Young Writers Society

wow, this is really good. i like the end of the first paragraph (in the first story), and the entire chapter was great, altho the last couple paragraphs had me confused a bit.

in the second part...

wow, the dream was a great idea.

but i was just thinking, does she ever get scared? i mean, you mentioned when she was a kid, so didn't seeing people getting killed ever scare her? just curious...

other than that, it's a good story...is it at all a horror?

cuz the second part did kind of seem like it...i don't know

=P It's actually not, but villains tend to do bad things so it seems that way. She isn't scared because in rality both her parents were bad guys so she's used to it and finally comming to accept that she is born to be evil, even if she has the best intentions. The dream is actually a sort of test, symbolic of each step that takes her closer to becomming the person she seems destined to be.

^_^ Thanks for reading!

I really like this! But I think that the story in general is kind of scaring though.. It makes me wonder what you really dream about when you're asleep in class. But other than that, it's really good, I want to read the rest of it so post fast!!

Silly goose, go read the PROLOGUE. It's the longer version.

I love this story so far! It's a very good attention grabber, from the very first sentence, i knew i had to keep reading, cause i was wondering why she felt this way. Oh, but there was just a couple of little things that you might think about changing:

Yazra tucked her new journal into the front of her pants and want to lean over the doctor as he say slumped in his chair
Yazra tucked her new journal into the front of her pants and WENT to lean over the doctor as he STAYED slumped in his chair

Well, that's all that i could find that i could find flawed, as far as the story line... LOVE IT!

=P Well if you really liked it might I recommend reading the complete chapter? There's at link at the top of the thread (or in my signature).

Lol. Ok, so I have been taking my time with the second chapter, mainly because I have been plotting out the novel. And yes, this is going to be a novel, possibly a trilogy. =P I have too much free time. So this, here, is what the beginning of the first chapter might look like.^_^ Lemme know what you think (this is most likely not going to be it, I want something more dramatic)

You would think, as a soul-stealing, town dooming wizard’s henchman, I would be able to take days like these off.

Yazra looked up from her journal as her hot cider was placed on the table before her. She nodded gratefully to the young girl who’d brought it and continued to write.

Actually, I think henchwoman would be a better way of describing my part in this whole doomsday plan. If I was right hand woman I’d be the one sending some other gullible youth out into the godforsaken rain to collect souls.

Yazra sighed, wiggling her toes to warm them. Already the fresh mud stained her leather boots, and her clothes were soaked through. She held the vessel tightly against her stomach as if the rain made it dangerous to leave it in her belt purse.

I’m not gullible, though. I know what my part is; I’m not deluded into thinking I’ll be rewarded with my own lands and slaves when this is over. But a villain’s got to start somewhere, my father was a henchman when he started out, after all. And nothing so grand as a wizard’s henchman.

Yazra set down her quil for a second and took a deep swig of cuder, sighing hapilly as her insaides warmed.

In the end, all I get out of this is experience. Bundy is the one who will be taking over the realm, and Demon’s the one who is becoming infamous. Me? I’m just a ghost; the reaper, if you will. I’m the invisible being that handles all the little things Bundy is too busy to notice need doing and that Demon doesn’t give a damn about.

But you’re probably wondering what this all important job is, aren’t you? It’s been a long time since my last entry: months, actually. My last entry was interrupted, and I haven’t found the will the write until today.

A growl made her pause; it was only thunder, but it had reminded her she had a job to do. Even though Demon had a fur coat, the bear was not likely to take kindly to her making him wait out in the rain all day. Though, as she reminded herself, he didn’t take ‘kindly’ to anything.

She carefully wrapped up her journal in a water proof cloth and tucked it into her bag. Having carried it around all day, she was certain it would stay dry.

*Moved to Fantasy Fiction*

This was the original P1 of Chapter two, now replaced by the new version. Feedback on it would be cool, since I still have to introduce these characters. =P

Chapter Two: Part 1

PART 1
The swords rang out again, both men locked in combat for a moment before roughly breaking away to circle each other. Their master watched the battle from to balcony above, shaking his head in dismay. Derrin attacked again, powerful legs propelling him forward with enough force to knock Sillon to the ground. The smaller man scrambled to block, his movement clumsy and uncoordinated. Compared to Derrin’s devastating, yet graceful strength, Sillon was hopelessly doomed when it came to combat.

Derrin’s next sweeping blow, sent Sillon’s sword flying. The older acolytes shoulders slumped in defeat even before the weapon hit the ground with a clang.
“You’ve beat me again, Derrin,” he acknowledge, a rueful smile on his face. He did not spite Derrin his grace with a sword; it was an honour to train at the side of the temple’s most promising paladin.
“You’d fare better if you stopped letting go of your sword,” Derrin pointed out, running his hand though brown hair that was slick with sweat.
“Join me in my study in an hour,” their master announced. They both looked up and bowed to the man on the balcony, their mentor and master, Priest Duncan. He watched the two leave, then turned to his companion.
“Derring and Sillon are two of the most talented acolytes in this sanctuary,” he said. The man standing just behind him nodded.
“We hope this is not an inconvenience to you,” he said, uncertain if he should bow in the presence of such a holy man.
“There is no inconvenience, this is our calling. They will be glad to be of assistance,” the Priest assured the man. “Return to your King and tell him we will deal with this ‘demon bear’.”

*^*^*^*^*^

“Are you both ready?”

Derrin nodded, his stiff movements a result of trying to contain his excitement. He had grown up in the sanctuary—he may as well have been born inside those polished grey walls. At nineteen, he would be the youngest acolyte to accompany his master on a mission in the history of the sanctuary. Even Sillon, who was smaller and shorter than Derrin, was in his early twenties. Though had Derrin not been granted the honour of coming on this mission, Sillon would have taken the record.

Derrin dsicreetly peek over at his companion. Sillon was quiet, but when he noticed Derrin’s curious gaze he smiled.
“I don’t begrudge you this honour, Derrin,” he said calmly. “My gift sows me what is, and so I know that ultimately these small favors will not change the great design.”

Derrin nodded, as always respecting Sillon’s wisdom. The gift foresight was one that often found it’s way to those who turned their auras to holy purposes. They worked for the future, and so the future granted them glimpses of itself. But the gift of sight—seeing the present—was a rare gift indeed.

“Thank you, my friend,” Derrin said, mounting the grey mare that had been prepared for him. Sillon watched him for a moment, ten discreetly, struggled into is own saddle. Derrin hid his grin under his hand—Sillon had an innate talent with the manipulation of his aura, but it seemed to have come at the cost of is physical coordination.

“Are you both ready?” Master Duncan asked, approaching. He was dressed, like Sillon, in a silken white robe that bore the symbol of the sanctuary upon it’s front. This robe showed that he was a man of great power, who had perfected the art of turning his will to spells. Derrin, however, wore pants and a white tabard bearing the same symbol—this represented that he specialized in the fighting arts, though it was no secret his aura was he strongest of his generation.

The two young men nodded, eagerly following their master through the elegant gates of the sanctuary. S they rode out, Derrin looked back to take in the view. Craved out of the very stone of the mountain, the Holy Sanctuary of Oun was home to all those who wished to truly understood that the mastery of one’s aura was an art that required dedication and precision.

Inlaid upon every wall, carved into every door, were symbols of majesty and grace. Where the walls of the inner sanctuary ended, the outer sanctuary began, home to those who had not been granted the title of priest or had not been taken on as a priest’s student. Some did to stay for long, only coming to learn to master their auras. The religious foundation of the art was one that was looked upon with skepticism, many believed that there was nothing holy about master one’s aura and that the church had simply monopolized all those with the knowledge to teach the art to others. Derrin chaffed at such remarks—what was an aura, if not the manifestation of the power of ones soul? Only by learning to use this power in a positive way could anyone truly master the power.

There was no wall around the outer sanctum, as the elegant stone structures gave way to mountainside, they began their descent, quickly being swallowed up by tall pines. Oun Mountain was known for its pines, few other trees could survive in the cold. Though the sanctuary itself was built low on the mountain, it was rare for new arrivals to not be taken to the plateau that overlooked the realm to see the beauty of it all. There, snow was ever constant and the wind fierce. If you could not master your aura enough to keep yourself warm, you much less likely to appreciate the trip.

Alright, came here as directed. Sorry it took so long, btw. I had plenty of distractions to keep me away from typing up this crit.

Their master watched the battle from [s]to[/s] the balcony above, shaking his head in dismay.

Derrin attacked again, his powerful legs propelling him forward with enough force to knock Sillon to the ground.

Derrin’s next sweeping blow, [no comma] sent Sillon’s sword flying.

He did not spite Derrin his grace with a sword;

Is that a...verb? It sounds awkward, anyway.

..Derrin pointed out, running his hand [s]though[/s] through his brown hair [s]that was[/s] slick with sweat.

[s]“Derring[/s] "Derrin and Sillon are two of the most talented acolytes in this sanctuary,” he said. The man standing just behind him nodded.

Derrin [s]dsicreetly peek[/s] discreetly peeked over at his companion.

Sillon was quiet, but when he noticed Derrin’s curious gaze, he smiled.

“My gift sows me what is, and so I know that ultimately, these small favors will not change the great design.”

The gift foresight was one that often found [s]it’s[/s] its way to those who turned their auras to holy purposes.

Sillon watched him for a moment, [s]ten[/s] then discreetly, struggled into is own saddle.

Used this word not too long ago. I'd change it if you need it.

Sillon had an innate talent with the manipulation of his aura, but it seemed to have come at the cost of is physical coordination.

Haha, you made a funny! ^^

...though it was no secret his aura was [s]he[/s] the strongest of his generation.

*returns from dinner*

[s]S[/s] As they rode out, Derrin looked back to take in the view. [s]Craved[/s] Carved out of the very stone of the mountain, the Holy Sanctuary of Oun was home to all those who wished to truly [s]understood[/s] understand that the mastery of one’s aura was an art that required dedication and precision.

Repetition. Replace (maybe the second) one of them with which or some sort.

Inlaid upon every wall, [no comma] and carved into every door, [no comma] were symbols of majesty and grace.

Some did to stay for long, only coming to learn to master their auras.

Did not make much sense to me with the previous sentence.

The religious foundation of the art was one that was looked upon with skepticism, [period instead] [s]many[/s] Many believed that there was nothing holy about master one’s aura and that the church...

Choose one. Not entirely sure which one you'd prefer.

...what was an aura, if not the manifestation of the power of one's soul? Only by learning to use this power in a positive way could anyone truly master the power.

Repetition. Replace one with something else. ^^

There was no wall around the outer sanctum, [no comma] as the elegant stone structures gave way to the mountainside...

Oun Mountain was known for its pines, [semicolon instead?] few other trees could survive in the cold.

If you could not master your aura enough to keep yourself warm, you were much less likely to appreciate the trip.

There was no wall around the outer sanctum, as the elegant stone structures gave way to mountainside, they began their descent, quickly being swallowed up by tall pines. Oun Mountain was known for its pines, few other trees could survive in the cold. Though the sanctuary itself was built low on the mountain, it was rare for new arrivals to not be taken to the plateau that overlooked the realm to see the beauty of it all. There, snow was ever constant and the wind fierce. If you could not master your aura enough to keep yourself warm, you much less likely to appreciate the trip.

Not much a fan of this PoV change here. Went from third person to second, and I don't think that's very good. Especially since this is only one sentence of the entire paragraph (let alone section), we should rewrite it. Shouldn't be too hard in this instance.

I'd comment more, but the others took care of it, really (before you moved it ). Andy's criticism pretty much covered my fluffy comments on this paper, lol, as well as Ayra's grammar comments (probably repeated most, if not all ). So, instead of reposting what he said, I'll move on to the new part on the other thread.

Keep writing!

Jabber, the One and Only!

Hello readers! Since I wasn't sure wether or not the new DoaV would be posted in new threads or posted into the 'revised' threads, I have posted the tester bit here to see what people think. Questions at the bottom!

**********

Apparently, the man who said ‘you are what you choose to be’ was a liar. A really horrible liar who took joy in making innocent little children believe that they could choose their own destiny and be whoever they wanted to be. If he’s still alive, someone should help him realize the error of his ways. It will start like this: “Sir, since you can choose your destiny, why don’t you decide you’re going to live while my knife and I decide you’re going to die, and see whose will is stronger.”

These were my thoughts as I watched the blood trickle down my arm and drip unto the packed earth floor of the barn. Realizing how immoral my thoughts had become, I cried in frustration. “Why is it so hard to be good?” I wailed. It was my first day and already I was back to thinking dark and corrupt things.

As if he’d said something, I turned to the farmer and sighed, my frustration shifting towards despair. “Don’t look at me like that,” I grumbled. “You didn’t believe any of that ‘you can be whoever you want to be’ nonsense either. If you had,” I reminded him, “we wouldn’t be in this situation right now.”

His silence was answer enough: what was done was done. No point moping about it now, I’d have plenty of time to do that when I got out of there—if I got out of there. My eyes darted furtively to the barn door, still ajar from when the farmer had entered. Outside, the noon sun glared down upon the fields, letting the last warmth of summer caress the land. I’d never make it out there, I realized. Not without a horse.

A breeze pushed the door farther ajar, sending little bits of hay floating through the air. I turned to the farmer, then back to the door. If I healed myself, I would need to rest—if I went outside, they would catch me. I looked around the barn, finally setting my sights on a dark corner up in the loft. If anyone did come in here, they’d be much too busy to notice a little extra shadow.

There was a man with a pitch fork through his stomach lying on the floor, after all.

**********

It's not much, but I wanted to see what people thought before I forged ahead. Grammar corrections aren't necissary, just general impression please (I'll try and get all the grammar myself before I post it for real =P)

1) I have restarted DoaV from the beginning, who says I should post it in a new thread when there's at least 1/2 parts worth?

2) I'm not sure if anyone noticed, but DoaV had 'Diary' at the beginning, for all she calls it her journal. This in mind, I tried changing the POV to first person. What does everyone thing?