My Story
I'm working on a story. It doesn't have to do with natural selection, so I decided it was off topic (and not fan-fiction stuff). I would like any input on how the story should go from here on out. I have sort of an idea, but any ideas you might have that I like, I'll add.
<!--c1--></div><table border='0' align='center' width='95%' cellpadding='3' cellspacing='1'><tr><td><b>CODE</b> </td></tr><tr><td id='CODE'><!--ec1-->Chapter 1
The poor boy was in shambles. He couldn't have been more than thirteen years of age wearing little more than a couple rags. With a hand throwing him into a dark damp dungeon room with only a small window for a view, the boy clumsily fell to the ground. The boy was furious. All he knew, all he cared about was the necromancer. Killing the necromancer, to be more precise. Torturing, quartering, wringing, bruising, and burning were all acceptable as well.
The boy quickly jumps onto his feet running to the cell door closing him inside as it locks. He thrusts his hands though the hole in the door with two metal bars in a desperate attempt to satisfy his hatred.
"You killed my brother you monster!" screamed the boy. There, a tall man stood, looking less like a man and more like a skeleton with his rib cage showing through his very clothes. His face looked tired and sunken looking like a skull. His hair was white as bleached bone pulled back behind his head into a pig tail, and he stunk like decaying death.
"Seilis will suffice," calmly replied the strange man.
"I'll kill you if it's the last thing I do!" shouted the boy as Seilis walks calmly away down the hall and up the stairs. For a few more moments, the boy shouted in vain with all his might any threats he could think of. The boy finally accepting defeat, slouched down the door as he hears a voice shout down the hall in an eerily calm voice, "I'll kill you tomorrow you'll be pleased to know" and then a door slamming.
The boy in a mixture of hatred and fear didn't know what to make of the ultimatum. He stayed huddled in a ball in the opposite corner of the small room trying to recall all the memories of home: the farm, mom's meeloff tarts, dad's subtle way of showing that he's proud of him, his brother's odd smile. My brother is dead. That necromancer killed him! The frustration mounting caused him to want to beat the wall down with his fists, but the wall never moved, and his hands only hurt afterwards. This cycle of hatred continued for several hours, and the boy, tired and exhausted, finally fell asleep.
The next morning, footsteps could be heard once again coming down the stairs and down the hall. The door creaked open, as the boy, ready as a panther, dashed from the room through the adjacent door hitting it with such force that it threw the door wide open. The unsuspecting man was thrown clear to the ground by the flying door. The boy trips to the ground, quickly gets back up again and lunges at the man on the ground.
Seilis threw on an intimidating smirk that would make a tiger into a lamb and cast out his arm.
"Cryptus exilious!" Seilis said in a commanding voice. The boy, as if completely responsive to the words, felt himself freeze. Every muscle in his body simply refused to move at all. Even his head was frozen in the position it was at the time he said the words. He found himself frozen in mid air with a strange orange glow surrounding his body.
"Silly boy. If you want to kill me, you'll have to do better than that," smiling ever so softly. The boy makes a sound as if trying to talk through clenched teeth.
"Wish to say something to me, boy? Speak up." He waved a piece of carved bone with feathers sticking out on one end, and the boy found himself falling to the ground in an awkward manner.
"Why don't you just get it over with!? Do what you did with my brother and get it over with!" screamed the boy. He secretly began to search on the ground for a weapon to use.
"I have use for a slave. When I am no longer in need of your services, I shall free you," nonchalantly replied Seilis.
"You'll free me?" the boy asked shockingly.
"In death, we're all free," Seilis grinned. The boy teared up trying to remember a time when he ever missed his dad's regular punishments or his mom's paddle so much. He thought he stumbled upon a piece of broken glass with his fingertips on the ground.
"If you insist on not cooperating, I will be forced to find help elsewhere," Seilis said looking down on him. "Perhaps your mother or father would be eager to help?"
Striking a nerve as Seilis knew it would, the boy lunged at Seilis and made a weak slash at his arm. Seilis did not react to this movement as he did this, and as the mark was made on Seilis's arm, so was a mark made on the boy's arm. The boy, shocked at the pain, dropped the glass and stared at the mark on his arm.
"While you were sleeping, I bound us in a curse. You cannot kill me unless you wish to die as well. Now, I strongly advice you to come with me or punishment will be in order," said Seilis sounding slightly irritated, began to walk down the hallway and up the stairs. Finding the boy still standing there, beckoned him to follow.
The boy did not know what to do. Too many strange things happening too fast. It was almost some sort of nightmare that he could not seem to awake from. Though, understanding full and well his power and not wishing to die just yet, he decided to follow.
End of chapter 1.<!--c2--></td></tr></table><div class='postcolor'><!--ec2-->
<!--c1--></div><table border='0' align='center' width='95%' cellpadding='3' cellspacing='1'><tr><td><b>CODE</b> </td></tr><tr><td id='CODE'><!--ec1-->Chapter 1
The poor boy was in shambles. He couldn't have been more than thirteen years of age wearing little more than a couple rags. With a hand throwing him into a dark damp dungeon room with only a small window for a view, the boy clumsily fell to the ground. The boy was furious. All he knew, all he cared about was the necromancer. Killing the necromancer, to be more precise. Torturing, quartering, wringing, bruising, and burning were all acceptable as well.
The boy quickly jumps onto his feet running to the cell door closing him inside as it locks. He thrusts his hands though the hole in the door with two metal bars in a desperate attempt to satisfy his hatred.
"You killed my brother you monster!" screamed the boy. There, a tall man stood, looking less like a man and more like a skeleton with his rib cage showing through his very clothes. His face looked tired and sunken looking like a skull. His hair was white as bleached bone pulled back behind his head into a pig tail, and he stunk like decaying death.
"Seilis will suffice," calmly replied the strange man.
"I'll kill you if it's the last thing I do!" shouted the boy as Seilis walks calmly away down the hall and up the stairs. For a few more moments, the boy shouted in vain with all his might any threats he could think of. The boy finally accepting defeat, slouched down the door as he hears a voice shout down the hall in an eerily calm voice, "I'll kill you tomorrow you'll be pleased to know" and then a door slamming.
The boy in a mixture of hatred and fear didn't know what to make of the ultimatum. He stayed huddled in a ball in the opposite corner of the small room trying to recall all the memories of home: the farm, mom's meeloff tarts, dad's subtle way of showing that he's proud of him, his brother's odd smile. My brother is dead. That necromancer killed him! The frustration mounting caused him to want to beat the wall down with his fists, but the wall never moved, and his hands only hurt afterwards. This cycle of hatred continued for several hours, and the boy, tired and exhausted, finally fell asleep.
The next morning, footsteps could be heard once again coming down the stairs and down the hall. The door creaked open, as the boy, ready as a panther, dashed from the room through the adjacent door hitting it with such force that it threw the door wide open. The unsuspecting man was thrown clear to the ground by the flying door. The boy trips to the ground, quickly gets back up again and lunges at the man on the ground.
Seilis threw on an intimidating smirk that would make a tiger into a lamb and cast out his arm.
"Cryptus exilious!" Seilis said in a commanding voice. The boy, as if completely responsive to the words, felt himself freeze. Every muscle in his body simply refused to move at all. Even his head was frozen in the position it was at the time he said the words. He found himself frozen in mid air with a strange orange glow surrounding his body.
"Silly boy. If you want to kill me, you'll have to do better than that," smiling ever so softly. The boy makes a sound as if trying to talk through clenched teeth.
"Wish to say something to me, boy? Speak up." He waved a piece of carved bone with feathers sticking out on one end, and the boy found himself falling to the ground in an awkward manner.
"Why don't you just get it over with!? Do what you did with my brother and get it over with!" screamed the boy. He secretly began to search on the ground for a weapon to use.
"I have use for a slave. When I am no longer in need of your services, I shall free you," nonchalantly replied Seilis.
"You'll free me?" the boy asked shockingly.
"In death, we're all free," Seilis grinned. The boy teared up trying to remember a time when he ever missed his dad's regular punishments or his mom's paddle so much. He thought he stumbled upon a piece of broken glass with his fingertips on the ground.
"If you insist on not cooperating, I will be forced to find help elsewhere," Seilis said looking down on him. "Perhaps your mother or father would be eager to help?"
Striking a nerve as Seilis knew it would, the boy lunged at Seilis and made a weak slash at his arm. Seilis did not react to this movement as he did this, and as the mark was made on Seilis's arm, so was a mark made on the boy's arm. The boy, shocked at the pain, dropped the glass and stared at the mark on his arm.
"While you were sleeping, I bound us in a curse. You cannot kill me unless you wish to die as well. Now, I strongly advice you to come with me or punishment will be in order," said Seilis sounding slightly irritated, began to walk down the hallway and up the stairs. Finding the boy still standing there, beckoned him to follow.
The boy did not know what to do. Too many strange things happening too fast. It was almost some sort of nightmare that he could not seem to awake from. Though, understanding full and well his power and not wishing to die just yet, he decided to follow.
End of chapter 1.<!--c2--></td></tr></table><div class='postcolor'><!--ec2-->
Comments
The grammar is basically painful. The sentence structure is stretched and problematic. You switch tenses between present and past several times. The paragraphing makes little to no sense. You use commas like they're going out of style, and mostly in the wrong places. The story, as much as I can see, doesn't grab the reader's attention. It's sort of a generic fantasy bit. Nothing wrong with that, but there does have to be something to set it apart from the same generic fantasy everyone else tries to write when starting out.
But look on the bright side. You <i>have</i> made the effort. If you can hold on to that effort -- and put up with criticism ten times worse than the snippet that I've just dished out -- you could have a future in it. Just realize that the first few times you write something, it's going to be terrible. You learn to recognize what's terrible about it, and you improve on it, and you write something less terrible. But still pretty bad. And the cycle repeats itself until you start writing something that's semi-decent. But that's only if you've got the teeth-gritting stamina to keep slogging along even when you've grown to absolutely <i>despise</i> writing and everything that goes along with it.
On the other hand, if this was just a quick bit of fluff dashed off because you felt like it and you have no real interest in pursuing a lifetime devoted to the perfection of a craft (which is the only way one can approach writing -- it's all or nothing) then ignore everything I've said. And have a nice day!
<!--QuoteBegin--></div><table border='0' align='center' width='95%' cellpadding='3' cellspacing='1'><tr><td><b>QUOTE</b> </td></tr><tr><td id='QUOTE'><!--QuoteEBegin-->The poor boy was in shambles. He couldn't have been more than thirteen years of age, wearing little more than a couple of rags. With a hand throwing him into a dark, damp dungeon room - a woefully small window being the only point of interest - the boy clumsily fell to the ground. He was furious. All the boy knew, all that mattered to him, was the Necromancer. Killing the Necromancer, to be precise. Torturing, quartering, wringing, bruising and burning were all perfectly acceptable as well.<!--QuoteEnd--></td></tr></table><div class='postcolor'><!--QuoteEEnd-->
That said, it's a good start; do continue.
Lots of love!
<!--QuoteEnd--></td></tr></table><div class='postcolor'><!--QuoteEEnd-->
I'd advise learning the difference between active voice and passive voice. Also, I'd put something in front of this whole bit to introduce your audience to your character. Some possibilities are showing the boy in a different circumstance where he was happy, describing the type of jail he is being put into ("Moldy walls, slimy floors and the wet coughs of his fellow inmates"), or painting a large picture of the current scene then zooming in to the important parts (imagine a freeze frame in a movie, then the camera focuses on something you didn't notice and zooms in, like - "A tall man stood, so gaunt his ribcage showed right through his clothes. In his arms was a struggling boy" etc).
Here, using the same words, is the first paragraph in a much more effective format.
<!--c1--></div><table border='0' align='center' width='95%' cellpadding='3' cellspacing='1'><tr><td><b>CODE</b> </td></tr><tr><td id='CODE'><!--ec1-->The poor boy was in shambles, wearing little more than a couple rags. He couldn't have been more than thirteen years of age. A hand threw him into a dark damp dungeon room and he fell clumsily to the ground.
The boy was furious. All he knew, all he cared about was killing the necromancer. Torturing, quartering, wringing, bruising, and burning were all acceptable as well.<!--c2--></td></tr></table><div class='postcolor'><!--ec2-->
To be picky: if you're dead set on "Killing the Necromancer, to be precise" then "to be accurate" is the correct word to use. Anyway, before you get too depressed, I just wanted to say:
Writing is a skill, not a talent. As long as you do it you'll be getting better at it.
The teenager's withered limbs crumpled to the ground after being tossed into his new home. Despite the relentless aching of his battered body, the acidic lick of the cell's carpet of sand greeting his fresh wounds, and a hunger that amplified its ferocity with every passing minute, the youth's mind could focus on only one thing.
Making the Necromancer suffer.
Such thoughts were a literal lifetime away from his memories of home: the farm, his mother's tender hand, his father's home brew, and a love shared with his brother that neither would've admitted to, but a kind that could only exist in a pair that were able to bicker over menial issues yet concede mutual respect for each other in the same sentence. His brother was now dead at the hands of his captor. As the boy lay on the floor, physically broken yet mentally voracious, the black tides of rage that had previously ebbed but now roared through his body were becoming impossible to control. His bitter eruptions of fury, bile and venom were futile, with his adolescent passion directed at a foe he could not see and an existence he could not recover.
Sorry, I really have to stop there as those small paragraphs took almost 30 minutes to write. As I said, I'm dreadful with this crap. I hear most people just plonk their ideas down then go back and amend, but I wait until I'm happy then write it down. This takes ages. Right, as far as criticisms go:
<!--QuoteBegin--></div><table border='0' align='center' width='95%' cellpadding='3' cellspacing='1'><tr><td><b>QUOTE</b> </td></tr><tr><td id='QUOTE'><!--QuoteEBegin--> The poor boy was in shambles. He couldn't have been more than thirteen years of age wearing little more than a couple rags. With a hand throwing him into a dark damp dungeon room with only a small window for a view, the boy clumsily fell to the ground. The boy was furious. All he knew, all he cared about was the necromancer. Killing the necromancer, to be more precise. Torturing, quartering, wringing, bruising, and burning were all acceptable as well.<!--QuoteEnd--></td></tr></table><div class='postcolor'><!--QuoteEEnd-->
Couple OF rags. Did you not go back and check your work? Always do that. Try to expand on the size of the room later on, if he's staying there. We need that mental picture. How big is small? Could you fit a yak in there? Stone walls? Dusty? Rats? Right, you can't just say that the boy is 'furious' if he's had his family mangled. One word could never even remotely suffice, let alone one as weak as that. Give his fury a few sentences to unfold. Everything past "killing the necromancer" should be chopped, or heavily reworked. He wants to bruise the guy after he killed the family? Hello? It's like you're trying to add some levity to the situation, but it couldn't be more out of context.
<!--QuoteBegin--></div><table border='0' align='center' width='95%' cellpadding='3' cellspacing='1'><tr><td><b>QUOTE</b> </td></tr><tr><td id='QUOTE'><!--QuoteEBegin--> The boy quickly jumps onto his feet running to the cell door closing him inside as it locks. He thrusts his hands though the hole in the door with two metal bars in a desperate attempt to satisfy his hatred.<!--QuoteEnd--></td></tr></table><div class='postcolor'><!--QuoteEEnd-->
He's too angry for a bit of arm flinging to satiate his desire, isn't he?
<!--QuoteBegin--></div><table border='0' align='center' width='95%' cellpadding='3' cellspacing='1'><tr><td><b>QUOTE</b> </td></tr><tr><td id='QUOTE'><!--QuoteEBegin--> "You killed my brother you monster!" screamed the boy. There, a tall man stood, looking less like a man and more like a skeleton with his rib cage showing through his very clothes. His face looked tired and sunken looking like a skull. His hair was white as bleached bone pulled back behind his head into a pig tail, and he stunk like decaying death.
"Seilis will suffice," calmly replied the strange man.<!--QuoteEnd--></td></tr></table><div class='postcolor'><!--QuoteEEnd-->
Man, I wish I'd got far enough in my rewrite to introduce the Necromancer with,"Self will suffice." Nevermind. Don't use 'man' twice, don't use 'look' twice. Strange is an awful adjective to use for such a character. Describe his clothes, are they robes or what? Hey, my face always looks tired and sunken; very rarely does it resemble a skull, though that would explain the screaming. Are you trying to say he's got skin there, but not much? What?
<!--QuoteBegin--></div><table border='0' align='center' width='95%' cellpadding='3' cellspacing='1'><tr><td><b>QUOTE</b> </td></tr><tr><td id='QUOTE'><!--QuoteEBegin--> "I'll kill you if it's the last thing I do!" shouted the boy as Seilis walks calmly away down the hall and up the stairs. For a few more moments, the boy shouted in vain with all his might any threats he could think of. The boy finally accepting defeat, slouched down the door as he hears a voice shout down the hall in an eerily calm voice,<!--QuoteEnd--></td></tr></table><div class='postcolor'><!--QuoteEEnd-->
What a disgustingly cliche opening line there. Eurgh. Maybe I've got the wrong impression, but I thought the boy (and 13 IS boy, viewers) is supposed to have a head under constant assault by anger, hatred, pain, etc. Wouldn't he just forget the B-movie dialogue and get to twonking the Necromancer on the crankle? You've used calm three times so far, there are other words.
<!--QuoteBegin--></div><table border='0' align='center' width='95%' cellpadding='3' cellspacing='1'><tr><td><b>QUOTE</b> </td></tr><tr><td id='QUOTE'><!--QuoteEBegin--> "I'll kill you tomorrow you'll be pleased to know" and then a door slamming. The boy in a mixture of hatred and fear didn't know what to make of the ultimatum. He stayed huddled in a ball in the opposite corner of the small room trying to recall all the memories of home: the farm, mom's meeloff tarts, dad's subtle way of showing that he's proud of him, his brother's odd smile. My brother is dead. That necromancer killed him! The frustration mounting caused him to want to beat the wall down with his fists, but the wall never moved, and his hands only hurt afterwards. This cycle of hatred continued for several hours, and the boy, tired and exhausted, finally fell asleep. <!--QuoteEnd--></td></tr></table><div class='postcolor'><!--QuoteEEnd-->
That wasn't an ultimatum, it was steadfast statement of fact (he's so Self!). I like the "My brother is dead" shocker, except for your mixup of third and first-person. The problem is that you didn't expand on the feelings for the brother. Was he loved? Most siblings aren't that fond of one another. Oops, reading back I thought the bad guy killed his family, but it was only his brother. Still, expand further, as an "odd smile" doesn't do much for making me care. If you ever want to use an exclamation mark in a situation like this, really check that the sentence you're applying it to warrants inclusion. Frustration mounting? Will you be saying he's slightly perturbed next? The character's brother has been murdered by an evil demon. My frustration mounts when I can't get the car to start. Do you see the difference in our respective situations?
<!--QuoteBegin--></div><table border='0' align='center' width='95%' cellpadding='3' cellspacing='1'><tr><td><b>QUOTE</b> </td></tr><tr><td id='QUOTE'><!--QuoteEBegin-->The next morning, footsteps could be heard once again coming down the stairs and down the hall. The door creaked open, as the boy, ready as a panther, dashed from the room through the adjacent door hitting it with such force that it threw the door wide open. The unsuspecting man was thrown clear to the ground by the flying door. The boy trips to the ground, quickly gets back up again and lunges at the man on the ground.<!--QuoteEnd--></td></tr></table><div class='postcolor'><!--QuoteEEnd-->
I like that paragraph, even though he's probably too fatigued to be compared to a panther.
<!--QuoteBegin--></div><table border='0' align='center' width='95%' cellpadding='3' cellspacing='1'><tr><td><b>QUOTE</b> </td></tr><tr><td id='QUOTE'><!--QuoteEBegin-->Seilis threw on an intimidating smirk that would make a tiger into a lamb and cast out his arm.<!--QuoteEnd--></td></tr></table><div class='postcolor'><!--QuoteEEnd-->
Grammar. Also, if you're going to be using metaphors, please expand a little further. Oh man!
<!--QuoteBegin--></div><table border='0' align='center' width='95%' cellpadding='3' cellspacing='1'><tr><td><b>QUOTE</b> </td></tr><tr><td id='QUOTE'><!--QuoteEBegin-->"Cryptus exilious!" Seilis said in a commanding voice. The boy, as if completely responsive to the words, felt himself freeze. Every muscle in his body simply refused to move at all. Even his head was frozen in the position it was at the time he said the words. He found himself frozen in mid air with a strange orange glow surrounding his body.<!--QuoteEnd--></td></tr></table><div class='postcolor'><!--QuoteEEnd-->
Hocus pocus! I'd leave the actual spell quote out, and instead describe it as an arcane chant in a language that's instinctively recognised but impossible to transcribe, or something to that effect. And really sir, you have to describe parts like these more thoroughly. A feeling as alien as having your limbs cease their functions cannot be summarised in "every muscle simply refused to move at all." Tell us about his rising panic! His fruitless attempts at escaping his invisible bonds! Just take your time and give us the scenario more graphically.
Right, I'm growing a bit weary now, so here's the rest in condensed form. You definitely couldn't fit a yak here!
I'd guess that most people would fall to the ground in an awkward manner.
He definitely didn't say "You'll free me," shockingly, unless he's talented like that.
The dialogue is tacky, but in fairness there's no way I could do better, so scratch that. I think I saw a hentai that resembled this plot, actually. On that note, really don't go into describing the captive's defecation procedures, as no good will come of it.
"Shocked at the pain," after inadvertently knifing himself won't do.
Right, done. Please try again, as I'm sure if you applied yourself a bit more, you could create something that'd wee on anything I could manage from a nice distance. There's also the fact that I spent an age on this post, so if you just ignore it I'll go and cry somewhere. I'm genuinely sorry if I seemed harsh. Also, I'm aware of the blazing hypocrisy for me criticising him for his use of grammar, so don't point that out.
I know there' plenty of room for improvement. The main thing I wanted to push through was the storyline. I haven't gone into too much detail about the boy or the necromancer for intentional reasons. Adjectives are always good. I'll need go go back and be more descriptive I think.
But grammar aside, how was it? I appreciate all the criticism I've gotten so far. I do this so I can improve myself. If I don't, then I'll never get better. So you sort of have to push past worrying about what people think.
Your brain is split into two hemispheres: the right and the left. The right side is the side which dominates drawing and "big picture" thinking, and the left side dominates writing/verbage and "detail" thinking. I'm already good at drawing, so I figure if I get good at writing, I'm maximizing the potential. "Brain" training if you will.
Writing is not a career choice. <!--emo&:p--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html//emoticons/tounge.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='tounge.gif' /><!--endemo-->
I'd like to be better at creativity as well as being able to build a good storyline.
Anyone have ideas on how the plot should go? I want the necromancer to slowly be revealed to a reader. The reader should sort of hate the necromancer now. But later, I want the necromancer to be almost a father to the boy in a strange twisted way. Gradually it will be revealed that the necromancer is merely misunderstood, and that he is actually a decent person. Eventually the boy will be his pupil.
Before I go with chapter 2, I'll be sure to "submit" a 2nd draft of chapter 1, and I'll let you guys see what you think.
Yes and no. Be careful that you don't fall into a trap that everyone falls into at some point. Description is good, but the difference between painting a word picture and writing a thesaurus is very small. It's amazingly easy to get caught up in describing something, and before you know it you've got lines like: "The green dark wet leaves hung turgidly in the garishly reddish orange light streaming down from the bloated heavy burning eye of the cruel sun as it peeked out from behind the deathy drab ashen swollen clouds. The sick fat drops of greasy rain pattered on the mud and filth encrusted earth like the tapping of the bony white finger of death..." and so on.
All you've managed to get across is that the character is somewhere leafy and it's raining. But you've taken half a page to do it in. Description is all about quality over quantity. Find the words that say exactly what you want, and use only those. The temptation is always there to just keep going on and on with more and more random synonyms to describe one thing, but you'll be doing yourself a great favor if you beat that temptation down.
However I will emphasis this; keep on going, and keep that motivation you have to write. That is probably the most important thing. It doesn't matter how bad the first draft is, because the more you do it, the better your work becomes.
In any case, I like it and I commend you for what you have done so far. Once you've gotten the gist of what works and what doesn't; in so far as the basics go, another option is to work on your own writing style.
Keep up the good work.
Overall, not bad. As others have said, grammer is off in a few places, but not too bad. I found in my very first stab at writing that it helps to read it through to yourself every time you finish a new section. You may think you don't need to since its YOU writing it after all, but believe me, its a good way to spot obvious mistakes and instances where a better word can be used in place of an existing one.
<!--c1--></div><table border='0' align='center' width='95%' cellpadding='3' cellspacing='1'><tr><td><b>CODE</b> </td></tr><tr><td id='CODE'><!--ec1-->Chapter 1
The poor boy was in shambles. He couldn't have been more than thirteen years of age wearing little more than a couple OF rags. With a dark hand releasing the collar of his worn-out shirt into a dark damp dungeon only big enough to hold a modest bed, the boy clumsily fell to the ground. [I]He must pay[/I], he thought to himself. All he knew, all he cared about at that moment of blind fury was killing the one that slaughtered his brother in cold blood.
The boy quickly jumped to his feet and in a fit of rage, ran to the cell door as it closed and locked him inside. He lifted himself off the ground and grabbed one of two iron bars in the hole of the cold cruel metal door. Pulling himself up, he thrusted his hands though the window in a desperate attempt to satisfy his hatred.
"You killed my brother you monster!" screamed the boy. There he saw him clearly. A tall man stood, looking less like a man and more like a skeleton with his rib cage showing through his very clothes. His face seemed tired and sunken vaguely resembling a skull in shape. His hair was white as bleached bone pulled back behind his head into a pig tail, and he stunk like decaying death. He was human, but then at the same time he wasn't.
"Seilis will suffice," calmly replied the monster.
"I'm not going to let you get away with killing my brother!" shouted the boy as tears started to form as Seilis walked calmly away down the hall and up the stairs. For a few more moments, the boy tried to shout in vain with all his might any threats he could think of, but words escaped him. The boy finally accepting defeat, slouched down the door as he heard a solemn eerie voice echo down the corridor, "I'll kill you tomorrow you'll be pleased to know" and then a door slamming.
The boy in a mixture of hatred and fear didn't know what to make of the statement. Upon closer inspection of the cell he was in, he noticed it had a small window etched deep into the stone wall with more iron bars across it. A couple of mice were making their homes underneath his bed. A tarantula was happily praying off the maggots feasting on a dead rat in another corner.
He stayed huddled in a ball in the opposite corner of the small room trying to recall all the memories of home: the farm, mom's meeloff tarts, dad's subtle way of showing that he's proud of him, his brother's odd smile. Oh Joey, how he missed him. His younger brother was such an easy target to pick on. He recalled the times when he faked his father's low voice with the deepest grunting he could muster around the corner of the barn saying, "Joseph! Where are you, son?! I need your help!" Joey then, being ever so gullable, would run to help fear of being disobedient as he would get a mouthful of hay. This would, no doubt would then always be the source of keeling over sideways laughter for weeks to come. Joey, not quite being at the age to be distrusting, would always fall into the trap.
He loved his brother though. He had this awkward smile whenever he was happy that always looked out of place, but simply unavoidable. There was nobody he'd rather have allied with him against his father or mother when he did something wrong. His brother would do the best he could to persuade his parents not to punish him. And his parents, consequentially would have a soft spot for him and turn a threat of punishment into a warning. Of course, this was a trick he taught Joey with which he would always reward him with purple juicy loricberries that he could not pick on his own, because they were too far from the farm. Then would always come the inevitable conclusion: [I]My brother is dead. That necromancer killed him! [/I] The frustration mounting caused him to want to beat the wall down with his fists, but the wall never moved, and his hands only hurt afterwards. This cycle of hatred continued for several hours, and the boy, tired and exhausted, finally fell asleep.
The next morning, footsteps could be heard once again coming down the stairs and down the hall. The entryway creaked open, as the boy, ready as a whip, dashed from the room to the unlatched door hitting it with such force that it threw the cell door wide open. The unsuspecting Seilis was thrown clear to the ground by the flying door as the boy trips to the ground. He quickly gets back up again and lunges at the horror on the ground.
Seilis threw on an intimidating smirk that would make even the most furocious tiger into a dossile lamb, and cast out his arm. He then closes his eyes and recites words in a commanding voice from a lost arcane language impossible to contrive. The boy, as if completely responsive to the words, felt himself freeze. Every muscle in his body simply refused to move at all. His legs, his hands, his legs, his head, his teeth, and even his toes were bound by some invisible force. He found himself frozen in mid air with a strange orange glow surrounding his body. He felt his uselessness grow by leaps and bounds and his rage grow even more.
"Silly boy. If you want to kill me, you'll have to do better than that," smiling ever so softly. The boy with all his might tried to make any sound come from his mouth and ended up making little more than a weak sound as if trying to talk through clenched teeth.
"Wish to say something to me, boy? Speak up." He waved a piece of carved bone with feathers sticking out on one end, and the boy found himself falling to the ground in an awkward manner.
"Why don't you just get it over with!? Do what you did with my brother and get it over with!" screamed the boy. He secretly began to scavenge on the ground for a weapon to use.
"I have use for a slave. When I am no longer in need of your services, I shall free you," nonchalantly replied Seilis.
"You'll... what?" the boy asked surprisingly.
"In death, we're all free," Seilis grinned ominously. The boy teared up trying to remember a time when he ever missed his dad's regular punishments or his mom's paddle so much when he thought he stumbled upon a piece of broken glass with his fingertips on the ground.
"If you insist on not cooperating, I will be forced to find help elsewhere," Seilis said brushing himself off looking down on him. "Perhaps your mother or father would be eager to help?"
Striking a nerve as Seilis knew it would, the boy slashed at Seilis and made a weak gash in his arm. Seilis did not react to this movement as he did this, and as the mark was made on Seilis's arm, so was a mark made on the boy's arm. The boy, dumbfounded at the pain, dropped the glass and stared at the mark on his arm.
"While you were sleeping, I bound us in a curse. You cannot kill me unless you wish to die as well. Now, I strongly advice you to come with me or punishment will be in order," said Seilis sounding slightly irritated, began to walk down the hallway and up the stairs. Finding the boy still standing there, beckoned him to follow.
The boy did not know what to do. Too many strange things happening too fast. It was almost some sort of nightmare that he could not seem to awake from. Though, understanding full and well his power and not wishing to die just yet, he decided to follow.<!--c2--></td></tr></table><div class='postcolor'><!--ec2-->