyes rolled around, someone mentioned water, and shortly thereafter, a tin cup was brought to his lips, sweet life giving liquid spilling all over his face. After a moment of someone pouring it into his mouth, Otengo found his strength, and grabbed the cup with both hands, draining the vessel of its precious contents.
“Are you alright, son?” a gravelly voice came, its owner coming into focus as someone handed the boy another cup of water. The man was appeared old, a gray and silver beard neatly framed his jaw line, and short cropped hair of the same color sat atop his head, trimmed to be flat on top. He wore sand colored cloth, and had a hood flipped back. The man looked out at the world through semi-worried blue eyes, and gnarled hands cupped the thief’s shoulders.
“Good.” He said, stepping back to get a better look at Otengo, then offering a hand, “Welcome to the Resistance, I’m the man in charge, General Tamang Acheran. What’s your name, recruit?”
Otengo swallowed the water that was in his mouth, “Recruit? I’m not-“
Acheran smiled, “Not what? A recruit? You’re here, aren’t you?” he said, gesturing towards the camp, which, Otengo realized belatedly, was actually quite large.
The thief thought it over. He had nowhere else to go, he couldn’t exactly get back into the city, and he would likely die if he left for some other random direction. Otengo shrugged, taking another sip from the cup, “Otengo Chewen. So… Where can a body get some food around here?”
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Post by Kaez on Oct 16, 2009 19:58:36 GMT -5
(( I'm really enjoying this one. It's not perfect by any means and the few things I'd point out are: A very few grammatical errors. Things like dark-skinned and hand-shaped should be hyphenated and ladylike is one word... easy stuff, but stuff to look out for.
Otherwise, my only criticisms are the strict eventfulness of it and the dialogue. By the former I mean, 95% of it is, "This happened, then this happened, then this happened." If there were a little more of... say, how Chapter 1 started, with the nice descriptions? That'd be good. And the latter... you know, while you want to avoid contractions in your writing, in dialogue, you need them. I'd advise actually saying all of your dialogue aloud to get a feel for making it more realistic. Other than that, really good work so far. Keep it up. ))
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Post by theredbaron on Oct 19, 2009 1:33:41 GMT -5
( Damn your writing ability, Evern. It will take me quite a while to read this... Your lucky you're a decent writer.  ) |
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Post by Meleta/Isoldaa on Oct 19, 2009 1:51:19 GMT -5
(( I suppose I'll start here because, well, Evern knows I've already read and reviewed this for him, chatting over IMs (which reminds me, Evern... *ahem*... there's a few stories you might want to review as well when you get the chance, having had a couple of your own done now as well? *eyebrow raise and a grin*  ) Anyway, we talked a bit about description, and characterization, and the general direction you intend to take this story. To tie it all together, there should be conflict between the protagonist and the antagonist, no matter where you plan to take them in the end. Grammatically, there wasn't an awful lot to worry at. I already mentioned the repetitious nature of the new empress' dialogue with her underling, and... hmm... Overall, a great start with the first chapter - would certainly like to see you continue this one. )) |
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Post by Kaez on Oct 19, 2009 8:52:34 GMT -5
(( To save you the wrath of Taed: you're* )) |
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Post by WJChesek ((Evern)) on Oct 19, 2009 11:42:21 GMT -5
(( To save you the wrath of Taed: you're* )) ((No, he was right. He implied that I possessed writing ability in relation to speed. Not that I was writing ability in relation to speed.)) |
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Post by Kaez on Oct 19, 2009 11:44:03 GMT -5
(( To save you the wrath of Taed: you're* )) ((No, he was right. He implied that I possessed writing ability in relation to speed. Not that I was writing ability in relation to speed.)) (( The quote is 'your lucky'. That is grammatically incorrect. You don't possess the lucky. YOU ARE lucky. It's you're. )) |
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Post by WJChesek ((Evern)) on Oct 19, 2009 11:46:17 GMT -5
((No, he was right. He implied that I possessed writing ability in relation to speed. Not that I was writing ability in relation to speed.)) (( The quote is 'your lucky'. That is grammatically incorrect. You don't possess the lucky. YOU ARE lucky. It's you're. )) ((Ah, yes... Silly me, not reading the part of his post that implied that I was lucky... XD)) |
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Post by James on Oct 19, 2009 17:08:58 GMT -5
((Alright Evern.
First of all enjoyable to read and it wasn't a slog to get to the end of it, which is good. There were a mistakes through though, just tiny things you haven't picked up on like "the man was appeared". Shouldn't be a was there.
Other than that, really just echoing what others said. A little bit more descriptions, show us don't tell us. Also the dialogue seems a little unrealistic.
The other point I would like to make is the prologue. Prologues or Chapter 1's are always the most important piece of a book. For two reasons:
A: It will be part some publishers will make a decision.
B: It's also the part where some readers will make the decision of whether the book is good enough to buy.
And this prologue felt just cumbersome. That first paragraph, instead of just slowly lowering the reader into your writing style, you hit them with a cricket bat. It's very heavy for a first paragraph.
Also this:
"his dark eyes staring wide into Commander, now Queen, Kuvai, entirely in shock"
Just didn't feel right. But that might be a personal preference.
Good work though Evern, keep it up.))
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