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Posted By: ForeverZero Oct 08, 2004 - 02:51 pm

Well, chapter one is complete so I figured I'd give you all a taste of this story. But first, some notes to read:

1. This story is absolutely JAM-PACKED with Religious reference, as you might or might not have guessed from its title. The chapters are numbered like excerpts from the bible (Chapter 1 is instead called "0:1" ), and later on the story will have tons of reference from all kinds of religions.

2. Ascension is Episode V out of a six-episode series. The others have not been written yet--this is the debut episode. They are not sequels in the traditional sequel sense, instead they are divided by 500 years or more between episodes. The only exception is Episode VI, which continues where V left off. So more or less they are entirely different storylines, but once everyhting falls into place you will see how they are connected.

3. Episodes are actually divided into two "books" that I call "Chronicles", plainly for the fact that even when divided into Episodes the story is too epic. So I divided Episode V into two chronicles: "Shades of Gray" and "Pillars of Salt". If you know your Religion, the salt reference is yet another reference.

And now, I give you the chapter, finally.

Flickering Halo Episode V: Ascension
Chronicle I: Shades of Gray

0:1 Awakening


The ashen gray skies glistened in hues of terror and fear, as bolts of lightning lashed itself along the crackened earth like fiery whips. Their immediate springs into the terrain settled asunder blazes of fire amidst the lush fields that swayed coldly against the storm. As the torrential winds hammered against the stalwart mountains in the distance, trees swayed in the tempests as needles of rain pierced themselves into the world below, cascading amongst the emeralds and tangerines that stained the lushness of these lumbersome structures. As the clouds stirred in the harsh skies above, a vicious mist took hold of the earth below, it's very appearance expelled from the storm that preyed over it.

As the mist pried itself free from the intensity of the occurring storm, a feeling of malevolence circled within it, and the smell of death peered through every breath of the air that shrouded the area. Within the core of the mist stood two figures, both cloaked by the darkness of the night that surrounded them, the flashes from the storm incapable of revealing their faces. As the two figures stood there, a dissonant voice bellowed out from the enduring silence, shattering the calm that enveloped the immediate area.

"Give him to me..." the guttural voice demanded, as a sheath of light the color of blood permeated one of the figures, layering every facet of the being's physique. Discernible from the overcast shadow of this man sat armor black like soot, its every crevice and plate twisted into spikes of varying natures, the corrupted appearance itself reflecting the unhallowed feeling that the figure who bore it gave out. As the vermilion energy whirled around the figure, a flame erupted amidst the crevices of the demon's mask, whirling in place where an eye would be situated. The peering flame settled itself as the figure lifted his hand, extending its fingers to reveal talons black like the night, the palm readily open to accept the demand.

"'He' is mine..." the figure spoke again, its sepulchral voice echoed in the shattered silence amongst the storm. The very nature of the demonic voice made it seem like the occurring storm hushed itself, as though one word from the figure's blackened helm demanded itself silence to speak.

The unnerving voice however, in all its ferocity and wickedness, did little to hinder the figure to which it spoke. The man stood, undaunted, as the tattered cloak that mantled his body flowed in the strident air as the crackening light from the storm shone against its surface, facing down the shadow that bled energetic light from its unsettled position. As the two stared each other down, lightning flashed in the distance, revealing expel that painted the grassy plains the two stood on. Trailing the blood was a boy, tender in his age, who's wounded body sprawled itself along the delicate blades of grass that held him as his perforated flesh drowned itself in puddles of vermilion.

As the two stood menacingly, the cloaked man broadened his stance, throwing his hands skywards as though he himself invited the falling droplets of rain. A hush fell before the two, and in the midst of the darkness sprung a light, a pyre of divine embrace that grew intensely within the man's collectiveness. Pivoting the palms of his hands to the sky, the man harnessed the pyre that grew within him, and as he looked back at the demon before him, the embracing light blared into the ground like a pillar of flame, its iridescence screaming through the thickets of fog and darkness as stanchions of light erupted from the ground that harnessed it, wrapping themselves around the man like cloths of light, entwining their radiance along the fiery pillar that surrounded him. As he clasped his hands before his chest, the man peered before the shadow, who's very existence seemed to expel the divine light that embraced the cloaked figure and hide itself in the sinister shadow that overcast him. The light spun incredulously around the man as the bands of light festered around him, dipping out and back like tumbling waves before an ocean of brilliant fire.

"You may stain this world however you must, and the blood of innocents may yet heed your hellborn lust for death, cursed one. You may take my life with the writhing hate that courses every vein within your body, but..." The cloaked figure turned his head towards the child who drowned in the blood that embraced him, every second stepping closer to death. "....I will never let you have 'him'."

The tone set within the man's voice emitted a brilliance of wisdom, yet fear still resided within it as he spoke. The echo that resonated from the man rivaled that of the demon who stood before him, lacking the guttural tone the demon withheld.

As the words reverberated in the dead air amidst the fog, the demon's aura blazed in a sinister motion, intensifying itself as the shards of bleeding light screamed into the air, its very nature reacting to the cloaked man's words as though the demon himself became angered. Knives of red light punctured through the fog, and an unseen wave pulsated from the demon, the dense fog that once covered the two shunned away by some means. The cloaked man, unsettled by the demon's wrathful temperament, turned back towards the shadowed hellion as his blinding white energy clashed with the hoarding red that enveloped the beastly figure, adding a lasting remark that proved his determination to stand valorously against whatever wrath the demon judged against him.

"Even if it kills me!"

~~~~~
Monster.

A mirror of reckoning glinted its edge at the man, the surface stained like fog, reflecting all in its sight with a seemingly darker, more chaotic face. The sharp, single-edged blade hovered in place, ready to thrust itself into the man’s neck and mirror the world in metallic vermilion. It had been placed so abruptly that the shrieks of the air, the screams of the metallic blade still echoed with a siren of reaping, a foreshadowing reverb born of the blade’s eclectic vibrations. The shriek still hung in the stagnant air as the sword had been moved quickly and swiftly, and yet at the same time, slowly and calmly, passing through the wind as the air split into two and unleashed its screams of pain. The mirrored surface of the sword revealed eyes of a warrior, eyes of a man who fought valiantly, eyes of a man who would accept his defeat and take on his death with full embrace.

Yet, that embrace did not come. The blade hung in the air, waiting, biding, as if the reaping weapon was unsure if to take this man’s life or not, torn in a purgatory of mortality. It stood aimed at his neck, still and unmoving, like a metal statue, foretelling of death but never unleashing the destined fate. Truly, the warrior had fought with his greatest prowess, and had accepted his defeat as he fell, and was understanding of the mortal end to come, as a warrior bested in combat. But for one to defeat a man so and not deliver the finishing strike was to bring forth utter embarrassment, an act of failure. Soon enough, the warrior wanted to die, even if he now had a chance to live. No honorable man could be seen as such a spectacle.

Yet, it was no act of torture on behalf of the warrior’s assailant. He held his blade firmly, an expression of merged fear and rage, a hysteric emotion that only brought forth primal rage and a fury of self-preservation. Soon it began to clear, the fog clouding the man’s mind finally clearing away, the same fog from the nightmare that plagued him as he awoke in such horror. His angered face soon calmed to a sort of confusion, and at the same time, exhaustion, a mind tortured by one question that all men who valued their sanity feared: What have I done?

He remembered the nightmare, the demon of bloodstained light, the cloaked warrior in his divine pyre. Yet, how had he ended up here, in this position, with a weapon already stained with blood, aimed at the next man to receive purging from its cursed edge? He watched in amazement as the blood dripped off of the stained metal in a red string, flowing as the last thriving essence of the warriors who had fallen in battle, a tiny river of death. His grayed eyes slowly faded back into opacity, brightening to the same shade of ice sapphire they had always been, the veiling fog finally clearing from his frantic mind.

Soon enough, the reaping blade began to shake, and its vibrations grew almost violent until the warrior finally let go of the blade, a frantic trust of his hand as not so much of a release but a shun, an act of horror as if the sword actually was cursed and he grew ever closer to infection by grasping its black handle any longer. It clattered to the floor with a great echo, pulsating along the walls as the only sound in existence itself, besides the ringing in the man’s ears of the screams, the metallic shriek of the sword, and those final words that had sprung him from his nightmarish trance and into his hellish rampage: Even if it kills me!

The warrior moved back, in shock of the destruction he had caused, in fear of not knowing the full extent of his chaos, landing in a sitting position, supporting himself at the rear with his arms. His face was still twisted in fear, still half filled with the rush of adrenaline he had initially awoken with, his eyes fading from the abrupt sapphire back to a traumatized gray-blue, his retinas reflecting all he saw: death, blood, pain, anguish. Were these all results of his actions? Was he the demon in that dream?

His scared eyes stared into the eyes of the man who was about to receive death through the passage of the sword lying on the ground, covered in more red mortality. His eyes showed utter shock, not in the fact that he was defeated or in the fact that the boy was in such a rage, but shock in the fact that he had performed such fluid, swift movements with the blade in such an unstable state of mind. Surely, this was the boy that ‘he’ had mentioned. In all other cases, voluntary or not, this man would be killed for attempted assassination, but he was lucky that the law would be bypassed. The murder of his comrades, however, would be unforgivable.

The vision of the defeated warrior blurred as fumes of copper and flesh entered the hysteric warrior's nostrils, that distinct, strong and unrelenting odor of human blood, overwhelming his senses as if he were drenched in the life essence. His arms began to redden, coats of metallic red washing over them. His torso, his legs, his fingers, his face. The blood covered his eyes, his blurred vision fading seamlessly to a world of crimson, until finally the image faded to black.

~~~~~

"Master, he must be killed. It is the Law of the Blade, the very law you created!" a warrior spoke to the man.

He stood over the boy, the very same who had unleashed a rage unfathomable by those who fell by its wrath, the very same who had struck down the man observing his body, who would have died by the sword he stole if he had emerged out of the hellish trance but a minute later.

The Law of the Blade stated that anyone who attempted to assassinate Master Deumaris Calvaire was to be killed without question. Yet, 'that man' had told Deumaris that a boy of these features would arrive soon. He will be dangerous, the man even said. As honorable as he was, Deumaris had to postpone the Law until he could find out more of this boy, this monster of a swordsman, even cancel the Law altogether, if his suspicions proved true.

No... It wasn't... Not me!

The boy was beginning to awaken, no doubt still traumatized by the event he had caused. Deumaris had seen the fear in his face as he broke from his chaotic rage, a face he understood as both a warrior and a man: that boy never intended for this to happen. He knew, but the others did not, for none of them had seen the boy's face, and none of them could be convinced so in light of these events.

I didn't do it!

One of his warriors raised his sword, ready to cut deep into the boy’s neck and end his life, the blade vibrating with the angered adrenaline of the one who intended to strike him so. The blade fell with rage and determination, but stopped abruptly, the handle encased in the grasp of Deumaris' armored hand. He did not look at the sword nor the warrior wielding it, as if by instinct stopping the killing blow, Deumaris' face still washed with a stern expression of seriousness, an expression of deep contemplation.

"But sir?" the warrior asked with a hint of disappointment in his voice.

"I was told this boy would arrive. Stand down," he replied in utter seriousness.

Another warrior stepped forward, a face filled with shock. "But, the Law!" he exclaimed. Deumaris turned to give his look to the warrior, revealing a face that told all Deumaris needed to say to him. This was a decision Deumaris would not go back on, and they all knew he would die if it meant keeping his word.

No! I'm not a monster! I’m... what am I...? Who am I?

The boy stirred in his sleep, laying on the bed Deumaris provided for him. He thought about the mental pain the boy must have been going through. After all, he was left on Deumaris' doorstep in a state that normal men would have passed off for death. Yet he took him in, almost instinctively knowing the boy was still alive, and would in fact pull through, despite the gashes deep into his body. The very same gashes that had healed completely without scarring in a matter of days.

Who am I!?

The boy stirred again, this time almost violently. Deumaris left the room, ordering everyone else to leave as well, half for safety in case the boy invoked another hysteric rampage, and half for the boy’s safety. He needed to be alone in these waking moments; needed time to recollect himself and understand what had happened, remember who he was, and ultimately be told later where he was, and how he arrived here. The last thing the boy needed was a crowd standing over his body to overload his no doubt weak mind. Soon the boy was alone, free to figure things out for himself.


He awoke with a start, instinctively fighting off the demons that plagued him before his mind registered that they were gone, and he was finally conscious. He had kicked off the sheets on the bed he lied in, his arms falling back to his sides. His head pounded with a splitting headache, and he grabbed his skull, groaning in pain, squirming on the bed that he didn’t remember going to sleep in. His forehead was damp with sweat, yet his body felt unbelievably cold. A strange, numbing cold that somehow felt familiar to him.

The headache abruptly stopped, his blurred vision finally regaining focus. He wiped blood from his nose, no doubt brought by the unfathomable headache. He sat upright in the bed now, finally able to question things other than the nightmare that plagued him and the one after it, the one where he finally realized he did not know who he was. Where was he? How did he get here? And more importantly, what happened before he fainted from the smell of blood?

He remembered the last thing he saw from that event. Several bodies, staining their bloody fluids along the walls, pouring onto the floors in red, expanding ellipses, covering their bodies, covering his sword, covering his hands. And that man, the one he was about to kill before he realized what he was doing, he had seen his face, a face of someone who was prepared to die, the same face reflected off of the polished blade he held, tinted in crimson. For one to be so openly accepting death meant that he must have gave his all to fight his assailant, but the boy knew nothing of swordsmanship. Or did he?

His head began to pound again, as if realization that he did not know any more about himself than that man did caused his mind to be stabbed with pain. Soon the pain subsided, and he was able to take in his surroundings, although he could not shake away his heavy breathing.

The room was bleak, filled with concrete walls, a bed, a desk, and a dusty window that allowed a foggy, cloudy beam of light to penetrate the room, as if this very room was made to reflect his emotions. On top of the desk was a mirror, albeit stained in the corner and cracked in various, miniscule locations. He rose from the bed and moved over to it, only to find out the next thing he expected: He did not recognize himself.

The mirror displayed a young, yet shapely figure, one that told him that he must have done something of physical stature for quite some time to develop these defined muscles. He was still, however, somewhat thin in his build, for the muscles were not muscles of strength but muscles of agility and flexibility. He looked to be in his teens, roughly eighteen or nineteen. He wore a white shirt and white pants, although he realized these were just garments provided by whoever placed him in this bed. Nevertheless they were still, somehow, stained with a bit of blood.

The most shocking feature, however, was his hair. He noted his eyes were sapphire ice blue, but for his hair to be the same color was... inhuman. It looked as if it actually were frozen, displaying a vibrant ice sapphire hue. His hair was perfectly straight, yet somewhat messy. Most if it hung in front of his face, concealing the right side, although upon further inspection he had nothing to hide. The hair hung to just below his jaw. Uncaring, he let the hair stay that way.

As he stared at his own face, he was also surprised at the fact that he had a scar. He was unsure of whether he had obtained it in that past event or if he had gotten it as a child, but it looked to be a scar of a very powerful wound. It stretched from his upper right brow, across the bridge of his nose, and onto his left cheek, telling him that not only was this blow powerful, but it was also precise. It was a blow meant to cut with utmost precision, not one that randomly happened to strike the center of his face.

He touched it, and a strange sensation moved across his scar, as if some unseen wave of feeling moved about in a ripple as he placed his finger on the wound. He could feel the sensation also pulse in his mind, and his vision flickered to a hue of burning fire-red for but an instant. What manner of wound was this?

As if the flicker of fire-red eyesight made the boy stumble back from recoil, he found himself away from the mirror, turning towards the exit of the room. He approached the door, and opened it, stepping into a hallway similar to the room he emerged from, bleak and horrific.

"Don't mind the architecture. This wing hasn't been used in years," a voice called out behind him. The blue-haired boy spun around to find himself face-to-face with the very same man he was about to kill. He jumped back with such force that he threw himself onto the ground, backing himself against the wall in fear, although he had no idea why the vision brought such fear into him. After all, this man wasn't the one holding a sword about to stab it into someone's neck.

The boy cringed at the thought.

"You... you're..." the boy began, his words trailing off into nothingness.

"Call me Deumaris. The full name is Deumaris Calvaire. I am the master of this 'institution'," he explained calmly. He was unmistakably that man. He had long, black hair that hung to his shoulders, straight and parted in the middle. His face was stern and emotionless, although he did reveal a bit of a smile. He was dressed in an elegant, long black coat, decorated with light blue symbols of which he didn’t know the meaning. He wore various robe-like garments, yet they were upon his form in a way that would still allow the man to fight with the utmost maneuverability. In the scabbard on his side was a blade with a black handle, no doubt one of the same swords the boy was holding before he had fainted. He looked different, somehow, as if that face of death-preparedness had never occurred. Instead he gave off an aura of superiority.

The man named Deumaris waited for a moment, but the boy couldn't bring himself to say any words, so Deumaris took it upon himself to further the conversation: "Do you have a name?"

The boy thought for a minute, unsure of whether or not he had a name and couldn’t remember it, or if he was ever given a name at all. "...No."

Deumaris saw the confusion on the boy’s face, and understood immediately. He would not press the matter further. "You showed some amazing prowess back there. Who taught you such swordplay?"

"I don’t know."

"Well, you will be an invaluable ally to my organization. I have been ordered by a man who says he knows you to recruit you in the arts of the sword," Deumaris informed, helping the boy to his feet.

"I... have nowhere else to go."

"Very well, then. It's settled. Take this day to rest and make yourself familiar with this place and its residents. I have informed all of them to treat you with respect, but don't expect them to be exactly the friendliest of people with you. After all, you killed several of their comrades."

"I what!?" he began to say, but he caught himself, realizing that he believed what Deumaris had said. Those last memories were proof of it. He was a monster.

"Don't worry. If you need anything, look for me. I'll be glad to assist you. Your training begins tomorrow, so be prepared and well-rested," Deumaris informed, and he left through a door at the end of the bleak hallway.

He was a monster. He stared at his hands, half expecting the blood from the day before to appear out of nowhere, plaguing his body with an infection of death, an infection he no doubt deserved. He kept telling himself he didn’t do it, but if he didn’t, then who did? His hands moved closer to his face, a face twisted in confusion and anger.

"It still smells... like blood."

Posted By: ForeverZero Oct 09, 2004 - 09:06 am

By the way, chapter two has not yet been written, but I do have some good ideas for what's going to happen. So if you guys point out anything that I'm planning to cover in chapter 2, I'll be sure to let you know.

Posted By: ForeverZero Oct 11, 2004 - 05:17 pm

(Bump)

I'd like some feedback on this, please, so I can use it to reference when I write chapter two.

By the wya, I do admit I went a bit oveboard with the description. I mean that in the sense where it seems like I'm using run-on sentences.

By the way, the opening dream sequence, until the word Monster was written by my friend. The rest is my work.

Posted By: Magus Oct 18, 2004 - 01:05 pm

I'm sorry that I haven't been able to read this yet. I've been verey busy with marching band and then with having to go to colleges to visit my brother and sister and marching band competitions over the past couiple weekends.

But that will all change soon. As of this Saturday marching band will be over with, our final competition. That frees up a whole crap-load of time for me, about nine hours of rehersal time as well as my fridays (football games) and Saturdays (copmpetitions) are also free. I'll try to make time this week. If not then I WILL have time next week, when everything comes to an end.

I really can't wait to read it.

Posted By: Magus Nov 10, 2004 - 08:27 pm

Sorry for the long wait, you must have given up on it by now. I'm reading it starting rigggght...

NOW!!!

Posted By: Magus Nov 10, 2004 - 09:00 pm

O.K., here I go. No mercy. MUHAHAHAHA!

The first paragraph is a real eye grabber. It's wonderful and uses incredable diction combined with well drawn out syntax. But "crackened" should be "cracked", I think.

I'd work to simplify the next paragraph a little. To help with the flow compare my suggestion with what you have. The one below has a little less to it and ithe sentences are cut a little shorter. But it has an improved flow to it.

"The mist pried itself free from the intensity of the storm. A great feeling of malevolence circled within it, the smell of death peered through every breath of the air that dared occupy the area. Within the core of the mist stood two figures, both cloaked by the absolute darkness of the night that surrounded them. The flashes from the storm incapable of revealing their darkened faces. As the two figures stood there, a dissonant voice bellowed out from the enduring silence, shattering the calm that enveloped the immediate area."

It is largely the same with the exemption of several minor changes. And even then, they were few and far between.

Instead of "light the color of blood" try "crimson light". Crimson is the color of blood, dried blood, and it greatly improved the flow of tht sentence.

You write "He' is mine..." next. Why the apostrophe? I think you were going for a contraction you decided against later. I'd delete it, personally.

WOW! Look at that time! I hate to run off like this, but I must. I'll post the rest when I can.

Overall it's awsome, from what I've read. Some of your dialogue is very impressive. But I think that you get a little carried away at times. I don't want to say don't use such a beautiful and wonderful vocabulary. All I say is that, while at times a single word or two are better then many, sometimes several words or a phrase is better then a single word or two. Just try using a little discretion.

Posted By: Bmat Nov 11, 2004 - 05:04 am

bolts oflightning lashed itself - bolts is plural and needs a plural verb

Their immediate springs into the terrain settled asunder blazes of fire amidst the lush fields that swayed coldly against the storm.- Do you mean there immediately? you also have a tense change.

did little to hinder - to hinder in what way? do you mean intimidate, influence?

The passage is maybe a bit long to get responses since something this long takes a while to read. No guarantee. It is easy to read because you have put in the paragraph breaks.

You have a way with describing a scene, and you use dialogue well. A good blend of dialogue and description. I would be interested in reading more of your story, which means that I find it effective storytelling.

But! It needs to be condensed. It seems too wordy. (just my humble opinion), Maybe even by a third or a fourth. I'd suggest going through and ruthlessly slashing any word that can be slashed. I found that I read a paragraph and then had to glean what you were saying.

Posted By: Magus Nov 11, 2004 - 05:42 am

I was thinking something similer from just what I've read so far. I read something in Stephen King's book, On Writng. I took it to heart and I think maybe you should learn it as well.

2nd Draft = 1st Draft - 10%

I'd also recommend you pick up a copy of On Writing. I keep it near me every time I write. It's full of his macabre humor, especially in the section of his memoirs. But the latter half deals with actually writing. And it's full of good advice and helpful tips on what could help.

Posted By: Magus Nov 11, 2004 - 06:46 am

You write "The unnerving voice however,..." I have two suggestions depending on where you want to go with it. I would, personally, get rid of the "however" alltogether. It'll quicken you flow a bit. But, if you feel that you must have it, then, grammatically, it should be "The unnerving voice, however;..." Note the comma before it and the semicolon after it.

Is "crackening" a word? Maybe "thundering" could be better placed in this case.

I simply love the sentence "A hush fell before the two, and in the midst of the darkness sprung a light, a pyre of divine embrace that grew intensely within the man's collectiveness." It's beautifully written. But I might suggest another word besides "collectiveness". It fits, but took me out of the story for a second to process. You may want to replace it with "soul", "focus" or even "silent embrace" But I'm more favorable to the first mentioned. And "blared" might need to be replaced with "bore". I think it offeres a better picturen then "blared" would.

And then I read up to the end of the section.

It was a wonderful story so far, brilliant. I'm going to read the rest of what you have here. I just have to go at the moment, as my Mom want me to clean. I will give my critique and opinions on the rest when I am able to.

Posted By: ForeverZero Nov 13, 2004 - 05:03 pm

Thanks for the suggestions. I'll be sure to touch this up a bit when I get the time.

As for the "'He' is mine..." part, the He is in apostrophies because I wanted the reader to know that the person he is desiring to be in his possession is of great importance, but now that I think about it it won't change any of the impact if I cut it out.

But yeah, as you all have notied this chapter is basically a lot of fun with description, so rather than simplifying things, expect it to become this story actual style. Although, that is not to say I won't tweak it a bit to make the description flow better.

Posted By: Magus Nov 13, 2004 - 06:27 pm

O.K. But I would suggest you revisit some of your diction a little. Certain words will fit better then some of what you have, while others will never be as good as what you already have. Just tweak it to your liking and I'm sure it'll come out O.K.

I've been a little busy today and won't be here at all tomarrow. So I probably won't be able to post any more on your story until Monday. I'll see if I can get some time in later tonight, though.

Keep up the good work.

Posted By: ForeverZero Nov 25, 2004 - 09:32 am

Chapter two has been uploaded the the website,

flickering-halo.cjb.cc

So, there's not really a need to post it here when you can just go there and read it.

About chapter two... it also starts off with a storm. Don't see this as being repititive, because thats actually (spoilers)the same storm form chapter one(/spoilers).

Posted By: Magus Nov 25, 2004 - 05:59 pm

GAH! I'm sorry. I actually forgot about this. I still have where I left off, so I'll get to it right away.

Posted By: Gothos Feb 23, 2005 - 02:11 am

This is an incredible story. The style of it is beautiful and elegant, and describes the scene vividly.

Keep up the excellent work.

Posted By: Aeawyn Mar 11, 2005 - 07:17 pm

Didnt read the other comments....but you need to slow down on those adjectives. Adjectives look good, but too many makes it seem like you just tried to slam in as many as possible. Not saying you did that, but it seems that you paused alot of times to describe things that could be left unsaid. Let readers use their immaginations some as you carry them along your story. Let them make their own decisions.

Pretty much, adjectives are hard. Too little and its bad. Too much and its bad. You've gotta find that center.