This evening was also good, I've introduced Traemidan's (POV for prologue) two sons and fleshed them out enough to hopefully leave the reader wanting more. I have just realised that in no such previous post have I mentioned my genre (reading the excerpt will give this away) or my target audience which is Young Adult. I'm calling it a night now though but not before I leave you with a little excerpt:
Suddenly the world around him came alive as if his hearing had just returned. Shouts and screams could be heard echoing through the corridors outside his room and the clash of metal on metal was ringing in his ears. Once again he tried to stand, his vision instantly blurring as he doubled over in pain, recovering just long enough to vomit down his green leather stockings. The stench of which did little to relieve the nausea. Traemidan took a moment to survey his once immaculate room lying in ruins. Shreds of his red silk drapes covered the floor soaking up a mix of blood and some green viscous substance he didn’t recognise. Other personal items lay smashed upon the floor and his gilded plate mail and long sword were missing. My father’s sword... gone. I must find the king.
He pushed himself once again to his feet, somehow managing to keep his balance as the pain in his head and right arm intensified. Slowly he edged towards the door, losing his footing more than once. He stepped over the unrecognisable forms of the soldiers, stopping briefly to notice something had torn out their throats, their swords still sheathed in their belts. Whatever killed these men must have caught them unawares. That’s not like any soldier of the king I know, what has occurred here? He made it to the doorway and although the corridor was deserted the castle was awash with noise; shouting and screaming what was that snarling sound. If pure evil had a voice he was sure that was it. The air was thick with the smell of burning wood. The castle was ablaze, though which part was unclear. A feint smile returned to the old elf’s face as he caught a glimpse of his two sons, emerging from a cross passage.
Irmane and Nathal were half –elves. Their mother was Etheran. Irmane, the elder of the two was taller and more muscular about the shoulder from his time spent sparring in the training yard. His jet black hair, matted with dried sweat and blood fell to his shoulders. In that moment he could not have looked any less like his elvish father. His chainmail had taken a battering and his broadsword, dripping more of that green viscous fluid seemed heavy in his right hand. His left was arched over his brother, helping him to walk. Nathal was the polar opposite of his brother, shorter with a more angular face like his fathers. He grimaced with every step; his librarians cloak slashed in several places and stained a deep red. Blood red! thought Traemidan.
As if seeing their father for the first time, they quickened their pace, relief clearly showing on tired faces. As they embraced Traemidan let out yelp of pain in memory of his flailing right arm. Nathal stooped to inspect the injury but Traemidan pulled him up.
“What has happened here? Who attacked us? Where is the king?” His questions came tumbling out, not pausing for answers. Irmane untangled himself from his brother and placed a hand in the small of his father’s back and gave him a small nudge.
“Where have you been father, under a rock? That blow to the head must have affected you,” he replied urging his father forward yet always alert. What has my son so on edge, maybe I did take a fall. It would certainly begin to explain a few things. “We must get out of the city before we are totally overrun. Once free we should head west and warn the remaining garrisons of what has transpired here. Who knows how many Eagle Riders managed to escape.
The trio came to the stairs at the southern side of the castle. Fear gripped Traemidan as he noticed huge chunks of wall were missing. He stood transfixed, staring out at the world beyond the walls. The air was thick with smoke making it difficult to see much at all except the sky, and what a strange sight it was. Gone were the blue skies and wispy clouds he knew so well. They had been replaced by reds, purples and oranges. The sky is on fire, this must be some trick, an abnormal sunset perhaps.
Criticism, encouragement, pointers on how I can improve, I want it all. I keep thinking I can only get better. Now please excuse me as I'm off to watch Terra Nova, one of my guilty pleasures for American TV.
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