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A pair of excerpts


Invocation

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I'm looking for feedback on a couple of excerpts from my story (I don't actually have the larger story written yet, whoops). Please be honest, even if you're telling me it's bad.

Spoiler

              Darkness. Rough fabric on his face, rope around his chest and arms. What is this? Where am I?  He wonders.

              “Ah, you’re awake. Many apologies about the ropes and sack over your head, but we do have some secrets to maintain.” A cultured voice emanates from the darkness enfolding Rhys.

              Was that a Wightlands accent? There was no way they’d managed to take him that far. “Who are you?” Rhys asks, still attempting to gather his bearings. There was no wind, and not even light enough to come through the sack.

              “Come now, does that really matter? I think what matters here, young one, is who you are, not who I am. After all, I always know who I am,” came the voice again, chuckling with the end of sentence. “Tell me your story, in full, and perhaps I’ll be able to let you. Maybe even get you some water, as I’m sure you’re positively parched.”

              Rhys licked his lips, noticing that what the unidentified man had said about his throat was true. How long did they have me out for, if my throat dried up? “My name is Rhys. As you can probably tell from the sword at my waist, I am a knight of Hydras. I’m out on assignment, protecting someone.”

              “Who are you protecting, young Rhys?”

              “I’m not allowed to say,” Rhys countered, voice flat. They didn’t know about Darius. Thank the Dragons.

              “Fair enough, fair enough. You Hydrans and your secrets. I’ll never understand your obsession with dancing around the truth. I suppose you’ve earned freedom from those bonds, then,” said the man, pulling the sack off Rhys’s head.

Spoiler

The battle had been raging for three days. The dead littered the field outside the palace, decaying, eaten by carrion. Some were still alive, moaning in the dirt, unattended by the medical division who ran out of room in the healing tents. Rhys walked among the carnage, disgusted. He had dreamed, like every Hydran child did, of the glory of war, the honor of fighting for the kingdom, slaying those who would destroy their nation. Where was that now? Where was the glory in fighting young men fresh to the battlefield? Some of the ones he had killed didn’t even look like they’d begun shaving yet.

              Footsteps. The distinctive sounds on a sword being ripped from the scabbard. Rhys spun, raising his weapon to block the inevitable blow. The impact nearly jarred the sword from his hands. His opponent, a large man, raised his longsword again, grinning. A sweeping blow fell and Rhys was forced to parry, his feet sinking into the bloody mud from the force of the overhand blow. Rhys struck at the man with his fist, hoping beyond hope to push him back a little or disorient him. With a jingle of chainmail and a smirk from the mountainous man, the blow bounced off.

              “Want to try that again, little man? It won’t work any better the second time,” the enemy taunted.

              Rhys’s blood boiled. It was one thing to wear mail under a uniform, it was another to mock someone on the battlefield.

The man saw his expression shift and grinned wider. “What is wrong, small soldier? Did it finally dawn on you that your forces are broken? Battered to the ground, shattered into individuals? Did you realize that before noon tomorrow, there will be no more Hydras? We will break the palace apart stone by stone if we have to, to find your cowardly royal family. Take this into the void with you when you die: your rulers never cared about you. They would be here, fighting, if they cared one whit about any of you. You are playtoys to them. Perhaps we will be doing your remaining countrymen a favor by disposing of the trash that dares to try to rule.”

They’re going to kill Darius, Rhys thought. I can’t let that happen. He raised his sword, an incoherent, undulating cry echoing from his throat, jumping forward and battering madly at his opponent, who casually parried each blow before calmly batting the sword out of Rhys’s hand.

“Remember what I told you as you dissolve into the void. It’ll be the last thing you can ever think of,” snarled the large man, leaning in close. “I’ll let you have a long time to focus on that. If you can think through the pain.” He shoved his blade through Rhys’s abdomen as casually as if he was spearing a fig to roast.

Rhys’s world was pain. Pain and coldness. The sword was abruptly pulled from him, leaving blood to drip down, coldness flooding in to replace every drop of blood. Rhys fell over, hitting the ground with a wet smacking noise, the mud splattering over his shivering body. Thoughts flowed through his head. Did I fail? Am I dying? Where is my sword? Why does my sword matter? Faces floated across his vision. Darius, mother, father, Boardin and Roardin, the king at the ceremony. The words of the other combatant whispered to him again: “There will be no more Hydras.”

Rhys’s vision went red.

The large man walked away, whistling at the prospect of having offed another Hydran fool, when he heard a scraping noise behind him. There was no way that small one he’d cut down just now was getting back up, was there? He turned around, ready to deal with him if that was the case. Sure enough, he was struggling to his feet. His anger was almost visible as he rose, eyes steely and determined. Why did he look bigger than he was before? Was he…growing?

Rhys stood, swelling in anger, feeling as though he could light the world on fire by raw virtue of his rage. Funny, he thought, the man from before doesn’t seem so large now. Soft plinking noises sounded as gleaming black scales clinked into place up and down his arms, legs, and torso, covering the gut wound he had been suffering from. As they made their way to his face, he began to grow faster, the change accelerating until he could no longer stand bipedal under his own effort, plunking down onto four newly clawed feet. He blinked, and his vision changed, along with his eyes, were you to be looking from the outside. His vision expanded, showing the heat every object gave off and enhancing the twilight sun’s rays. It seemed almost as bright as a high-sun noon now, shadows banished.

The large man, Karreo, stood in awe as a very large…that didn’t do it justice…a vast winged lizard grew from the small man he thought he had killed. There was no chance the old legends were correct, were they? About the powers the royal bloodlines possessed? Was that scrap of a man one of the royals? Why couldn’t he look away from the mesmerizing scales?

 

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