A Grim Fable with an Unhappy End

[DFM]

A Grim Fable with an Unhappy End


PROLOGUE

The blade was forged by a fallen king
That a god would die by that black thing
But not all that is soulless lacks will
And not all that is dead lies still

“Fall the fuck back!”

Jarsong ducked behind an overturned transport, the rocket barrage sailing over his head and slamming into the ruins behind him. Bodies and stone were thrown into the air, pieces of each raining down around him. His commander's orders were drowned in the hail of bullets pounding the shattered wreckage he hid behind. The transport had taken a hit from an anti-tank rifle in the early minutes of the engagement. The round had penetrated through the logo marking it as a civilian transport and detonated just inside the cargo hold, throwing the entire vehicle on its side. Jarsong sat against it, dropping his rifle onto the muddy stones below. Another explosion echoed over the shouting and the screams. The Commonwealth battleships weren't even past the horizon and already the damn things were pounding them.

There were more explosions from higher up on the ancient temple. The Commonwealth had started targeting their defensive batteries, most of them poorly fortified behind centuries old stonework. The entire ruin began to shake under the onslaught, stone cracking around the foundations. It was so stupid, trying to hold here. So obvious. Jarsong rose onto his feet, crouching behind the burning transport for a moment before sprinting across the cratered dirt and stone. No sign of the rest of his platoon. None of the many bodies or severed arms bore the emblem of the 313th. If they were falling back into the temple, he couldn't afford to be cut off. Not here. The distinct, sharp explosions ushering in an artillery barrage could be heard in the distance.

By the stone. why a battleship?

Jarsong, struggling up the temple steps deeper into the ruins, dropped accidentally into a half filled trench, one of the first rings of fortifications the Empire had abandoned under the Commonwealth siege. The trench running slightly deeper than a man's waist, Jarsong's small frame was able to find cover inside with little difficulty. He was accompanied by uniformed corpses, most twisted and half buried in the rubble. The trench shook with the oncoming barrage of shells, sending dust and debris high into the air. Jarsong reached upwards and grabbed the top of his helmet, partly to check for damage, partly to keep it on his head. Reenforced strips of metal binding multi-tiered ceramic plates lined with a web cloth to keep it directly off his skull. Red design, ultimate irony. The trench shook again, dirt raining into it in a steady gush.

“Come, little one! We must escape this place!”

The voice was deep and guttural, coming through the smoke and dust from down the trench. A massive shape lurched forward towards Jarsong. It moved slowly, but deliberately. As it pushed forward through the smoke, details became clear. Horns. Hooves. Muzzle filled with fangs. Imperial combat uniform. 313th Acadian Regiment.

“Jarsong, old friend! Command has ordered us retreat from the temple.” The minotaur crouched down, trying to take cover in the pathetic excuse for a fortification. “I believe these orders have been given the utmost priority. Word has spread that the CNS Intrepid has left harbor and is crossing the Emerald sea towards our position.”

“They're sending the Intrepid?” Jarsong grasped the side of the trench wall, pulling himself the short distance to his feet. “That thing's the size of a city.”

“The Commonwealth seems most intent on eliminating us.” Balthesiar said, the roar and chaos of the battlefield having done nothing to his eloquence. “I do not need to tell you that we are not prepared for such a confrontation” With a sudden jolt, the minotaur was thrown onto the dirt of the trench floor as the world threatened to shake apart at its seams.

“Nobody in this whole fucking army is prepared for a god damned thing.” Jarsong said as Balthesiar pulled himself to his feet.

“Least of all defeat, my old friend.”

Balthesiar grabbed Jarsong, hoisting him over a shoulder as he bounded out of the trench and made a break for the imperial fallback point. Tracers from friendly gun emplacements pierced through the dust and ash above their heads in a desperate attempt to hold the line long enough to evacuate. Jarsong jerked with the movements of the minotaur, the cratered ground tilting back and forth underneath his face. High above them, barely visible through the smoke and soot, the top of the ancient elven temple exploded outward, stone and embers raining down on the forces below. Jarsong hoped colonel Veerson hadn't stuck around in the commander's quarters. A sniper's round zipped through the haze, piercing Balthesiar through his upper shoulder. He continued without flinching, even as the second round entered the back of his neck and pierced his throat. The third and final shot missed its target, bypassing his skull entirely and shattering his right horn. Balthesiar disappeared beneath the ground before the red sharpshooter could fire a fourth shot.

Shyn jumped backwards and raised her rifle as the minotaur crashed into the trench next to her. She lowered it a moment later, no less shocked.

“Balthy? What- Oh gods, what happened?”

Balthesiar slumped against the trench wall, head barely beneath the rim. He made a gurgling sounds as Jarsong climbed clumsily to his feet.

“Red sniper, think his throat's hit.”

Shyn dropped her rifle and climbed onto Balthesiar's chest, pulling a battered medical kit from her flak jacket. She opened it quickly, rummaging for forceps to extract the bullet and a spell to stop the bleeding. She shook her head, exasperated.

“You're so goddamn lucky you dropped down here, I've got to be the only medic for fifty miles.” Shyn said, finding the forceps and dipping them in the mud covered jar holding the sterilization fluid. A shell exploded in the air just behind the trench, flak and shrapnel pounding the dirt above them.

“Sons of a bitches, they're zoning in on us.” Jarsong said, lowering his flask and wiping the excess ale from his beard. “How long before the leeches are gone and we can get the hells out of here?”

Shyn frowned, holding the rifle round up and examining it for a moment before dropping it into the dirt and reaching for her spellbook.

“The last train of refugees left a little bit ago, Veerson is going to start pulling the troops out any minute now, if he hasn't already.” She slipped her hand into the surgical glove, its original white long since covered in dirt and ashes. The wound on his shoulder probably didn't need her attention, minotaur endurance being what it was, and if nothing else it could wait until his throat was patched. She raised the glove to his wound, spellbook held in her free hand. As she started to recite the incantation, lines of blue light began to crack through the grime on the back of her glove, slowly twisting and forming into a series of elaborate runes before igniting in a brilliant flash and fading to nothing. Shyn pulled her hand away from the closed wound on Balthesiar's throat.

“Thank you, Shyn. My debt... grows yet again.” He managed, voice raspy.

“Anything for the cause, Balthy. Even saving you.” She smiled for a brief moment before someone shouted from the the other end of the trench, voice barely carrying over the deafening thunder of the battlefield.

“Veerson's ordered the evacuation! Staggered withdrawal, Kuri squad is bookend!”

The officer continued past them, shouting at other members of the garrison. He was killed along with several others when an artillery shell airburst over his head. Shyn grabbed her pack and rifle, hurrying towards the bodies and shouting over her shoulder at the both of them.

“You two get going! I'm going to do what I ca-” Her voice was silenced as she disappeared around the corner, another artillery barrage falling further down the field. Jarsong turned, his own rifle lost before Balthesiar's mad sprint. A raindrop passed the rim of his helmet, splashing onto the half cleaved bridge of his nose. He glanced up briefly, another drop falling onto his cheek. Balthesiar stood, right arm hanging oddly. Jarsong started forward, rain falling harder around him as he trudged through the trench. The bodies were lighter here than they'd been in the forward battlements, probably because the helmets and body armor worked as advertised against flak and shrapnel.

They were never very good about bullets.

Built into the wooden wall of the trench was a small door, triage sign sprayed sloppily above it. A guard from Kuri platoon sat on a crate next to it, his olive trench coat brown with mud. Another shell exploded somewhere overhead, drowned out by the roaring thunder. The rain was a torrent now.

“How many more have to pull out, yet? Are we clear to leave this shithole?” Jarsong asked, hand shaking the sleeping guard. The guard fell sideways off the crate, head twisting as he landed to expose the shredded rear of his helmet and the savage hole beneath it.

“Fucking hell.” Jarsong said as Balthesiar knelt down close to his ear.

“For now we part, my friend. Take the triage tunnels to the station underneath the temple, and I shall meet you when the army rallies at Dermoor.” The minotaur said. “I must go a different way, and I have business yet in Tel'Alharun.” Balthesiar bounded into the rain, massive form fading to a silhouette before disappearing completely. With some effort, Jarsong forced open the battered door and took a few steps downward into the medical triage that had been carved out of the earth. The cots were empty and in splattered in blood. Carts and medical supplies were strewn about, overturned and broken. Lamps from the wall lay shattered on the ground, shaken loose by the constant artillery impacts. Thunder could be heard distantly from outside.

Jarsong moved forward, losing his footing only once when the room was shaken by a nearby artillery impact. The tunnels away from the triage snaked under the temple and across the battlefield. Cramped, poorly lit and littered with abandoned weapons and supplies. What should have been a maze turned out to be a single, linear path. The other tunnels had been sealed off by blasting crews as the Empire retreated further backwards, until the route from the triage to the rail station was the only one left standing.

“Another coming through! Strongbeard clan, from the looks of it.”

The voice was coming from further down the tunnel, unmistakably dwarven. Jarsong neared the blast checkpoint, passing timbers and support pillars lined with explosives. Three guards, two of them armed and all of them dwarven were waiting just past the blast zone.

“Good to see another dwarf made it out of there! Any more coming?”

“Kuri squad, maybe a few others. I didn't see anyone on the way here.”

One of the guards motioned for him to continue onward.

“Keep on going, should catch the second to last train out of here. Good luck, Strongbeard.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Jarsong replied, heading deeper into the cavern. The tunnel traveled down for a good ways before opening into a once elegant, stone lined hall the size of a small manor. Vines and moss crept across the walls and ornamental statues, empty holes where jeweled eyes had been. A line had been torn through the ornate, patterned stone the middle of the ancient room, rail lines set in its path. Soldiers in tattered, muddy olive drab uniforms and stiff brown flak jackets crowded around the train, some standing guard around the station, most trying to quickly file their way on board. The room shook, knocking flecks of rock and dirt off of the ceiling in a gust.

There was a tall, lean man in an officer's uniform overseeing the evacuation. He stood with a clipboard, surrounded by a sea of shorter advisers, each with their own collection of papers and dirty vanilla folders. Jarsong approached them, the markings on the tall man's uniform revealing a lieutenant colonel.

“313th Acadian regiment. Corporal Jarsong Strongbeard reporting for evacuation.”

“So get on the damned train.” The lieutenant colonel pointed a slender finger towards the waiting crowd. “We stopped taking names an hour ago, you'll be matched up with your unit at Dermoor.” There was a rumbling from further up the triage tunnel, followed shortly by a wave of dust rolling out of it and into the rail station. The lieutenant colonel adjusted his officer's cap, resting it neatly behind pointed ears. The sapper dwarves emerged from the triage tunnel, coughing in the dust.

“Steel Knights.” One of them said, hurrying up to the officer and pointing back to the tunnel. “Not many, could barely fit in the tunnels. One of them had a drill.”

The officer paused a moment before handing his clipboard to a nearby assistant and looking down at the dwarf, brow furled. The head of the elven statue behind him was shaken loose by another artillery round. The lieutenant colonel glanced at the stonework crashing by his feet before glowering.

“Forget it, then. The Reds are pushing faster than we thought, everyone onboard the train, we're pulling out of Tel'Alharun. Set the traps and pull the plugs.”

He pointed at the dwindling crowd, shouting at the conductor of the train.

“Cancel the other trains, everyone pile on! We're getting the fuck out of here!”

Jarsong followed the officer and his attendants, pushing their way onboard as the train doors closed behind the last of the enlisted men. The guards pulled themselves up onto the outside of the cars with hand rails, resting on make-shift seating platforms welded on for just such a purpose. The station shook again as the train whistle shrieked and a thick, black smoke began billowing from the engine.

“Anyone still on the front must be long dead, then?” Jarsong asked, pressed tightly against the wall of the train car.

“Gods have mercy on them if they're not.” The lieutenant colonel replied as the station began to lurch behind them, revealing the glowing lights of a dozen explosive charges lining the rail tunnel. Jarsong sank down against the wall, floor rumbling underneath him. He lifted the latches on his chin strap and slid the helmet off of his head, letting it land with a heavy thud on the floor between his legs. He never really expected to win, even at the start. The Reds had always been too powerful, even before their armies started pouring back in from the edges of the Commonwealth territories. They had too many soldiers, too many guns, too many machines and the will to use all of them with a ruthless cruelty Jarsong could still scarcely believe. The war had become a series of scattered victories against constant, devastating losses. General Veerson had been the rebellion's darling child in the early years of the war and even he could do nothing but fall back under Commonwealth guns.

There was a rumble in the distance as the tunnel behind them sealed, hopefully delaying the red advance long enough for them to escape the immediate danger of the fourth army corp. Jarsong pulled his flask away from its holster and finished the last of his ale, tossing the empty canteen on the crowded train floor. The tunnel was shaken by another distant rumble, and the lieutenant colonel sighed. Jarsong watched as one of his assistants reached upwards, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“It's alright, Talidon.” It looked to Jarsong like she tried to smile. “You... we did everything we could.”

More low rumbles from behind the train, each shaking the tunnel a little less as they moved further and further towards relative safety. There was a final volley of violent, distant groaning before they were ushered into silence, the only noise the sounds of the train engine and the wheels grinding against the tracks. The lieutenant colonel pressed his back against the train door, sliding slowly down until he sat next to Jarsong. He removed his officer's cap, white hair falling down around pointed ears. He looked down at the leather hat, flecks of blood and dirt against the golden imperial insignia. With a short pause he reached out a slender thumb, slowly rubbing it clean. When he finished he opened his mouth to speak, but closed it after a moments hesitation, placing the cap back upon his head in silence.

Jarsong glanced upwards at the windows lining the train car and the blackness streaking past them. The train clicked as it rose and fell over the tracks, the constant rolling burning itself into the background. He closed his eyes, willing the familiar shaking of the train to lull him into at least a restless sleep. The army was fleeing west, through the Mas'avea mountains and into the open plains of Dermoor and Epiona. Dermoor had been a staging area for the Empire ever since General Veerson had ridden into the city with the entire seventh armored company and broken the enemy siege, chased the Reds all the way back to the Ixliel Vale.

There weren't many victories like that anymore.

Jarsong opened his eyes, his curiosity aroused by the faint change of light playing against his eyelids. The twin moons of Atria hung low in the night sky through the row of car windows, lighting most of the surrounding mountains. The fires from Tel'Alharun burned brightly in the distance, black smoke mixing with the clear night sky. Jarsong glanced down at his empty flask before looking back towards Silla, the smallest of the moons, and the black that had begun to eclipse her. The sharp lines of the silhouette were unmistakable. The cargo holds, the conning tower, the million tiny pinpricks of heavy artillery batteries hanging suspended in the night air. Next to Jarsong, the lieutenant colonel watched the shape closely before turning to one of his assistants.

“The Intrepid's moving on already. Didn't waste any time leveling Tel'Alharun, I take it.”

“The Commonwealth takes pride in its efficiency.” One of his assistants responded.

The imposing figure lingered in front of Sillia for a moment longer before slipping into the black of the night sky. Jarsong reached between his knees, picking his helmet off the floor and sliding it over his eyes as he once again leaned back against the wall and closed his eyelids, the already hushed murmurs of the soldiers in the car growing quieter still as he drifted into a restless sleep.

------------------------

Full story is at about thirteen thousand words ATM, pretty well into the first chapter. It's going to follow a small group of characters as they travel and adventure about the world on various missions and assignments with an overarching mission that comes to a head at the end. Basic stuff, but it's my first serious attempt at writing and I wanted to keep it simple while hoping characters and setting will keep people entertained. I'm posting just the prologue since the first chapter isn't done yet and I'm not sure if I want to post it in parts. I'm mainly putting this up here to get feedback so I can improve it and I'll answer any questions you have.

THANKS FOR READING and if there's interest I'll post the first chapter after I'm done. (Admittedly there's not much for characterization or explanation in the prologue, but THAT IS THE PRICE I HAVE PAID for only posting the prologue I guess."

[Funka Genocide]

haven't read it yet but I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess that it doesn't suck, because well you're a pretty damn good writer.

Just wanted to get a post in here since so many literary endeavors on this board are met with a stonewall of silence. I'll let you know what I think more specifically once I actually read it.

EDIT: Ok read it, I figure starting something out in medias res is always a good way to get the words flowing. A few minor quibbles I have are the fact that you named the minotaur without having the name introduced by a speaker first. He just suddenly goes from a minotaur to Belthesiar without any external reference. Probably not an issue, I just prefer to have characters named in some fashion prior to referring to them in third person text.

And you use the term triage incorrectly. When used as a noun it denotes only the process of sorting casualties, it never refers to any sort of location. You could probably get away with "triage station" but I'd suggest finding another, more suitable term.

Other than that it looks good so far. You open up a lot of loose ends with this prologue, so I find myself wanting to read about what happens next. I think maybe you mention certain genre staples a bit too matter of fact-ly, operating under the assumption that everyone knows what a dwarven tunnel or an elven statue is might seem perfectly ok, but it does sort of make things feel a bit rushed or under-developed. Without a proper, contextual background for these adjectives they feel artificial and somewhat sloppy. Understandably it's rather hard to work in a history lesson whilst describing a full scale military invasion, but in my opinion it's the background and history you manage to squeeze into a setting that really define the readers attentions.

When you say thirteen-thousand words, are you only referring to one chapter? That seems rather lengthy for one chapter. I'm just estimating here, but I think most chapters are usually in the 3 to 4 thousands word ball park. In any case, I'm sure that's plenty of words to post here and give us all something to read!

hope to see more soon!

[DFM]

FEEDBACK

Balthesiar is now referred to in dialog just before his first narrative mention.

All references to a "triage" have been changed to "iatric ward" or simply "ward".

Added in a small bit of history by elaborating on the "Elven Statue"

The officer paused a moment before handing his clipboard to a nearby assistant and looking down at the dwarf, brow furled. Behind him, the raised sword arm of King Sathesune cracked at the elbow, the blade that ended the orcish race and rallied the broken elven nation fell away from the long headless statue, brittle stone shattering as it crashed to the ground. The lieutenant colonel stared at the scattered rubble for a moment, as if dazed, before turning and shouting to the assembled soldiers.

Hopefully adds in some historical background stated and implied.

Edit: ALSO at your advice I've re-cut what I've written, so I now have a complete first chapter at about five thousand words.

Anyway, here's the much, much shorter first chapter and thanks for the feedback!

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CHAPTER ONE

Dermoor

Talidon groaned as the train lurched to a stop, the unfiltered daylight illuminating the ragged soldiers sitting and standing around him, crowded, covered in mud, blood and smelling of rot. Vomit was splattered in gobs across the floor and the screams from the medical ward three cars down could be heard piercing through the air over the dying rumble of the engine and squealing of the wheels. Their windows passed the sheet steel of a military loading station, waves of fresh, olive green soldiers waiting to board the train, which would turn south after Dermoor to reinforce the supply lines along the edge of the Vale. Medals and ribbons for battles fought by their predecessors were pinned on their freshly ironed coats. Rifles, as new and unweathered as their owners, hung limply from their shoulder harnesses. A nervous excitement had been running through them for most of that morning, almost palpable in the air.
The train doors slid open, and the excitement was gone.
The recruits began to slowly stumble onto the train into whatever cars could hold them, stepping over bodies and trying their best to find vacant, open windows.

“A few more miles to Dermoor.” Kaliel said, still going over the charts on her ever present clipboard. “I'll be able to get a full head count then, but I don't think we're going to bounce back from this one.”

“How's colonel Taylor?” Talidon asked, shifting his weight. He wondered idly how long he'd been out, the dwarf next to him showing no signs of waking.

“Dead.” She replied without looking up. “Got the confirmation this morning.”

Talidon sighed, resting his head against the train window.

“Oh.” Kaliel paused, searching through the pile of papers next to her before pulling out a folded telegram and handing it to the lieutenant colonel. “Word from seventh army HQ, General Veerson wants to meet with you.”

Talidon lifted his head in order to allow it to fall back against the glass once more as the train lurched from the station.



Dermoor was bustling under the cloudy skies, swarming with uniformed soldiers and civilians both, some mingling in the crowded streets or the market promenade, others keeping very much to their respective kinds. Castle Firekrag rose above the multistory houses of wood and stone, ancient battlements looking out over the surrounding planes. The green and white flags of the Empire flew from its turrets, the entire structure having been converted into the headquarters of the seventh army, home of the legendary general Veerson and the largest imperial presence east of the Corazole sea. Talidon stood outside the station, eyes towards the ancient, crumbling castle. Kaliel and the rest of his assistants hovered around the train, directing medical personnel and war weary soldiers alike. With a low rumble, an army motor-carriage came down the street, slowly navigating the narrow, crowded avenue. It pulled up next to him, two uniformed soldiers sitting the front. The passenger emerged, saluting on the edge of the street.

“Lieutenant Colonel Lindura?”

Talidon returned the salute, gloved hand only somewhat marred with mud and grime.

“That is correct.” He replied, folding his hands behind is olive drab duster. The soldier remained at strict attention.

“General Veerson has requested your presence, sir. We've been ordered to escort you to his command center, I understand urgency is of some importance.”
“Lead the way.” Talidon replied before turning to Kaliel. "Everything under control?"
She waved him off without looking up. The private opened the rear door of the car and Talidon slipped quietly inside. The soldier shut it firmly before returning to the passenger's seat and signaling the driver to move. The car pulled away from the edge of the street, crowd slowly parting around it. The streets wound in chaotic patterns, filled with throngs of pedestrians, horse drawn merchant wagons and armed military patrols. They were narrow and wet with the previous night's rain, lined with the refuse of the city and unsuited to motorized vehicles. Twice their car became stuck in the muddy clay of the street, ignored by the flowing crowds. As the private returned, mud covered, to the passenger's seat for the second time, he turned his head back to Talidon.

“You wouldn't be the same LC Lindura that was at Neveroth, would you?”

Talidon raised his head, eyes barely visible under the brim of his cap.

“I was a captain then, but yes.”

“Did you...” The soldier hesitated a moment. “I'm sorry for asking, but did you really kill a steel knight on your own?” Talidon did not smile.

“I did.”

He made no mention of the pounding rain, the impenetrable fog, his crippled leg, or the fact that it had been three.

“I was with the forty second infantry trying to push through the mausoleum.” The private responded, looking back towards the front. “Didn't expect to make it out of that one.”

“Not many of us did.” Talidon glanced outside at the crowds parting around the crawling auto. Silence lingered inside the cabin for a moment before the private spoke again.

“I'm sorry about Tel'Alharun. I know that-”

“It's alright.” The lieutenant colonel interrupted him in a tone that suggested it was not alright. “General Pike is pushing in from the south, we'll take another staging area soon enough. Maybe somewhere in the Ixliel Vale...”

“I was talking about how it was...” Talidon looked away from the window and into the rearview mirror, staring at the private with a cold, harsh glare.

“How it...” The private faltered. “Ah... nothing, sir. I hope Pike can take the Vale, we could use that foothold.” The soldier coughed into his hand, eyes darting anywhere but the lieutenant colonel.

“We could indeed.” Talidon replied.

The checkpoint guarding the way to the crumbling castle was garrisoned by a platoon of armed men and a handful of rusting Paladin tanks, steam belching continually from their backs. Most of the guards had abandoned their dusters and flak jackets in favor of lighter civilian fare. After a few minutes of double checks and paper signing, the gate was unbarred and Talidon's escort drove him over the ancient drawbridge, into the headquarters of the seventh army.

The courtyard of the castle was filled with a menagerie of creatures in loose green clothing running, marching, firing at the weapons range, and doing pushups in perfect phalanx formation. Uniformed officers marched and stood beside them, shouting orders, reprimands and encouragement, though the latter came rarely. Satyrs, minotaurs, dwarves, ogres, humans and illitharn training side by side in flawless rhythm. As the Commonwealth brought its own kind of unity, so too did the Empire. Their car pulled to the right, parking by the outer wall near one of the few broken spires. The private stepped out of the passenger seat, opening the door for Talidon and saluting as he exited. The lieutenant colonel adjusted the collar of his duster as the private closed the car's rear door, waving the driver on in the process. He gestured to the door of the tower as the car pulled away.

“This way, sir. General Veerson is waiting.”

“I would have expected him to be in the keep.” Talidon said, following the private as he opened the door to the neglected battlement.

“Well, that's kind of the point.” The private replied as they entered the tower, taking the lamp lit stairs down below the din of the outside training yard. The private talked as they circled downwards, past the ancient, moss covered stones.

“There's a series of caverns not far from here where the Everspring river flows through, used to be used to ferry in supplies and soldiers during a siege or when the surface roads were too dangerous for merchant caravans. Mostly use it now to get the General in and out without too many people noticing.” The private stepped off the ending of the stairs and onto a dirt floor. He took a lantern from the wall and continued down a long, black hall.

“Word of warning, about the general. Don't let his... well, his appearance fool you. He's sharper than the rest of his lot put together. I mean, he's still alive so he must be, you know?”

The stone walls began to give way to natural rock as rats scurried from the torchlight. They came at last to a wooden door protruding oddly from the rocks, small and unassuming. The only handle was a small hole near the edge and the hinges were clearly rusted iron. Hardly the trappings of a general, let alone one was revered and famous as Veerson. The private knocked thrice on the door and a wooden slot Talidon had been unable to see in the dark snapped open. A pair of ogre eyes glared at them from behind it.

“What is it?” Ogres were nothing if not curt.

“I have Lieutenant Colonel Lindura here with me.” The wooden slot was slammed shut and there was nothing but silence in the cavern for several moments before it snapped back open.

“Him in. You stay out.”

The slot slammed shut again and there was a steady clanking of bolts and locks being thrown back. The door creaked open, just enough for a single man to slip through. The private saluted Talidon, lantern still held high in his free hand.

“Good luck, sir. It's been an honor.”

“Likewise-” Talidon stopped mid salute, holding his hand above his forehead.

“Private Keerson, sir.”

“Keerson.” Talidon smiled, somewhat embarrassed as he finished the salute.

The private turned away, light fading with him as he moved back down the tunnel. Talidon slipped in through the cracked door, the ogre slamming it shut almost before he was in. What little of the cavern was lit proved the natural formation to be enormous, a dozen acres square if not more. A river indeed ran through the far right of the place, complete with underground docks, merchant quarters and storehouses all made of stone and wood. There were few people here, though what they lacked in numbers the populous made up for in rank. Colonels, admirals, brigadier generals, all pouring over maps and logistic charts. The locks of the door began clacking back into place and Talidon turned back to the door guard.

“Where can I find Veerson?”

The ogre stopped mid lock and turned to Talidon, as though he had somehow been tricked into letting in an idiot child. He stretched a muscled arm out, pointing towards the far back of the cavern, currently shrouded in darkness. Talidon stared at the black veil, where stone met shadow, expecting some kind of revelation. The ogre returned to securing the door, and the Lieutenant Colonel thought he spied something moving in the darkness, though elf eyes were not accustomed to the black of the underground. After a moment, it became clear to Talidon that something was indeed moving in the blackness, and the cavern began to shake.

High in the darkness, flames erupted from a giant, gaping maw, curling around row after row of serrated fangs the size of giants. The mouth closed and stretched forward into the light, flames flickering around scaled lips. They were attached to a head the size of a storehouse, lined with horns and razor spines, feral eyes set deep within its armored skull. The neck curved upwards as the head moved down, within yards of Talidon. On the edge of the darkness he could see a massive clawed foot and wings folded tight against the cavern ceiling. The creature's two red nostrils let out a snort that blew the dust from around Talidon's feet and forced him to grab his cap.

“I am General Veersonalit'harkelmordoth.” The head reared upwards, its voice threatening to shake apart the very foundation of the cavern. “Though I am more commonly recognized as General Veerson, mortal tongues being what they are. You are, I assume, the one responsible for the disaster at Tel'Alharun.”

Talidon swallowed, clenching his hands behind his back.

“Colonel Taylor was wounded early in the battle, and acting command of the fifty second fell to me. So yes, I was responsible for that disaster.”

“Hrm.” The head swung low and to the side, appraising him. “You served at Neveroth, did you not? Held your position against the steel knights, killed one of them on your own, yes?”

“That is correct, sir.”

“And at Parsai, you took a squad through a gap in the city walls and fought your way to the gatehouse, opened up a path for our armored forces to make it into the city, is that correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

The head shifted again, glaring at him from his other side. Every eye in the cavern was focused on him.

“And again at Parsai, you, on your own, ambushed two armored transports and a sentinel tank as they unloaded their troops and slew them to the man, destroying the tank with AT rockets you looted from the Commonwealth corpses and killing the crews of the transports as they attempted to flee, saving an entire regiment from being surrounded, am I correct again?”

Talidon was no longer sure how he should feel about this encounter.

“Yes, sir. That is correct.”

“And at Tel'Alharun, against the Intrepid, an Commonwealth battleship that has brought entire nations to their knees, you held a poorly fortified and structurally unsound ruin for nearly an entire day before you were forced to withdraw, losing only a third of your men in the process?”

Talidon tried to keep his eyes directed forward.

“Yes, I... I believe so, sir.”

“Hrm.” The head receded slightly back, flames dancing around its jaws. It slid forward again, eyes staring down at the elf like half moons against the blackness of the ceiling.

“Colonel Lindura...” Veerson began, “I have a task for you.”

“Anything, sir.” Talidon continued to stare ahead. Colonel.

“Report to Major Jarl at the Seven Seasons.” The head receded back into the darkness, flickers of fire disappearing as it did. “That is all.”

Talidon stood alone as the bustle of the cavern's war room slowly returned, the sound of the ogre undoing the door's numerous locks echoing in the background. With a grunt, he ushered the new colonel out into the rocky hallway and slammed the door, starting the ponderous locking of the door for a second time. The clicks and clacks faded behind him as he began his long march down the tunnel and up the stairs. A dragon, he could still scarcely believe it. In all his life, he’d seen one only once before, a slithering, black thing, smaller and more agile than Veerson appeared to be. Its name Talidon had forgotten, something with too many X’s and Z’s. That was… by the gods, that was so long ago. Before the Commonwealth, before the Empire, before anyone had even heard of saltpeter and arcanology was still considered magic. Even he was only a boy then, still living in the human city of Earana. To think, it was only a city then.

For as long as anyone could remember, Earana had been home to the dwindling royal family and that day was under siege by the young king’s uncle in a typical royal squabble over the throne. The usurpers, however, had a secret weapon. One of several, it would turn out. Taldion remembered watching from his bedroom window when the battle seemed to hush and the creature eclipsed the sun, raining flames on the world below. It landed on the battlements of the castle, spewing fire and thrashing its tail against the stone fortress. As the walls crumbled and the castle burned, the creature disappeared into the ruins for a few moments and then took off into the sky, its attack ending as swiftly as it had begun. He would later learned that the dragon had been hired by the dethroned uncle as a mercenary, promised whatever riches it could pilfer from the castle. Whenever he thought of it, Talidon wondered if the dragon ever realized just what it had set in motion for a few tons of human coins. Unlikely, he assumed, since dragons were never known to be particularly interested in the affairs of the lesser races and even to most of the people in Earana, this seemed little different than the usual royal strife.

It was strange, sometimes, to remember how the world was before the fall of Earana's last king. Though he was only a child, Talidon remembered it being... a much brighter place.

He topped the spiral staircase and entered the courtyard, where he was quickly flagged down by a second automobile, a cargo truck with a dozen or so soldiers sitting in the back. The driver leaned out the open window, horns almost catching on the ceiling as he gave a halfhearted salute.

"You the Colonel Lindura I'm supposed to find?"

"I would assume so." He replied returning the salute.The satyr pointed down to Talidon's shoulder.

"Say's you're a Lieutenant Colonel."

"Very recent promotion." Talidon responded. The driver shrugged and motioned upwards.

"Come on, there's another seat in the cab here. Don't want you mucking about with the enlisteds, right?"

Talidon rounded the front of the truck and climbed inside, an NCO already between himself and the driver. The dwarven officer and the satyr began to pick up the conversation Talidon assumed they'd been having before.

"So let's just review here, you think we ought to kick them out, maybe arrest them or put them in camps, that's the actual position that you've taken." The satyr started, arm hanging from the open window as the truck pulled out of the castle courtyard and into the checkpoint.

"You're putting words in my mouth again." The dwarf removed his cap, running a hand through his slick black hair before resetting it on his head. "I'm not saying any of that. I'm saying it's suspicious for them to join the Empire when by all rights they should be on the other side."

"No problem, thanks." The driver said out the window as they pulled away from the checkpoint, careful to fit his horns through the opening. The truck pulled onto the city street, the crowds seemingly more eager to clear a path for it than they'd been for Talidon's car.

"That's the thing of it, that's what I'm talking about." The driver turned to the officer, keeping his eyes on the road. "You, me, most everyone in this whole fucking army never got a choice about it. We're in this miserable, drawn out act of desperation because there's no other way. We were born into this war. The humans here, by the gods, they chose this life. Do you have any idea how strong their sense of right and wrong must be? If things were reversed, would you be signing up for the Commonwealth?"

"No." The dwarf admitted. "Which is why I have a hard time believing they're just being altruistic."

"Alright, then how about this-" The satyr turned the wheel, sending the truck onto one of the city's main streets. as pedestrians and smaller cars swerved around it."-if you were the Commonwealth, do you really think sending humans to go spying on the empire would be the greatest idea?."

"You ever think the simplest means of planting a spy might be one that's used? Even, I dunno, just once?"

The satyr rolled his eyes, truck barreling down the main drag of Dermoor. "Don't you have any empathy? If the Commonwealth ever captures them there's going to be hot irons going into places they didn't know they had and they still dropped everything they had and signed on. That's some fucking balls right there."

The truck swerved onto one of the side roads, narrowly avoiding a pack of merchants. The officer snorted folding his arms against his stout chest.

"If they're so damn concerned about us, they should know they can help us most by staying out."

The truck squealed to a sudden halt in front of the Seven Seasons, the driver idling the engine and turning to the Colonel.

"There you go, sorry about that sir. Good luck with whatever you're doing."

"Right, thank you." Talidon opened the door and slipped off the truck, barely closing the door before it peeled away from the curb and back onto the crowded street. It had taken all his restraint not to throw the dwarf out of the window.

The Seven Seasons was an inn and tavern just off Mill street, popular with most of the off duty officers. He’d been there a few times before, but it wasn’t a place for the happily married.Talidon opened the door and stepped into the tavern, a jazz chorus rolling past him and onto the street. The inside was lit by faintly scented candles, mounted on the walls and the tables draped in white cloth. Officers and soldiers in uniform were scattered about the restaurant and bar, intermingling with civilians and spirits. The band was in the far corner, raised on a stage in suits and ties. The instruments hummed and swooned, rocking back and forth with the players. Talidon stood by the bar, tapping gloved fingers on the wood. The bartender stood from behind the bar, sliding a glass down the length of it and looking at the Colonel.

"What're you having?"

"I'm looking for Major Jarl." Talidon leaned in to be heard over the band. The bartender pointed toward the corner of the room, at an empty table covered in discarded bottles.

"Where did he go?"

"Still there." The bartender replied, grabbing a towel and heading off to the other end of the bar. Talidon stared at the table for a moment before making his way across the room, his height and features turning more than a few heads as he passed by. He took a seat at the empty table, awaiting the major's return. One of the bottles rolled across the table of its own accord, drawing Talidon's attention for a moment before he noticed something visible through the murky green glass. A hand emerged from the bottle's mouth, attached to a tiny, disheveled black uniform. The rest of the creature followed shortly after, pulling itself out and crashing on the table, no larger than Talidon's finger. There was a large section cut from the back of the uniform to accommodate the creature's currently dripping butterfly wings.

"Hey!" The fairy staggered to its feet, wings flexing in a desperate attempt to shed the alcohol. "Elf!"

"Major... Jarl?" Talidon asked, eyebrow raised. "Hardly becoming of an OSS officer, is it?"

"I'm off duty, fuck you." The fairy staggered backwards, supporting himself against an empty bottle. "I'm just doin' this as a favor to that giant faggot since he saved my ass in Queloloth." He slipped against the glass of the bottle, landing hard in a seated position.

"Fuck!" Jarl exclaimed, quickly examining his backside for broken bones.

"Veerson said there was an assignment for me?" Talidon tried to press the issue. The fairy looked up at him for a moment, as if forgetting the elf had been there at all.

"Oh. Yeah. Alright look, kid, I can't say much here, but there's a telegram for you from Central in my room, one twenty one." He handed Talidon a tiny slip of paper across the table. "Security phrase is on that if you want to bring down the wards and trust me, you do. Standard encryption." Which was to say almost no encryption. Talidon took the paper from the table, revealing a small brass key.

"And you're sure you can't tell me anything about it here? Not even some riddles?"

"It's big, I'll say that much." Jarl propped himself up against the bottle in a somewhat more dignified manner. "Emperor Yersing is pulling a Spellsword out of the dales to assist you."

Taldion's face contorted in surprise, hand stopped halfway to the key.

"A Spellsword?"

"Lieutenant Colonel Tiaam." Jarl replied. "His train should be here in a couple of days."

Talidon grabbed the key, giving the major a concerned glance.

"What do you know about him?"

Jarl shifted forward, adjusting his wings to a more comfortable position before leaning back again. "I know that when the Commonwealth has nightmares, they're of him."

Talidon was quiet for a moment before pocketing the key and tucking the paper beneath his arm. As he turned to leave, Jarl called out to him.

"Hey, hold on..." He looked up from the table, staring at the lithe giant for a moment before his expression grew serious, dropping some of the drunken stupor he'd been using. "...I'm sorry about Tel'Alharun."

"It's alright-" Talidon began

"No, I don't mean like that. I mean all of it. The rest of us... we... never gave you elves enough credit. Everyone thought you were fruity or detached... a bunch of serene bastards, but... you saw it. You saw it before any of us. Before they even called themselves the Commonwealth, you saw what they'd become and you tried to stop it. You tried to stop it all. You tried alone and we..." He sank down against the bottle, eyes staring half closed at the table. "...I'm sorry."

Talidon was quiet for a moment, his own eyes lowering to the floor.

"I was too young for any of that."

"Still." Jarl looked up again, the rest of his apology remaining unspoken.

"Still." Talidon saluted, the major giving a somewhat sloppy return.

He turned and disappeared up the tavern stairs, paper folded under his arm and door key safely in his pocket. He remembered Tel'Alharun only faintly, in flashes of grandiose memory. Draping banners and lavish banquet halls, filled with thousands of people. Thousands of elves. Gilded spires that touched the sky. Music. Always music wafting through the magnificent halls. His father could never take him often to see their ancestral home, but he loved every minute of every trip. He was not there to witness the last march of the elves, to see their army pouring out of Tel'Alharun in ivory armor with golden swords, but it must have put the forests in a hushed awe.

He left the stairwell and entered the second story of the inn, the bare hallways standing in sharp contrast to the atmospheric lower rooms. He counted down the door numbers until he reached one twenty one, reciting the words on the paper and giving the wards a moment or two to dissolve before inserting the key and twisting it sideways. After the distinct click, he pushed the door open and closed it, locking it again from the inside and slipping the key into his pocket. The room was cheap and sparsely furnished, a single electric lamp sitting on an empty desk and a young human girl in a red dress sitting on the foot of a poorly cleaned bed.

Talidon blinked for a moment before furrowing his brow. He was about to speak when the girl noticed him, her face brightening.

"Oh!" She said, black hair bouncing as she jumped from the bed. "You're here! Colonel Talidon Lindura, right?"

Talidon continued to frown.

"...Yes, that's me."

She saluted, somewhat playfully.

"I'm Suki! I'm supposed to tell you your assignment." She paused, pulling a crumbled envelope from her pocket book."Here's the official version, but Veerson wanted me to make sure you understood the between the lines stuff."

"Who..." Talidon faltered, taking the balled up envelope. "...are you? How did you get through the wards?"

"I'm Suki. I'm with Strategic Services." She tilted her head, answering two questions at once.

"They... they employ children?"

"Oh! Not usually." Suki's eyes were wide, as though she suddenly understood his confusion. She dug into her pocket book again, pulling out an Office of Strategic Services ID badge. "But I'm a seer, so they like to use me to find spies and traitors and ambushes and stuff."

"Oh." Talidon glanced downward, trying to unfold the ball of paper. "...I see."

"Alright so anyway, it's basically like this." She cleared her throat and smoothed out some of the wrinkles prominent on the front of her dress. "There's a guy, Folion Drephas, the Commonwealth is trying really hard to find, and we need to find him first. See, there was an archeologist, formerly of the University of Sel'seriam. Worked with Tyrus Dammoleth, Vivian LeGrange, a lot of big names like that. He was working really hard on finding something, something super important that I don't think I'm supposed to tell you about. He never found it, but his family line has been trying ever since and not too long ago, his great grandson found it." The girl shrugged, rolling her eyes a little. "At least, he said he did. But you know, whether he's lying or not, the Commonwealth wants to get their hands on it, so they want to get their hands on him. That'd be bad for us, so that means grabbing him and whatever he's found before they can."

Talidon stared at the little girl, unblinking. She frowned slightly, waving towards the envelope in his hands.

"What? It's all in there. Veerson just wants me to make sure you know exactly what's happening before we head off."
"Before we head off?" Talidon asked.
"Well, yeah." Suki replied. "I mean, you don't need a seer to find him but I'm going to make it about five million times quicker and easier."
"A little overkill, isn't it?" Talidon asked, opening the crumpled envelope and pulling out the equally crumpled letter. Orders from Central Command, most of them repeating what Suki had just told him using a more nuanced and official-sounding choice of words.
"Like killing a cow with a dragon but they want that cow dead so whatever, right?"
Talidon began to skim through the lengthy set of orders.

"He has an estate in Pesadas?"

"According to Commonwealth tax records, yes." Suki replied. "It's technically an Imperial city but the Drephas family owns that place, we don't really have any sway over it. Folion's not there, he'll have left enough of a presence there that I'll be able to pinpoint exactly where is and where he's going."

"When do we leave?" Talidon asked, looking up from the paper.

"First thing tomorrow."

"Who's been assigned to it? Just us? This doesn't say." Talidon held up the paper.

"Well, there's a Spellsword coming in a couple days, but command doesn't want us to wait for them, so it's just going to be you, me, and anyone else you want to tag along. We're not expecting any firefights so you know, keep the numbers kinda down."

"If we're not expecting any trouble, why are they sending a Spellsword?" Talidon asked, slipping the paper into the breast pocket of his drifter. Suki glanced at the floor.

"Sorry, Veerson said that part was classified and I'm not going to go making him angry at me."

"I suppose that's wise of you." Talidon replied, stepping out the door and into the hall. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"That you will." The girl replied, turning and resting her arms against the window sill as the sun set behind the mountains.

[Funka Genocide]

You're the man now dog.

[Krylo]

TL;DR.

[Bob The Mercenary]

I would also like to see more. You don't seem to have the problem I have with making dialogue sound quasi-semi realistic, and character introductions doing what they do best is spot on. I'm also liking the gritty environments. Not that I have any credentials to do any sort of intelligent review. But, what I've read so far I like.

I agree with Funka about the historical description, but other than that you've got me hooked.

[CelesJessa]

Finally got around to reading it!

Very nice stuff you have so far. I really like the descriptions you use, it really helps to paint a picture for the reader. And, as far as I'm concerned, none of the descriptions seem over done or anything.

Just two issues that are fairly small:

“What is it?” Ogres were nothing if not curt.

There's just something weird about this sentence. I'm not sure exactly what, but it caught me up.

“Anything, sir.” Talidon continued to stare ahead. Colonel.

And I'm assuming the "colonel" was supposed to be in quotes? Maybe? If not it sounds kind of strange.

Other than those two things, I think it sounds really good!

[MFD]

I'm by no means a professional writer or anything (I'm unpublished), but I do like to read and write, so here are my notes. I might be wrong about stuff, and you may have intended alot of what I'm bitching about, but hey. I know some of this is harsh, especially because I haven't posted in here (still holding out hope for lit mags for my short stories, and they can't be published online first), but I'm really just trying to help.

First off... consider carefully what the point of having a prologue is. If you can't think of any good reason, either make it chapter 1, or ditch it altogether.

Oh hey, we're starting off with mysterious poetry, just like every fantasy novel ever.

I agree about the minotaur thing. But it's an easy fix, since Jarsong knows Belthesiar. So, just add his name to the end of the description of him. "It was Belthesiar. You're writing from Jarsong's point of view right now, it seems.

I also don't like "Little one." Doesn't sound like something a soldier would call his diminutive warbuddy. That and "Old friend" sound more... medieval. Older. It might be what you're going with for Belthesiar, but he sounds out of place.

Ship names should be in italics.

Hm. God damned? Later another character says Oh Gods (and still later she says Goddamned, singular). I guess the question is whether you've considered these characters' religions, and have a monotheistic religion (with multiple hells?) and a polytheistic religion. The gods don't have to make an appearance, but their religions are and that needs consideration.

... Is Shyn rummaging for the spell? I don't know magic in this world, but that doesn't sound right. Ah, she's rummaging for the spell book. It strikes me, though, that scrolls (or pocket-sized spellbooks?) might be more appropriate for mages on the go.

"She slipped her hand into the surgical glove, its original white long since covered in dirt and ashes." Sounds sterile! Wouldn't there be a fresh set of surgical gloves in the sealed medkit?

How do the approaching soldiers know Jarsong's surname? They're more likely to address him by rank. And you give us his surname a few lines down anyways.

And I like triage tunnels, dammit. I understand the "proper" use of the word, but someone familiar with the area can say "Go to Triage" and it would be understood to be "The place where they do triage." Triage tunnels work.

Is Atria the planet name? Wouldn't a native just use "the twin moons"?

... I think perhaps too much detail on the statue. By all means, keep the name of the Elven king, but conservation of detail. You're drawing attention to the extermination of the orcs (so I hope they're coming back and this is foreshadowing).

And you're starting Chapter 1 right where the Prologue left off. I sort of expected this to be like the Firefly pilot, where the prologue was a flashback. Could you maybe consider making the prologue Chapter 1 and Chapter 1 Chapter 2?

On to Chapter 12.

Castle Firekrag? ... As in Fire Cragg. Let me guess. A volcano, right? ... Go on.

Phalanx formation is not optimal for pushups. Mainly since it involves shields in the front and overhead to protect from arrows.

I know what bugs me about the "Ogres were nothing if not curt" line. It's pointless. We already know he's an ogre ("a pair of ogre eyes") and we know he's curt from what he said. It can probably be cut.

Although, I do like the line... perhaps you could describe the eyes better, and don't use the word ogre.

Veerson and Keerson? Really?

I don't like the Veerson conversation so far. They both already know these things. We already know that Lindura's a bad ass from taking down three
Steel Knights. You can gloss over the rest of his history, which Veerson already knows anyways. He's telling the audience.

Also, a PRIVATE knows that the General is a dragon, and a LIEUTENANT COLONEL doesn't? That's a little fishy. Would be better if he'd heard rumors of what the General was, instead of warning Lindura. Wrong rumors, of course. It's a secret.

Wait. I'm confused. Talidon was a boy when the Kingdom fell and was replaced by the Empire. Yet he was too young to do anything when the Commonwealth happened? Is the Commonwealth as old as the Empire?

I like it. Personally, I'm seeing it as Fantasy World War II, with the trenches and the tanks and the snipers and the actual global-scale war. Is that accurate?

Strong character descriptions (although, I think I didn't identify Jarsong as a dwarf until the end of his chapter), mostly shown through their interactions. New direction for fantasy, or at least a more interesting one.

I'd clarify the Commonwealth a bit more, too. I mean, we know they're humans, but they have other allies, too, from what I read. What do they stand for? Personalize the enemy a bit more. Instead of "The Commonwealth has nightmares" what about "She give General Human McPinkface nightmares"?

[DFM]

Woooo feedback!

Originally Posted by MFD

First off... consider carefully what the point of having a prologue is. If you can't think of any good reason, either make it chapter 1, or ditch it altogether.

I think I had a different plan here originally, but ended up changing where the story was starting and never fixed the prologue. I might have kept it as "prologue" just because I didn't think it was long enough to count as a chapter.

Originally Posted by MFD

Oh hey, we're starting off with mysterious poetry, just like every fantasy novel ever.

I LIKE MYSTERIOUS POETRY.

I don't really want to have nothing there, so I'll try to think of something a little more original and MYSTERIOUS AND FORSHADOWY.

Originally Posted by MFD

I agree about the minotaur thing. But it's an easy fix, since Jarsong knows Belthesiar. So, just add his name to the end of the description of him. "It was Belthesiar. You're writing from Jarsong's point of view right now, it seems.

Minotaur thing has been fixed!

Originally Posted by MFD

I also don't like "Little one." Doesn't sound like something a soldier would call his diminutive warbuddy. That and "Old friend" sound more... medieval. Older. It might be what you're going with for Belthesiar, but he sounds out of place.

He's intended to sound out of place but I don't want it to be so out of place it's negatively affecting the reading. I'll go over him again an adjust/tweak to sound somewhat less so.

Originally Posted by MFD

Ship names should be in italics.

Italics didn't carry over from the copy & paste but rest assured they are in the actual draft.

Originally Posted by MFD

Hm. God damned? Later another character says Oh Gods (and still later she says Goddamned, singular). I guess the question is whether you've considered these characters' religions, and have a monotheistic religion (with multiple hells?) and a polytheistic religion. The gods don't have to make an appearance, but their religions are and that needs consideration.

Multiple religions crossing a bunch of different racial/cultural bounds. I hadn't planned on elaborating on them just because... I dunno, I guess I figured they weren't important.

There's also the 'real' religion that actually happened, but like ten people follow that and even then they're missing half of the stuff.

Originally Posted by MFD

... Is Shyn rummaging for the spell? I don't know magic in this world, but that doesn't sound right. Ah, she's rummaging for the spell book. It strikes me, though, that scrolls (or pocket-sized spellbooks?) might be more appropriate for mages on the go.

I'm going to elaborate on the description of the spellbook. I wanted to show that the empire is pretty lacking in resources so they have to make due with whatever they can get their hands on, but that probably won't come across without some elaboration on what the book actually is.

Originally Posted by MFD

"She slipped her hand into the surgical glove, its original white long since covered in dirt and ashes." Sounds sterile! Wouldn't there be a fresh set of surgical gloves in the sealed medkit?

SURGICAL GLOVE was a bad choice of words! It's not actually ever supposed to be inside somebody, and again wanted to show the Empire being pretty equipment scarce.

Originally Posted by MFD

How do the approaching soldiers know Jarsong's surname? They're more likely to address him by rank. And you give us his surname a few lines down anyways.

ALL DWARVES KNOW ALL OTHER DWARVES

The Strongbeard clan is pretty distinctive as far as dwarves go and why this is does come up later.

Originally Posted by MFD

And I like triage tunnels, dammit. I understand the "proper" use of the word, but someone familiar with the area can say "Go to Triage" and it would be understood to be "The place where they do triage." Triage tunnels work.

WHELP!

Originally Posted by MFD

Is Atria the planet name? Wouldn't a native just use "the twin moons"?

You are correct!

Originally Posted by MFD

... I think perhaps too much detail on the statue. By all means, keep the name of the Elven king, but conservation of detail. You're drawing attention to the extermination of the orcs (so I hope they're coming back and this is foreshadowing).

I shall cut and tweak it!

Originally Posted by MFD

Castle Firekrag? ... As in Fire Cragg. Let me guess. A volcano, right? ... Go on.

There is a really stupid reason for this name that has nothing to do with the story but makes me feel personally complete and whole.

Originally Posted by MFD

Phalanx formation is not optimal for pushups. Mainly since it involves shields in the front and overhead to protect from arrows.

Hah, I'll change it to "Grid" or somesuch.

Originally Posted by MFD

I know what bugs me about the "Ogres were nothing if not curt" line. It's pointless. We already know he's an ogre ("a pair of ogre eyes") and we know he's curt from what he said. It can probably be cut.

Although, I do like the line... perhaps you could describe the eyes better, and don't use the word ogre.

I will work with it and see what I like!

Originally Posted by MFD

Veerson and Keerson? Really?

I HAVE THIS PROBLEM IT HAS COME UP BEFORE

I WILL CHANGE HIS NAME

Originally Posted by MFD

I don't like the Veerson conversation so far. They both already know these things. We already know that Lindura's a bad ass from taking down three
Steel Knights. You can gloss over the rest of his history, which Veerson already knows anyways. He's telling the audience.

HE IS. I will look at modifying/changing to be more about the battle that just happened.

Originally Posted by MFD

Also, a PRIVATE knows that the General is a dragon, and a LIEUTENANT COLONEL doesn't? That's a little fishy. Would be better if he'd heard rumors of what the General was, instead of warning Lindura. Wrong rumors, of course. It's a secret.

You are correct I think this would be best!

Originally Posted by MFD

Wait. I'm confused. Talidon was a boy when the Kingdom fell and was replaced by the Empire. Yet he was too young to do anything when the Commonwealth happened? Is the Commonwealth as old as the Empire?

Kingdom was not replaced by the empire! Kingdom was replaced by the Commonwealth I am GUESSING I elaborate on this later if it's not clear now but I honestly don't remember.

Originally Posted by MFD

I like it. Personally, I'm seeing it as Fantasy World War II, with the trenches and the tanks and the snipers and the actual global-scale war. Is that accurate?

Strong character descriptions (although, I think I didn't identify Jarsong as a dwarf until the end of his chapter), mostly shown through their interactions. New direction for fantasy, or at least a more interesting one.

I'd clarify the Commonwealth a bit more, too. I mean, we know they're humans, but they have other allies, too, from what I read. What do they stand for? Personalize the enemy a bit more. Instead of "The Commonwealth has nightmares" what about "She give General Human McPinkface nightmares"?

Commonwealth gets more characterization later on, including a few pages following them but I honestly have a hard time remember what I have told the readers and what I haven't. If you think it needs to happen earlier I'll work on weaving some in but I guess you'd have to read the rest to know that for sure!

Originally Posted by CelesJessa

“What is it?” Ogres were nothing if not curt.

There's just something weird about this sentence. I'm not sure exactly what, but it caught me up.

AS MENTIONED PREVIOUSLY this will be fixed/changed!

Originally Posted by CelesJessa

“Anything, sir.” Talidon continued to stare ahead. Colonel.

And I'm assuming the "colonel" was supposed to be in quotes? Maybe? If not it sounds kind of strange.

It's supposed to be in italics and well we all know how that turned out.



THANKS CJ! ESPECIALLY THANKS MFD WHO HAS GIVEN PROBABLY THE BEST AND MOST COMPLETE FEEDBACK I'VE EVER GOTTEN HOW SAD IS THAT.

[Fifthfiend]

I'm kind of tempted to run this off on my office printer so I can give it an actual "not on a fucking computer screen" read.

...Plus then I can make EDITORIAL COMMENTS in bigass red sharpie and post scans up here, which would be delightfully presumptuous.