(Title Pending) Severity

Hey guys, this is a new fantasy story I've been working on. Well, for now it's just the prologue, but yeah. I'd like some possible opinions on it. If you have the time, give it a look!

Prologue

To log a journey on this ship was the work of a dog. A filthy, dirty, disgusting dog.

Yet, Faen had to do it. Yes, he had to do it, otherwise there would be no one else to do it. It was his job, using a little compass to jot down every tiny, insignificant movement the ship took, for forty red a day. And yes, his hands cramped, yes, he grew sick of running out of ink, but he had to do it for his daily red. He’d be nothing without that all-important daily red.

It was around nine in the evening when Faen decided he had written quite enough for the day. He finished up and took his logs with him on deck, pausing when he got there to take in the salty breeze. It felt good to have the wind blowing on his face again, especially such a warm one as was blowing tonight. A good few of the sailors had retired below deck, thankfully, so it was not hard to spot Captain Tylit gazing off the bow.

“I’m finished,” Faen said as he came up behind the captain, slapping the logs onto his chest. “Enough water-watching for today, please.”

Tylit took the papers without adverting his gaze, shoving them into his pocket. “Thank you.”

Faen looked at his hard-day’s work now crumpled in his captain’s pocket. He raised his eyes scornfully. “…No, thank you, Tylit.” Faen turned and walked away.

“Faen,” Tylit called after him, his gaze still on the southern seas ahead, “come back.”

Faen rolled his eyes, and returned. “What is it?”

“How long have you worked for me?”

“Three… years?” Faen said, confused. “Why do you ask?”

Tylit smiled. “That’s a long time for one as young as yourself. Perhaps it’s time I raised your pay.” He paused; Faen liked where this was going. “Tell me, Faen, do you not have plans for your future? Surely you don’t mean to sail the Sea of Naerin forever.”

Now this, Faen hated. The captain always wanted to treat him like he was above him, something the rest of the sailors took quite enough pleasure in. “I want to be a scholar,” Faen said quietly.

“A scholar? You think working on my ship will make you a scholar?” The captain chuckled to himself as he pulled forth a small purse and threw it to him. “That should cover you for today.”

Faen opened the bag and saw the usual amount of red coins. “And the raise?”

Tylit laughed. “Hasty, are we? I believe… Fifty red sounds fine..” He placed a hand on the young man’s shoulder. Faen wanted to bite it off. “Fifty red for you, Faen.”

“What?” Faen asked, trying to hold his anger. “I need money, not this piss!”

The captain nodded solemnly. “Perhaps so, but what you need more than that is drive. I won’t remove you from this ship, but I’m giving you a reason to aspire for greater things.”

“Oh, please, captain,” Faen said, “I do want greater things. I want a fatter wallet.”

The captain gave him a dark look. “Is that so? Well, answer me this. Would you rather make more money working here, where you hate everyone but yourself, or in a school, where you can learn and make money with friends?”

“The schools won’t hire me, and you kn—”

Tylit grabbed Faen’s jaw and pulled out his tongue. “They don’t hire you because you do not know when to hold this.” He gave it a squeeze, spitting on it before letting it go. “Never yell at your captain, Faen. Seeing as how you’ll be here for the rest of your life, you’d best learn that lesson now.”

Faen spat down on the ground several times, looking back at Tylit in disgust as he walked off. He had to fight the urge to punch him in the face. That bastard! he thought. I should shove him into the sea!

Disgusted and humiliated, Faen returned to his cabin and blew out the candle. Crawling into his sheets, he looked up at the ceiling, the same ceiling he saw every single night. He wished for a life where he didn’t see the same thing over and over, a life where he didn’t have Tylit, or the sailors, or this godforsaken ship. But he couldn’t leave. He needed the red. Yes, more than anything, he needed that all-important daily red.

Some hours later, Faen was awoken by the sound of shouts from the deck. He could hear the sound of rain, and a voice coming up to his door.

“All hands on deck, all hands on deck!” the owner of the voice yelled, running down the hallway as it slammed on each door. Faen groaned, not particularly enjoying being awoken at such an hour, and slipped on a simple tunic and pants. Opening his door, he followed the procession of sailors heading up to the deck.

“Alright!” Tylit yelled through the rain, water pouring like a faucet off of his beard. “I need ten men down below bailing water. Gerrick and Lym, take your group and man the oars for me. Tomas, lower the anchor. The rest of you, await orders and stay on deck! We’re going to ride this storm, men!”

The wind picked up hard across the deck then, and an earsplitting crack shot through Faen’s ears. He turned around to see the mast falling, and dove towards the bow with the rest of the group in panic. The great sail landed on top of them, and was quickly blown away by the wind. Thinking himself safe, Faen looked as the sail blew away, and saw that a sailor had snagged his foot on one of the masts’ ropes. The wind took him and his screams with it.

And then the real storm hit.

Just as several men began to head down below, a mammoth wave reared up from port, nearly capsizing the boat. Lightning seared across the sky, yet the thunder that followed was muffled out by the sound of the crashing waves. Faen felt a whimper leave his throat, and he bolted up to the stern, holding on to the stump that remained of the mast.

Two waves came down then, smashing in from both sides of the ship. Another two came from the stern and bow. Faen had never seen such a thing. It was as if the sea itself was trying to swallow the ship whole, to break these men and their ship into a thousand pieces. He winced as he saw a sailor flung by the wind into the remains of the mast, smashing the sailor’s skull.

“Bail, bail!” Faen heard Tylit yell, “We need more men to bail!”

The waves came perfectly on time with one another, hitting the bow, then the stern, then port, then starboard, then the bow again. This could be no real storm, Faen knew, and he closed his eyes to hope that it would soon be a dream. A sailor came up to him and tried to pry him from his post, but was swept away in the effort. The storm began to worsen, and soon there was no longer order on deck. Men were breaking, running, heading below. Faen would’ve done the same, had fear not latched him to the ruined mast.

“Stay at your posts!” Tylit yelled from the center of the deck, his footing getting worse with every wave. “STAY AT YOUR POSTS!”

A pattern soon began as the ship moved slowly up and down the waves. One moment Faen’s legs would be near-dangling from the angle the ship would take, and another moment they would be stuck to the mast. He could smell smoke, now, and felt the warmth of a fire below deck. There were shouts for more buckets, and by now Tylit’s shouts had mingled with the rest into a massive cacophony. Saltwater mixed with saltwater as the tears began to stream down Faen’s face. This wasn’t his job; he wasn’t prepared for things like this. His job was below deck, with a quill and compass. With his windows, and his water-watching, and his forty red a day.

The boat tilted upwards as it moved over a wave, and Faen could then see the bodies in the water behind it. They were crying for help, he could tell, but he could not hear them. One by one, those who had nothing on which to hold sunk into the water like sand through a sieve. Those who had found debris to latch themselves onto eventually stopped crying out all together. Even from his distance, Faen could see it—they had given up the hope of being fished out.

The ship then shook violently in every direction, and men began to lose their footing. Several slid off the boat, plunging deep beneath the waters of the Naerin with not so much as a scream. Waves crashed down upon them, and as the sailors in the center of the deck were taken by the sea, Faen caught a glimpse of Tylit running up to him. The shaking grew more violent, and just as Tylit caught sight of him, Faen lost his grip upon the ruins of the mast.

“Faen, grab my hand!”

The ship rose to slide over another wave, tipping the stern downwards. The angle sent Faen sliding down, and his foot slammed into Tylit’s leg. The captain fell off the deck without a sound.

The boat stabilized for a moment then, and Faen scrambled back up to the mast. Just as his hands found their grip, a massive rumble echoed from overhead, and geysers of water shot upward from the hull. Clinging the best he could, Faen saw a light shine from above, and he looked to the sky. There, he saw not stars, but a ball of lightning. He felt his bladder leave him, and his jaw fell agape. The shouts were unheard now. All that reached Faen’s ears was the crackling of the sky. Three pillars of searing hot lightning then broke down upon the ship, smashing it to pieces.

The blow sent Faen flying. He landed in the water, and swam for all he was worth to reach the surface. Now struggling to stay afloat, he gazed on as the waves consumed the ship. There was no one around him, and for a moment all he could hear was the sound of rain on the sea. It was almost a peaceful sound, that.

However… Faen’s terror soon mounted. He looked on, and saw a single wave approach him, the shattered boat flowing through it. There was nothing left to say.

Saltwater filled his mouth as he tried to scream.

Wow. Very intense. Well done. ^^ I started reading and it just kinda hooked me, always a good thing to do to a reader. I'll be looking forward to the first chapter.

You've heard my comments on this chapter, since you had me proofread it. Once again though, well done, and it's quite gripping.

This post is mostly to subscribe me.

*is speechless*

I haven't seen this writing this good in a long while. That intro was better than most books I've forced myself through. If I can latch on to a book early on, and it can keep pulling me back for more, it is such a great feeling. Not many stories or books have done that to me, and reading usually bores me as it is hard to find something to interest me.

Safer, if you keep up this good work, well, I dunno. It is amazing.

Wonderful attention to detail. Even in this small intro one can begin to grasp enough about the main character that you feel bad for him as he is balk talked by the captain, or the storm hits, AND THIS IS ONLY THE INTRO.

I probably sound like I'm rambling, but again I haven't read anything this good in a very very very long time, and I can't wait to see what you roll out next.

Very well written, mah Connorz.

Very good display of emotion, rich detail, and it was worth reaaaaddinggg.

:3

Faen?

Nice job with the intro. Gives enough background without boring the reader, and goes into detail, but not over kill, and I like the way you ended it. Real eerie, and leaves you wondering how he will survive, if at all.

/run_on_sentence

Originally Posted by lftenjamin

Wonderful attention to detail. Even in this small intro one can begin to grasp enough about the main character that you feel bad for him as he is balk talked by the captain, or the storm hits, AND THIS IS ONLY THE INTRO.

Faen probably isn't the main character, from what Safer has told me. It's also typical of his writing to make the prologue not contain the main character.

Connor #2! Intense story you got there!

Although I'm not a fan of the scene you have here, I must say you did a great job anyways


-Link

Whee, thanks for the comments guys! I love you all. <333 Now. Chapter One cometh!

Chapter One

“It’s warm out,” said Dalkarius, coming out onto the large veranda. He grunted as he carried over a large chest, his little brother Aidyn helping him with the task. Orysius looked to his sons with a smile. Dale was seventeen, and towered over his nine year old brother, but they were still both very much alike.

“Yes…” Orysius looked back out southwest to the mountains, running a hand through his short, blond hair. “It’s nice to have a bit of heat for once. Are you ready?”

Dale stood up straight as he and Aidyn lowered the chest. “Yes, it’s all here. Are you sure you want to do this out here?”

“Dale,” Orysius said, “I’ve planned on doing this here for a month now. Where do you want to do it?”

“I…” Dale said. Aidyn looked up to him, nearly laughing. “I was…. Fine, fine. Open the chest, Aidyn.”

The boy bent down to open the lock, coughing as he did so. Orysius sighed. Aidyn had been sick from his youth, and if weren’t for the medicine-makers down on Hának, he would’ve died long ago. There was nothing in the world that brought Orysius more grief than watching his son cough, to see the pain on the little one’s face. All he could do, to his dismay, was hope that some day the medicine would do more than just treat the symptoms.

Once the chest was opened, Dale pulled forth from it a shiny suit of chainmail. Aidyn walked up beside Orysius, who ruffled his hair before extending his arms out. Standing on his toes, the boy removed his father’s cloak, and folded it up nicely. “Thank you, Aidyn.”

Before receiving an honor from the king, it was customary amongst for men to be garbed in their war attire by their sons. Orysius loved that particular tradition, though not for the prestige it bestowed him, but for the sight of his two sons together. Dale was off in school most of the time, and Aidyn spent near all his days in bed. It was, indeed, a rare treat for Orysius to get to see his two sons together at the same time. He would be made Captain of the Leagues tonight, and something about that made this ceremony all the more important to him.

After pulling the mail over his father’s head, Dale pulled forth from the chest a broad breastplate. He walked over to Orysius and fitted it upon him. Slapping the breastplate, he looked to his father with a grin. “Your breastplate, Captain.”

“And your leggings!” Aidyn said, strapping iron greaves to Orysius’ legs.

“Well,” Orysius said, “I thought this would last longer. Have you been practicing this routine?”

“Not practicing,” Dale said, fitting Orysius’ arms with platemail, “just remembering we’d have to touch you.”

“The love spreads daily, I see.” Orysius lowered his arms. After the rest of his armor had been donned, his sons stood in front of him. “How do I look?” he asked through his helmet.

“Shining like a knight, father,” Aidyn said, coughing. “You look… ready for battle.”

“I would hope,” Orysius said. “It’s about time.”

“Keep the king and his kingsies entertained,” Dale said, putting his hand on his father’s shoulder. “We’ll come and rescue you soon enough.”

Orysius nodded and began to head out of the veranda. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Clinking away in his armor—which made him look far bulkier than he would’ve liked—Orysius headed off for the Hall of Alín with his sons.

After Dale and Aidyn had found their seats, a flurry of trumpets greeted Orysius as he was allowed in. Hundreds of people were crammed into seats along the sides of the castle’s great hall, leaving a golden-carpeted path to the throne. Above, there were several banners bearing the royal seal, an earthen sword across one of wood and leaves.

Even from across the hall, Orysius could see the yellow-haired, yellow-robed King Khayoro. The King’s icy blue eyes followed his every step.

Orysius bowed at the gate, and walked forward into the hall to the sound of cheers and music. It was getting quite hot in his armor, and having throngs of people screaming in his ears didn’t particularly help. Restraining the urge to yell at them himself, he let out a sigh of relief as he neared Khayoro. The king stood up and banged his scepter upon the ground. “Silence!”

The horns let out a final powerful note, and the crowd obeyed. It took a moment, and then all was still. Khayoro spoke again.

“Friends, we have come today to bear witness to honor. To bear witness to truth.” He smiled broadly, outstretching his hands to his audience. “We have come, this day, to bear witness to long-delayed glory.” He looked down on Orysius. “Remove your helmet, soldier.”

Orysius undid the latches upon his helmet, and set it down as he knelt. “Your Highness.”

Khayoro approached him, placing a hand upon his head. “Speak your name.”

“I am Orysius Solian, High Officer to His Highness, Khayoro Aliyuras.”

The king nodded approvingly. “High Officer… yes. Tell me, Officer Solian, what is it that you do for this king?”

Orysius kept his head low. “I protect you, Your Highness. I serve you. I order my battalion with a righteous fist. The safety of Adrafàn and its king is my prime concern.”

“Then rise, Solian, and be recognized.” Khayoro lifted Orysius to his feet, and motioned to his right. A few men approached with iron tools.

“I thank you for this honor, Your Highness.”

Khayoro smiled, and spoke to his people again. “My friends, let us witness the fall of this High Officer before me, and the rise of Orysius Solian, Captain of the Leagues!”

A cacophony of cheers boomed through the hall, although Orysius’ mind was more set on the tools which had been brought forth. This was the part he had prepared for the most, and taken the most time over which to worry. Pain for glory, he thought. Glory for… itself, I suppose.

“I free you of your armor,” Khayoro said, removing the breastplate and mail his sons had placed upon him. He stood still. “Your shirt.”

Orysius removed it without question. A flame was lit beside Khayoro, and a small brand depicting the two crossed swords of his seal was plunged into it.

“Orysius Solian,” Khayoro said, taking the heated brand from the men, “do you so swear upon your life, family, and all investments that you will protect your king, your people, and your realm until death take you?”

The newly-made captain looked deep into the icy eyes of his king. “I swear it, Your Highness. I swear it upon all I hold dear.”

The men rushed behind Orysius, grabbing his wrists. Khayoro held the brand near the captain’s chest. “Then let that vow be hewn unto you.”

There was no word that quite fit Orysius’ pain. He yelled, yes, he struggled, yes, but in his head, he was smiling. Despite all his doubts, he had gained the greatest honor in his life. The Captain of the Leagues was fourth in command to all the armies of the land, and though he had been anxious at receiving such an honor, the shock of the brand upon his bare flesh brought him to his senses. This was it. This was his night to shine. This was his night to be king.

His family would be proud.



A grand feast followed the ceremony, and Orysius found himself sitting with his good friend, High Commander Bryce. Bryce was an old man well into his sixties, with salt-and-pepper hair and a beard to match. Unlike most his age, he still had all of his hair left upon his head—and quite a lot it at that. The old man’s braid flowed down to the small of his back.

“Captain of the Leagues,” Bryce said, laughing at Orysius. “Captain of the bloody Leagues.”

“Yes,” Orysius said, taking a rather large gulp of mead, “and we all know you’d like to keep it there.”

Bryce turned to those around them. “You see, this is a tactic o’ his. Orysius hates it when I try to remind him who’s boss, you see, and I don’t think he likes the thought of it. No, you see, Orysius likes it when I belittle meself. Yes, he likes that, you see. Where’s the jester, Orysius? I’ve a mind to take his hat for you!”

Orysius rested his head on the table. “You’re drunk, you’re drunk, you’re drunk.”

“I am not!”

One of Khayoro’s Strategic Ministers, Seyrn Lorit, spoke up. “I don’t know, Bryce, when Orysius thinks he’s right… he’s… more than likely right.” He chuckled, sipping from his pint. Seyrn was a thin man with dark brown hair and hazel eyes. He had been Orysius’ friend for many, many years, and had always been given him wise counsel.

“Oh,” Orysius said, “and of course saying ‘you see’ four times in a single thought has hardly anything to do with it, Seyrn .”

The men around the table laughed. This was Orysius belonged, he knew. He was with friends here, with the ones he knew most dearly. Wherever his career took him, Orysius knew that the men at this table would treat him no differently—for better or worse—and follow him to the ends of the world.

Just as Orysius was about to stand up and get another pint, he was tapped on the shoulder by Khayoro.

“My new captain,” the king said.

Orysius stood up and bowed. “Your Highness. A fine feast.”

“Thank you.” He looked over to a corner behind the throne. “Might I have a word with you?”

“…Of course,” Orysius said, and followed him.

“I haven’t said much of this to anybody,” the king said, “but it’s only a matter of time before word flows out.”

The entire night’s tone shifted. “What do you mean?” Orysius asked.

“The Sea of Naerin grows rough. A storm has been raging over those waters… and it has long overstayed its welcome.”

Orysius felt uneasy. “How long? Two days?”

“Nigh a week.”

That was certainly a shock. The Sea of Naerin was infamous for its rough storms, but never had Orysius heard of a storm lasting more than three days. “A… week?”

“Yes,” Khayoro said grimly, “and no ship has been able to sail. I’ve only gotten word of this from carrier birds, but nearly all the coastal cities are under constant rainfall. No ship that has left harbor since this storm began has returned.”

Orysius’ thoughts immediately turned to Aidyn, and the medicine he needed from the island of Hának. There was no way to get it here other than passing over the sea, and while they still had plenty left, what if this storm lasted even longer…? He looked down, and regained his senses. “What can I do?”

Khayoro looked out a nearby window. “The dukes of Port Dendral and Leátis will not stay civil forever. Surely you know them?”

Orysius shook his head. “I haven’t met them, no.”

“They’re strong men, good men, but have little patience. And if their ships can’t sail… trade will be impossible. All of Adrafàn will suffer.”

“Can’t they go through the Tarinth Range?” Orysius said, hope in his voice. “There must be safer parts of it.”

Khayoro sighed. “Any part of that range that could be deemed ‘safe’ has no path to it. Perhaps three or four people at a time could meander their way through, but an entire trading caravan? It’s folly.” The king looked to his disheartened Captain of the Leagues, and then to the feast behind them. “We must be…” he said, not adverting his gaze, “very careful in handling this situation.” He looked back to Orysius. “If this storm lasts much longer, we will have a problem on our hands. Many problems.”

Orysius’ heart began to thump harder. It was one thing for a storm to lose him money, but what if they couldn’t get medicine from Hának? He did not want to think about it. Bowing to the king, he sat back down with his friends.

Outside, it started to rain.

*beats everyone else to commenting on CH1*

I win, and so does this chapter. </discussion>

I suppose my dislike for your final line of this chapter is juuuuust creative difference *DEEP SIGH* but overall it was good.

This week one of my friends sent me the first chapters of her novel, and they were pretty awful. This made me appreciate reading yours even more. As usual- your prose is fantastic, your dialogue here was good, your writing actually has personality and emotion and even though fantasy is not my favourite genre, I was certainly not once bored or distracted reading your writing. As usual: uncommonly good, and a breath of fresh air from the horrorshow I had to read this weekend.

Can't wait for the next one. Lalala