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Brynweir
Senior Scribe
USA
436 Posts |
 Posted - 07 Oct 2007 : 18:53:24
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I started this thread a long time ago because I wanted critiques of the characters and the writing style and whatever else you want to comment on. I haven't gotten very many replies so far, even though I know it's being read a lot. Feel free to be as harsh as necessary. I'll take anything that's at all helpful - even if it hurts.  Thanks in advance.
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Anyone who likes to read something that's really dark and gritty and completely awesome ought to read The Night Angel Trilogy by Brent Weeks. You can check out a little taste at www.BrentWeeks.com I should probably warn you, though, that it is definitely not PG-13 :-D
He also started a new Trilogy with Black Prism, which may even surpass the Night Angel Trilogy in its awesomeness. 
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Edited by - Brynweir on 07 Jul 2008 06:16:52
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Brynweir
Senior Scribe
USA
436 Posts |
Posted - 07 Oct 2007 : 18:57:04
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The moment could have been awkward, but it wasn’t. Brynweir finally pulled the door open, and then she turned and smiled at him. “I really want you to meet my friends. I know that you’ll like them.” He nodded and followed her out into the hall.
“Not as much as I like you,” he teased as he slipped his arm around her waist.
Slipping out of his grasp, Brynweir impetuously gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and walked down the hall away from him. A shout caused her to turn back.
Ehren stood in the middle of the hall with his arms stiff at his sides. A face rose over his shoulder at the same time Bryn noticed the stain blossoming on his shirt. Pulling his blade free, the assailant let Ehren slip to the floor.
“No!” Brynweir cried out, but it was more of a wail. Had she just gotten Ehren back only to lose him permanently? The attacker moved towards her. She drew her sword and moved quickly towards him. A wicked grin appeared as he closed the distance. Letting her anger drive her, she flew at the man. He wasn’t expecting such a savage assault and he quickly went on the defensive. Castle hallways are no place for a prolonged battle, but she didn’t have time to worry about that.
As she drove the man backwards, he slipped in Ehren’s blood and went down on one knee. She tried to finish him off with a quick jab, but he got his blade up in time to block. With a swift kick, he smashed her right knee, and she was down too. Brynweir barely noticed the pain. The assassin recovered quickly, and stood leering over her.
“I should get extra for you, you meddling b#@%#,” he spat. Suddenly he jerked, and the abrupt spasm gave her the instant she needed. Before he could bring his blade back up, she thrust hers straight up under his ribcage. As he fell, so did she.
The tiny blade in his left shoulder explained the paroxysm, and told Brynweir that Ehren hadn’t died right away. Crawling caused the pain in her knee to flare, but she continued to inch towards him. Maybe there was still time. When she reached him, however, she discovered that his breath had stopped, and his vacant eyes stared unseeing at the ceiling. Resting her head on his chest, she quietly began to weep.
Brynweir continued to cry as Tamlin and several others arrived. Without asking, Tamlin knew what had happened. He gently lifted her out of Ehren’s blood, and she buried her face against his shoulder as he carried her down the hall. When she finally realized that they had come to a halt, she raised her head to see that they were in her bath chamber. Tamlin was sitting on the small stool, holding her like she was a child.
“You should wash that blood off,” he said gently when she looked up. “I’ll wait outside, if you want.” Still sobbing, she nodded, and he sat her on her feet. Wincing in pain, she almost lost her balance and had to grip the stool to keep from falling. “You’re hurt.” It wasn’t a question.
Brynweir nodded and he ordered her to show him. Sitting down on the stool, she allowed him to remove her boots and pants so that he could see. The knee was black and blue and so swollen that she was surprised that he hadn’t seen the lump through her pants. She should have been in excruciating pain, but she felt nothing. “This will hurt a little,” he said placing his hands on either side of the knee. She was so numb inside that she barely felt it as he healed the injury. When he’d finished, he knelt there staring at her, but rather than look at him she sat staring blindly at the floor tiles.
Tamlin stood abruptly and headed for the door. Pausing in the doorway he said, “He still loved you, too, you know,” and disappeared. Tamlin was the only one who had been with her from the beginning. He was the only one who understood what Ehren meant to her. His understanding did nothing for her grief.
Climbing into the tub, Brynweir just sat in the water and began to cry again. A long time later she began to scrub at the blood on her arms and in her hair. Scrubbing his blood away felt like she was admitting that Ehren was dead. Although he was, she didn’t have to admit it. Not yet. Fresh sobs came, and for a few minutes she was overwhelmed. Wrapping her arms around her bent up knees, she let the grief overtake her.
After a while, someone pulled the drain and let the water out. Then they draped a towel over her. Strong arms lifted her and carried her to bed. Though still wet and naked, she didn’t care, couldn’t care. The bed sheets and covers were pulled up over her, and then she felt the bed sink as someone climbed onto it beside her. Without opening her eyes, she knew that it was Tamlin. Brynweir turned and buried her face against his chest and he wrapped his arms around her, much the same way Ehren had the previous night. Oddly, she noticed that he was shirtless. His hair was damp and he smelled of soap. Clinging to him, she cried herself to sleep.
Brynweir awoke in the middle of the night, and Tamlin was still there. He was stretched out beside her with her head cradled in the crook of his arm. When she shifted, he opened his eyes.
“There is a gown on the headboard,” he informed her. Ignoring modesty, she let the bed covers slip down as she grabbed the gown and put it on. Tamlin politely averted his eyes until she was covered. “Want to talk about it?” he prompted.
“No,” she said harshly. “Sorry,” she said a little softer.
“Its okay, Bryn. I know what you felt for him. Even after all this time, I think he knew too.” After their brief talk the night before, she believed that to be true.
Staring down at her hands Brynweir said, “He was a good man, Tamlin. I want whoever is responsible for his death to pay.” Whatever he saw in her face caused Tamlin’s eyes to go wide.
“Brynweir, you already killed the man responsible,” he reminded her.
“No, I killed the man who committed the act, but not the man responsible.” Tamlin did not know what to say and Brynweir felt she’d said more than enough. They sat in silence for a long time before Tamlin spoke again.
“Gregor wanted to move the ceremony back a few days, so that we could have a proper funeral for Ehren. I told him that you wouldn’t want that. I told him to go ahead as scheduled. They had the ceremony in the chapel less than an hour ago with only Toleman, Davion, and a handful of guards as witnesses. I hope that was okay,” he seemed tense, as though waiting for her to explode or something.
“That was fine,” she said dully. “He could have postponed for a year and I wouldn’t have felt like attending.” Brynweir dropped her head back onto the pillow and pulled the covers up to her chin.
“The services for Ehren will be held in the chapel tomorrow,” he added. She nodded but said nothing. Tamlin took her right hand and slipped something onto the middle finger. A single tear slid out of the corner of her eye and down her left cheek where it dripped to her ear. Without looking, she knew what it was. It was a silver ring with a copy of her tattoo worked in onyx. Brynweir had given it to Ehren the last time she’d seen him, as a keepsake, something to remember her by. Grief suddenly knotted her stomach, and she curled onto her side clutching the ring to her chest.
“Bryn?” Tamlin gently placed his hand on her shoulder.
“Go away,” she whispered. “Please, just leave me.”
For a moment it seemed that he hadn’t heard, but then the bed lifted as his weight left it. Tears fell freely, but the only sound she made was a quiet whimper. She had never imagined she would still feel so strongly for Ehren, nor how much she was really going to miss him this time. It was weird. Although she and Ehren had often gone for extended periods without seeing each other, it was nothing as final as this.
Sleep came so suddenly that she hadn’t even felt herself drift off. The sunlight streaming through the open drapes woke her. Brynweir didn’t possess the strength to get up and close them, so she simply buried her head under the covers. Sometime later, a maid brought a tray of food and closed the drapes. The same maid returned hours later with the dinner tray only to claim the first one untouched. As the sun was setting, she came back to see the second one also untouched.
“It’s not good to grieve so much. You must eat something.” Brynweir ignored her. As she left, the maid spoke softly with someone in the hall. It had to be Tamlin. A few moments later, he came and sat on the edge of the bed. He tried to pull back the covers, but Brynweir refused to relinquish her hold.
“Brynweir, you’ve got to come out of there sometime.” She let silence be her reply.
For three days Brynweir hid under those blankets, only coming out when she felt it necessary to go relieve herself. For three days she lay there feeling sorry for herself. All she did was sleep and cry. For three days she mourned a man she had given up years before. Brynweir didn’t even attend the funeral, although Tamlin tried to get her to go. He came and told her about it afterwards. Still she did not speak to him.
Early in the morning of the fourth day, things changed. Neiko came charging into the room and jumped onto the bed. He began jumping up and down so hard that he nearly bounced her right off the bed. Angered, she threw back the covers and yelled, “What the hell are you doing?”
“Trying to get a reaction,” he replied honestly.
“Go away!” she shouted at him.
“Make me,” he replied crossing his arms in defiance. Brynweir simply pulled the covers back over her head. Neiko once again began to bounce.
“Damn you, Neiko,” she shouted as she flung the covers away. Brynweir lunged at him, determined to knock the smile off his face. Neiko didn’t even try to dodge the blow, and her fist connected squarely with his jaw. The shock sent a jolt of pain all the way to her shoulder, and Neiko went flying off the bed. Her hands flew to her mouth as she let out a shocked gasp.
Picking himself off the floor, Neiko asked, “Feel better?”
Brynweir shook her head and reached out for him, “Neiko, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
“I do.” Confused, she just stared at him. He moved to sit on the bed again, but he paused.
“You’re not going to hit me again, are you?” She shook her head.
“Brynweir, you’re scared," he said sitting next to her. He raised his hand to push her hair out of her face, but then let it drop without making contact. "If you just admit that, then things will eventually get better.”
She continued to stare at him as she thought about what he was saying. “No, Neiko, you’re wrong. I’m not scared. I’m angry. This is twice that the hands of an assassin have taken someone I love.”
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Anyone who likes to read something that's really dark and gritty and completely awesome ought to read The Night Angel Trilogy by Brent Weeks. You can check out a little taste at www.BrentWeeks.com I should probably warn you, though, that it is definitely not PG-13 :-D
He also started a new Trilogy with Black Prism, which may even surpass the Night Angel Trilogy in its awesomeness.
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Brynweir
Senior Scribe
USA
436 Posts |
Posted - 07 Oct 2007 : 18:58:11
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In fact, as the days passed, Brynweir and Jeryll grew a lot closer than she’d intended. Almost everything about him reminded her of Ehren, and though she would not admit that, even to herself, it did make it easier to fall for him. His manner suggested that he was just as attracted to her as she was to him.
Often, she would find herself glancing over at him only to find that he was staring at her. They would frequently share a laugh on these occasions. Neiko did not find it amusing. Indeed, he found it quite painful. He had been in love with Brynweir for nearly three years now, and here she was falling for a man she had known less than a month. It wasn’t fair. Well, fair or not, Neiko knew that she would never look at him like she looked at Jeryll. There was only one thing left for him to do.
That night, as Jeryll went out to look for firewood, Neiko silently crept after him. He followed him deep into the woods, waiting for the right moment. His left arm loaded with kindling, Jeryll bent to pick up a large broken limb. When he straightened he was looking at Neiko who had silently stepped around the tree under which he was gathering wood. Startled, he took a step back and dropped the limb.
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way Brynweir looks at you,” Neiko began as he stepped towards Jeryll menacingly. Jeryll didn’t respond except to take another step back. Although his heart tried to thump its way out of his chest, Jeryll’s face remained cool and impassive. “I’ve waited three long years for her to look at me like that, and now, thanks to you, I know that isn’t ever going to happen.”
“Neiko, I’m sorry,” Jeryll began, trying to calm Neiko down. In the dark he couldn’t see the expression on Neiko’s face, but he could hear the ache in his voice.
“Save it!” Neiko snapped angrily. “Just tell me one thing. Do you love her?” he asked softly. It was such an unexpected question that Jeryll was unable to answer for a moment. “Well? Do you?” Neiko insisted.
Caught off guard Jeryll replied without thinking. “I love her more than anyone I have ever known. I would die for her.”
“Good,” Neiko said as he drew his dagger. He moved faster than Jeryll thought anyone could move. The glint of light on the blade was the only warning he had. Jeryll dropped the wood and hissed in pain as Neiko grabbed his right hand and drew the knife across his palm. His own dagger was in his hand quicker than thought, but he did not use it because, as the blade withdrew, Jeryll began to realize what was happening. With the understanding came the hope that he would not die nor have to kill a companion this night.
Neiko drew the blade along his own palm. Holding out his hand he demanded, “Swear to me as you would swear to a brother. Swear that as long as you live you will let no harm come to her.”
Not really understanding Neiko’s motives, Jeryll hesitated. Finally, he clasped Neiko’s hand and said, “I swear that I will defend Brynweir with my life. As long as I am able to prevent it, no harm will come to her.”
Pulling Jeryll closer Neiko dropped his voice to a sinister whisper. “I have your word, now have mine. If you hurt her, I will hunt you down and make you suffer until you wish you were dead, and then I will make you suffer more. You mean nothing to me, and I would kill you now except for the hurt that I know it would cause her. You live by her love alone. The moment that changes is the moment you die. Are we clear?” There was no disguising the anguish in Neiko’s voice.
Although he did not think that Neiko now intended to kill him, Jeryll knew that strong emotions had a way of making people do strange things. As a precaution, he brought his own dagger up between them. Neiko ignored it. “We’re clear,” Jeryll acknowledged, as much answering the question as indicating the knife. Before this night he’d had no idea that Neiko loved Brynweir so much nor hated him so, but he wanted Neiko to know that he was agreeing because he wanted to and not because Neiko intimidated him.
Without further conversation Neiko shoved him away, then spun on his heel and left. Jeryll waited to make sure Neiko was truly gone before he put away his dagger and dug into his pocket for a handkerchief to staunch the blood. It wasn't until he began to regather the sticks that his hands started to shake. Taking a few slow deep breaths to calm himself, he went back to join the others. Jeryll discovered to his relief that Neiko was not in camp when he returned, but the constant itch between his shoulders told him that Neiko was somewhere in the darkness watching him. Though he’d made enemies in the past, he felt that he had done nothing to earn this one. He could only pray that Neiko was a man of his word and that he would not try to kill him in his sleep.
Using the firewood that he had gathered, Jeryll built a fire and helped Tamlin to cook dinner. While they were preparing the food, Jeryll quietly asked that Tamlin take care of the wound on his hand. Of course, when Tamlin had healed a very similar wound on Neiko earlier, the look on Neiko’s face had warned him not to ask what had happened. This was not the case with Jeryll.
“It was cut while I was gathering the firewood,” Jeryll replied simply to Tamlin’s prompting. How could he explain a situation that he didn’t understand himself? Tamlin noted that, like Neiko’s, the cut was rather clean and straight; it had to have been made by a blade. If Jeryll didn’t want to tell him, however, then Tamlin would respect his wishes, for now.
Neiko still had not returned by the time the others had finished eating and begun preparing to sleep. Brynweir noticed and wondered if they should go look for him, but Jeryll assured her that Neiko just needed some time to himself. The itch had disappeared, so Jeryll assumed that Neiko had walked away from camp. He told Brynwier he thought Neiko would be back and ready to travel in the morning. At least I hope he will, he thought to himself. Over the past few weeks he had grown to respect the man. Although he was certain that Neiko would carry out his threats, Jeryll did not want to see Neiko leave. Anyone who cared for Bryn as much as he did was a good man as far as Jeryll was concerned. He didn’t know if he could be half as understanding as Neiko had been. Would he be willing to make the same sacrifice? Jeryll fell asleep thinking that was a question to which he hoped to never find an answer.
When the man on watch woke them the next morning, Neiko was back and acting as if nothing had happened. He glanced at Jeryll who nodded as if to acknowledge the truce. With a quick nod of his own, Neiko spurred his horse ahead of the others. He and Jeryll did not speak again before they reached the city.
Well that answers that question, Tamlin thought as he saw the exchange. Blood pact. But Neiko and Jeryll? Here I was thinking that they hated each other. With a mental shrug he mounted his own horse and rode after the others.
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Anyone who likes to read something that's really dark and gritty and completely awesome ought to read The Night Angel Trilogy by Brent Weeks. You can check out a little taste at www.BrentWeeks.com I should probably warn you, though, that it is definitely not PG-13 :-D
He also started a new Trilogy with Black Prism, which may even surpass the Night Angel Trilogy in its awesomeness.
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Edited by - Brynweir on 20 Dec 2008 17:18:15 |
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Brynweir
Senior Scribe
USA
436 Posts |
Posted - 26 Oct 2007 : 00:36:14
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After a few suggestions, I rewrote the first scene. I hope this is better.
It began as it always did. Brynweir and Tamlin walked slowly down the hall and stopped outside Marik’s room. The door was shut, and they could see that the privacy latch was closed. Her mind screamed for her to walk away... Burst into the room and attack... Let Tamlin go in first with a spell... Do anything other than simply walk through that door. But she knew, even as she fought the dream, she knew there was no way to change what had happened.
Bryn knocked on the door, a quick triple tap, and got no answer. There was a shuffling sound, so she used her small belt knife to raise the latch and forced the door open. She froze in surprise when she discovered Gavin holding Marik with a knife to his throat. The room had been ransacked, and all of Marik’s song cases had been emptied and strewn about the room. The bed was overturned as was the small side table; the pitcher and basin had been smashed and lay in small pieces in the corner. For a moment she just stood and gaped. How had all this destruction happened and no one had heard a sound? As Tamlin entered behind her, Bryn’s head cleared enough to ask, “What the hell is going on? Gavin, is this some kind of joke?”
“No joke, Sister. He has something that I want and I’m not leaving without it,” Gavin said with a sneer. “Both of you stand right there and don’t move.” His dark blue eyes appeared even darker than usual. The irises almost blended into the pupils, making him seem crazed. Though he stood perfectly still, every muscle in his body was taut, ready to spring into action. Gavin had always been different, a little distant and cold, but Brynweir had never suspected that he was capable of anything like this. The years apart had changed him more than she would have ever believed.
More calmly than she felt, Bryn asked, “What could be so important that you’d be willing to hurt your own brother to get it?” He’s mad, Brynweir thought. He must be mad.
“He wants…” Marik began to answer, but Gavin jerked him back, pressing the knife closer and silencing him. Marik gripped Gavin’s arm with both hands, trying to keep the knife away from his throat. Fear was clear on his face and in the anxious way he licked his lips. His eyes stayed on Brynweir, pleading her to help him.
“Nothing you need to worry about, dear sister,” Gavin sneered. His tone said more than his words. She had never felt such hatred from anyone.
“Gavin, come on. There has to be some way we can work this out. Just let Marik go.” She stepped toward him with her arms out in a supplicating manner. Tamlin stepped a little further into the room behind her and started to move off to her right.
Gavin flinched back. “Why? So you and Tamlin can kill me. I don’t think so. Stop right there,” he ordered Tamlin, “or I will kill him.” Pressing the tip of the blade up under Marik’s chin, he emphasized the threat.
Tamlin and Brynweir both stopped moving. Her mind raced faster than her pounding heart, but she could think of no way to free Marik. “You’re my brother. I wouldn’t hurt you. I promise you that we won’t try anything. I just want you to let Marik go.” Although they had been rivals growing up, Brynweir had thought it was friendly, just sport. She had never even considered doing real harm to Gavin or anyone for that matter. That was about to change.
With a sneer he said, “For some reason, I don’t believe you, and I couldn’t care less about what you want.”
“Gavin.” Tamlin spoke the name softly, but Gavin’s eyes snapped to him as though he had yelled. “You know I will not lie. I give you my word that neither Bryn nor I will try to hurt you. We will not even try to stop you if you just let go of Marik and walk away.”
Gavin just stood there a moment, as though contemplating Tamlin’s words. He glanced around the room, still searching, and then he looked back at Bryn. All expression dropped from his face. She knew in that instant that all was lost.
“No,” she breathed. Tamlin began casting even as Gavin spoke again.
“I can see that Marik means a lot to you. In fact, dear sister, since you want him so badly, you can have him.” With that declaration he slid the blade across Marik’s throat. Brynweir screamed. A gaping red gash spread across Marik’s neck and a bright spray of blood spurted onto the wall and floor.
A look of shock registered on Marik’s face as he tried in vain to cover the wound with his hands. Brynweir lurched forward to catch him as Gavin gave him a shove. The pair stumbled into Tamlin, disrupting his spell. Gasping, Marik collapsed in Brynweir’s arms, and Gavin threw the knife at her. She was able to turn herself enough so that the blade struck her shoulder. Before she could even lower Marik to the floor, a cold numbness spread like wildfire across her back and down her arms. Tamlin leaped past them to catch hold of Gavin as he made to go out the window, but he spun back when Brynweir spoke.
“Poison!” she hissed. Letting Gavin escape, Tamlin reached out to catch her as the floor rushed up to meet her.
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Anyone who likes to read something that's really dark and gritty and completely awesome ought to read The Night Angel Trilogy by Brent Weeks. You can check out a little taste at www.BrentWeeks.com I should probably warn you, though, that it is definitely not PG-13 :-D
He also started a new Trilogy with Black Prism, which may even surpass the Night Angel Trilogy in its awesomeness.
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Edited by - Brynweir on 20 Dec 2008 17:23:14 |
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Brynweir
Senior Scribe
USA
436 Posts |
Posted - 02 Dec 2007 : 01:06:15
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[I don't even know if the following is possible in FR, but I liked the idea when I wrote it.]
They carried three torches. One at the front, one in the middle, and one near the back. It was enough to see by, but not enough light. The heavy darkness was oppressive. It weighed on each of them differently, but all were affected by it. By the end of the first day in the mountain, some of them simply felt more tired, some grew irritable or angry, and some began to dream of the light. But one, one of them began to go mad. Or so he thought.
The voice came at first like a soft caress. Owen knew it was there, but he thought it was just his imagination. It came to him so randomly that little of what it said made any sense. Often, he could not even tell that it was there except for a feeling that he was not alone in his own mind. As the day wore on, however, he began to believe that it was more than his imaginings. By the time they stopped to rest, he was certain that someone or something was talking to him. As the voice grew louder and clearer, Owen realized who it was and what he was trying to do. He had told Owen when he left that this might one day be necessary. At the time Owen hadn’t believed it was possible. Now he began to dread that it was. Caught up in the fear that if he fell asleep he would have him, Owen sat awake that night fighting within him more fierce a battle than he had ever faced with a blade. Trapped in their own dark imaginings, the others never noticed that anything was wrong. Fitfully, they slept.
After enough time had passed, Shari went to wake the others and Owen pretended that he had only just awoken. Even as the others ate a quick meal to break their fast, Owen’s stomach churned with the recognition that he was not strong enough. This was one fight he knew he’d lose. He was there walking by his side, now as silent as the unseen moon, but there nonetheless. Owen knew there was a struggle coming, a fight for his mind, for his very soul. He knew that he would not be able to beat his father, but that he still must try not to lose himself.
Hours passed without contact. Just as he was beginning to relax, just beginning to believe that maybe his father had given up, he was disappointed by the voice’s return. The quiet whispering began again.
The group struggled on through the darkness, climbing deeper into the mountain. Many of them began to feel as if the air itself grew heavier the further down they went. Owen struggled to breathe. Staring at the torch carried by Christopher a few yards in front of him, he focused on setting one foot in front of the other. Christopher turned a bend up ahead and for just a moment the torch disappeared.
The whisper suddenly pitched to a deafening roar, and he staggered to one knee. He gasped when he felt the first violent shudder pass through him. His back arched sharply against the next, as all his senses fell prey to his father’s mind. His sight wavered. Forcing his fist against his mouth to keep from crying out, he rubbed at his eyes. When he opened them again, the eyes he saw through were not his own. His entire body shuddered with one last spasm. All his muscles were tense as he struggled once again to his feet. It seemed as though his mind and body had been sliced in two. One would not obey the other. Unable to move he stared off into the uncertain dark.
“You all right?” Max asked placing his hand on Owen’s shoulder. Slowly, Owen turned to face him. There was barely enough light left from the fading torch to make out the concern on his face. Max was the last in line and no one else had noticed the silent battle.
“I’m fine,” Owen replied shrugging off Max’s hand. He turned to catch up with the others. Max shook his head and made to follow. He was more than a little surprised when he came up hard against a barrier. Calling out to the others he began to panic as the light faded further and further away. Soon he was left in total darkness. Terror welled up in him.
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Anyone who likes to read something that's really dark and gritty and completely awesome ought to read The Night Angel Trilogy by Brent Weeks. You can check out a little taste at www.BrentWeeks.com I should probably warn you, though, that it is definitely not PG-13 :-D
He also started a new Trilogy with Black Prism, which may even surpass the Night Angel Trilogy in its awesomeness.
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Edited by - Brynweir on 02 Dec 2007 01:08:56 |
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Brynweir
Senior Scribe
USA
436 Posts |
Posted - 02 Dec 2007 : 02:08:01
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[This scene ties into the last- later in the story. It is not the end, however, and she is not dead, but they don't know this. Again, I don't know if this is plausible in FR, but I liked the idea so I ran with it.]
The wizard walked into the dim study. With barely a thought, he caused the lamp near his chair to light. He picked up his journal from the table and opened it to the last entry from nearly a week ago. It was difficult to believe that the culminating events hadn’t really taken that long, yet what had happened had seemed more than a lifetime in the making. Picking up the quill, he dipped it in the ink and prepared to write. The events of the past few days were too important to go unrecorded. His plans had all worked perfectly. Well, almost all of them. And that witch was finally dead. Just as he was recording the date, a sixth sense warned him that he was not alone.
Slowly, carefully, he placed the pen on the table and put the stopper back in the ink. He blew on the page and then placed the journal on the table as well. Pretending that he was just getting up to get a drink, he crossed the room to the large worktable. As he poured the drink, he looked around the room. Although he saw nothing out of place, that did not dispel the feeling that there was someone else in the room. Thinking to himself that one person, no matter how powerful, would not be able to harm him, he used his gift to light a few more lamps and candles around the room.
As the light grew, one of the shadows near the window turned out not to be a shadow after all. It was a figure in dark clothing, his face obscured by a black cowl. Though he could not see the visitor’s face, he was quite confident that he knew who it was. Taking the drink with him, he strolled back to the fireplace. This time, however, he sat in the chair facing the window.
“You might as well come in,” he said. Still the shadow did not move. Not sure exactly why, the wizard began to feel a twinge of doubt. Maybe this intruder wasn’t who he thought. Using only a minuscule thread of power, he created a small globe of light above the figure. The cowl was too far forward for him to see the face. He did, however, see the gleaming white knife in his hand. Shaking his head, the wizard spoke to the young man he assumed to be his nephew.
“Ah, so you’ve come to kill me,” he said without surprise. “Boy, you of all people should know that it is impossible to harm me. This medallion protects me,” he smiled, gently stroking the talisman.
“I know the powers of the medallion. I carry one as well, remember? You gave it to me after all.” The figure possessed a quiet confidence that he had never seen in his nephew.
“I gave it to you as payment for services rendered. There would have been more objects of power and wealth if you had done as you were told,” the wizard snapped. Though mention of the boy’s medallion unsettled him, he was beginning to grow angry. “Have you forgotten who it was that saved you? Who raised you?”
“Raised me on lies!” the boy spat back. “She never harmed my parents. She never abandoned me. Had you left me alone, I could have known the love that I never found here.”
“Maybe,” he allowed. “Maybe not. We’ll never know now, will we?” He chuckled dryly. He had always enjoyed taunting the boy.
Taking a step into the room, the Jasen asked, “How did you do it, Uncle? How did you get Owen to kill her? He didn’t have it in him to just commit murder.”
“Oh, you’re right about that,” he admitted. “He didn’t have it in him.” Surging to his feet, the wizard went to refill his glass. “That’s why I had to do it myself,” he said as he tossed back the fiery liquid. “You’ve no idea how difficult that was. And how brilliant,” he added. Just thinking about how he had fooled them all caused a slow smile to spread across his face. It had been an unexpected move. Even when he had killed her, Brynweir probably had no idea how it was he and not Owen.
"I don’t understand,” the boy said and took another step into the room.
“Owen was a fool! He was always too weak. Had he been stronger, he would be here instead of you, and we’d be celebrating together. Unfortunately, he never had it in him to do what needed to be done.”
Slapping his hand on the table, he pulled himself back together. Softly, he spoke again. “When you were in the caves, I took advantage of his weakness and took over control of his mind. It was I who killed her, not that little coward,” he bragged. He was proud that he had actually struck the killing blow.
Confused the young man asked, “If you could control someone’s mind, then why not mine? Why not Tamlin or any of the others who traveled with her? Why wait for so long?”
“You have a lot of questions, boy, but since you’re about to die anyway, I’ll humor you.” Gavin went back and stood looking into the fire. Trying to figure out a way to kill the boy, he remained quiet so long that it seemed he wasn’t going to speak.
The flames caused shadows to dance across his face so that it was difficult to tell what he was thinking. A log popped loudly and the boy jumped, startled by the sound. Finally, Gavin turned to the intruder. “It had to be Owen, Jasen, because he was my son. Though related, your blood tied you just as closely to her, and once you decided against killing her, there was little I could do to persuade you otherwise. It is very difficult to control someone‘s mind, especially when what you want runs counter to what they want. Owen was weak enough that once I had him, he couldn‘t do anything about it.”
“You just used him and threw him away. You're heartless,” Jasen accused as he moved closer to Gavin.
“Yes,” he admitted. “What’s your point?” he said flippantly.
Jasen gripped the knife so hard that his knuckles went white and his hand began to tremble. All those years he’d wasted in self-doubt and misery. All those times he could have left, should have left. What had kept him here? He knew his uncle didn’t love him. He knew Gavin hadn’t even loved his own son. So why had he stayed?
“Why did you lie to me all those years?” he asked softly. Gavin didn’t bother looking at him.
“You mean you still haven’t figured that out?” He was slightly surprised. “The main reason was that I hoped to have you kill her. I felt that it would be the final irony for her to be killed by her favorite brother's son. A nephew that she never knew.”
“She knew,” Jasen said, but Gavin went on as if he hadn’t heard.
“But the real reason, I guess, was that I liked manipulating you. It was so easy that I eventually made a game of it. Sometimes, I would ask you to do things just to see how much you’d put up with. You know, in all of this, that’s the one thing I will regret.” His smile made Jasen’s blood go cold. Gavin was regaining his confidence. After all, he was going to be the most powerful wizard in history. He was sure, now that Brynweir was out of his way, that he would soon have the Circlet and begin his conquest to dominate the world. “I regret that I won’t have you around to entertain me any more. I will regret killing you.”
It was Jasen’s turn to smile. “And how will you do that, Uncle? Did you forget that I wear your medallion, too?” Pulling his hood back, he let Gavin see the grin on his face. “You were always too smart for your own good, Uncle. Always a little less than practical.” He knew the taunt would bother Gavin. “For all your planning, it seems that you forget the little things, the important things.”
“You think there is no way around that medallion? You think that I can’t get to you? I’m the one who made it. I can find a way around it.” He was furious. How dare this boy, this child, tease him! Trying to think how to remove the charm before Jasen could harm him, Gavin took an angry step forward.
“If you had time, Uncle, you probably could.” That froze him in his tracks.
“What do you mean?”
“Even wearing the medallion there are things that can harm you.” He glanced meaningfully at the glass in Gavin’s hand.
Misunderstanding, Gavin smiled. “I have protection from poisons, too, so don’t you worry about that,” he said tossing the glass into the fireplace.
“Once again, Uncle, you are too smart for your own good. I know you can’t be poisoned. I was just thinking that the only thing you had close enough to hand to kill me with was that glass.” Gavin’s face showed such distress that Jasen laughed as he closed the distance between them.
A thought occurred to Gavin, and his smirk returned. Glancing at the boy’s dagger, he reminded him, “Protection from all poisons, magic and even the elements themselves.” Stepping forward he raised his hands and placed them on Jasen’s shoulders. For a moment he thought he’d won.
“It still surprises me that you can be so stupid, Uncle.” Bringing the knife up between them, Jasen pressed it into Gavin's stomach, causing him to take a step back.
“What?” he asked. “Neither one of us can be harmed by anything made of metal as long as we wear the medallions.” In reply Jasen snorted and shook his head.
"It’s bone, you son-of-a-#$%#$,” he declared as he drove the blade up under Gavin’s ribs. The look of shock remained frozen on the sorcerer’s face as he died.
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Anyone who likes to read something that's really dark and gritty and completely awesome ought to read The Night Angel Trilogy by Brent Weeks. You can check out a little taste at www.BrentWeeks.com I should probably warn you, though, that it is definitely not PG-13 :-D
He also started a new Trilogy with Black Prism, which may even surpass the Night Angel Trilogy in its awesomeness.
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Edited by - Brynweir on 20 Dec 2008 17:34:52 |
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Brynweir
Senior Scribe
USA
436 Posts |
Posted - 02 Dec 2007 : 16:50:10
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I have been asked for descriptions of my characters. I tend to spread description throughout the story, so that the description grows as the story moves along, however, since I have been asked, I am posting some descriptions and snippets so that you get a better picture. (I get so few opportunities to have people comment on my writing that I will take any excuse.)
Brynweir has been physically described and some of her personality revealed in The Inn, but you should know that she tries to be tougher than she actually is. She puts on a hard front to try to keep people at bay, but she has a very forgiving and trusting nature. She is the type to say no just because you tell her to do something, even if she would normally have done it. On the other hand, she will do her best to help you if you only ask. All it usually takes to get back in her good graces is “I’m sorry”, and she won’t know if you mean it or not. In her heart she hopes you do and that is enough for her.
Neiko was originally found in the Border Kingdoms, near Felshroun. Brynweir and her friends rescued him after an attack on the horse ranch where he lived. He grew up as the youngest in his family with four older sisters. His father left one day and never returned. His mother struggled to provide for them, but she died of a fever when he was around eight years old. Her spinster sisters took the children in, but they never liked Neiko. He ran away at the age of fourteen and eventually came into the employ of a horse trader – he’s great with all kinds of animals – not so great with people. He is nearly six feet tall and well muscled. He has brown hair just past shoulder length and brown eyes. He wears his hair with the front and sides pulled to the left in two braids. He is very tan and spends so much time in the wind and sun that he looks much older than his twenty-three years. He thinks he is love with Brynweir, but she does not know it, and their relationship is strained.
****
He stood quietly beside her for several minutes, too close for comfort, but she tried to act like it did not bother her. Instead of moving away like she wanted, Brynweir took a deep breath, held it, and then let it out slowly. The sound of Neiko’s breathing was soft and even, just listening to it made her relax. In the next instant, however, he broke the spell. “The men are in especially poor spirits today,” he observed.
Disappointed to lose her moment of peace, Bryn snapped at him, “I know! I was trying to think of a solution when you interrupted. Unless you can think of something useful, go away.”
****
She passed Neiko where he was crouched cleaning his sword on the dead hobgoblin’s clothes.
“Brynweir, you are as deadly as you are beautiful,” he complimented with a broad smile as he pulled her long knife free and, after wiping it clean, offered it to her.
She started to say something flippant like, “Save your lines, Neiko, for someone who cares.” It was difficult to hold her tongue, but she knew she would regret the statement as soon as it was said. She simply nodded and accepted the compliment in the spirit it was given. Jamming her long knife back into its sheath, she went to check on her other companions.
****
Brynweir looked up sharply at that. “Are you sure that this is safe?” she asked pushing back some hair that the wind had tugged loose and blown into her face.
“No. In fact, I’m pretty sure that it’s not. On the other hand, being stuck out here when that storm settles in is definitely not safe.”
Glancing up quickly at the horizon, she could see the storm clouds were slowly closing the distance. Still she hesitated. Neiko crossed the ground between them and lightly placed his hand on her shoulder. Brynweir dropped her eyes to the ground refusing to look at him. He had to be wondering what was wrong with her. She never had trouble making decisions. Why now?
“Look, Brynweir. I know that you really don’t want to do this. I also know that it’s the only way that we’ll ever get there without Gavin trying to destroy us every step of the way.” He reached out with his other hand and cupped her chin. Gently but firmly he raised her face and made her look at him. “I could try to reason with you, but I’d only be repeating what you told us when we began this journey. Bryn, we have to do this.”
It only took a moment for her resolve to firm and she made her decision. Reaching up she took his hand away from her face and clasped it.
“You’re right. We must do this.” With a nod Neiko started to turn away, but she tightened her grip on him.
“What is it, Bryn? What’s wrong?” His concern and his closeness would have normally put her off, made her feel uncomfortable, but something had changed. The tightness that usually sat at the base of her skull was gone. The tension she always felt around him no longer existed. Something had changed but she couldn’t put a name to it. Shaking her head she let him go.
Farien (He has not been introduced yet, but he’s like a little brother to Brynweir) He was whipcord thin, not an ounce of fat on him. His tight clothing made it look more like he gave his food away. Despite his thin appearance and the fact that Max had twice his experience, Farien could have easily beaten him if it came to blows. True to his nature, however, Farien simply stepped aside and said, “It would be foolish for brothers to fight over chow, especially for what we’ve got to eat.” He cracked a lopsided grin just to make sure Max knew it was a joke. It was a pitiful attempt, but it worked. Max clapped him on the back and went back to work oiling his sword.
****
“Who is it?” she called.
“Farien,” came the reply. “Are you decent?”
“No, but I am dressed,” she retorted. “Come on in.”
He stepped a few feet into the room and stopped. As he stood there staring at her, Brynweir seized the opportunity to look him over. Tight gray pants accentuated his muscular legs, and matching light gray boots were the perfect cut for his well-turned calves. A blue silk shirt highlighted sapphire eyes, and an embroidered gray vest completed the outfit. Rarely had she seen a man dress himself better.
Though his wavy blond hair was still damp, it had been combed with more than his fingers for once and was tied back with a blue ribbon the same color as his shirt. He had shaved off the peach-fuzz beard that he had acquired over the past tenday, and he actually looked more mature with it gone. She had no idea what he was thinking as he stared at her in return, but she wasn’t about to just stand there and let him ogle her.
“When you have a moment, could you put your tongue back in your mouth and come do my laces?” she said as she turned and presented him with her back. Looking over her shoulder, she saw him crack that lopsided grin of his and lightly step up behind her. She pulled her hair over her shoulder to keep it out of his way. His slender fingers made quick work of the ties, and he moved around in front of her.
Placing his hands on her upper arms he said, “I know we have been on the road for a long time, but damn, Bryn, you look good!”
She playfully smacked him on the arm. “Did you come in here for a reason or were you hoping for a peek?”
“Yes,” he replied and danced away as she swung at him again.
“Scoundrel!” she cried and burst into laughter.
“Actually I came to see if you would like an escort to dinner, My Lady.” He gave a little bow and offered his arm.
“Afraid you’d get lost if you went down by yourself, eh?”
“Precisely.”
Ehren: (I refer to him from time to time, but he dies fairly early on) He was an assassin that Brynweir was in love with.
“Really Bryn, is that any way to greet an old friend?” he asked sitting up and letting his legs dangle over the edge. He looked up at her without raising his head, and the light cast shadows across his face. The darkness only served to accentuate the planes and angles of flawlessly sculpted features. Dark, arched eyebrows emphasized deep-set gray eyes. His sharp nose perfectly accented full, soft lips, and his high cheekbones and slightly pointed ears spoke of elvish ancestry.
****
He dropped his eyes for a moment, unable to meet hers. Avoiding the question he said softly, “I never meant to hurt you Bryn, but you know I couldn’t have any attachments. You were my best friend, but I had an opportunity and I had to take it. It was safer for you to let me go. I think even if I knew how things were going to turn out I still would have gone. I’m just sorry that I caused you pain.” She could hear the regret in his voice.
Lowering the blade she said, “I forgive you, Ehren.” She had never gotten the chance to tell him, but she had forgiven him long ago. Weight she hadn’t realized she’d been carrying was suddenly lifted from her heart. A look of relief passed over Ehren’s face and the smile returned. Before she could add anything, Ehren changed the subject.
“So. You want to get reacquainted?” he asked patting the bed beside him. Brynweir threw back her head and laughed. “I didn’t think the offer to be that humorous,” he said pouting.
“Same old Ehren,” she responded shaking her head.
Jeryll: From the position in which he was sitting, Brynweir could tell that he had to have pretty good balance. Few people could sit like that. Her eyes roamed over him, taking in as much detail as they could. Although he was not large, he was well-muscled and fit. He had dark hair that hung almost to his shoulders, and dark eyes. Staring into those eyes, she decided that he was very handsome. Other than Ehren, she had never seen a man so striking. What was she thinking? The recent loss of Ehren must have left her heart wide open. Breaking her thoughts away from how attractive he was, Brynweir tried to focus on something important.
****
The way his face lit up caused her to reassess her earlier opinion. He wasn’t just handsome, he was magnificent. Those deep brown, almost black eyes and chiseled features would make any woman sigh. Normally the dark clothing that he was wearing would make a person look pale, but his skin was a light bronze. The graceful way he seemed to glide rather than walk, even under Owen’s extra weight, told her that he was in great physical shape. Rather than detract from his looks, the hair that kept falling in his eyes gave him a boyish, almost innocent look.
Owen: Owen is young, not quite twenty, and not really sure who he is. His father has tried to raise him to be a ruthless killer, but his personality is closer to Bryn’s. He has a kind and forgiving nature. He does not fight unless he has no option, but he is pretty good. He has never been able to stand up to his father.
As Tamlin helped lift him, Brynweir thought that the second young man had to be the most average looking man she had ever seen. His boots and pants were brown leather, his shirt was white cotton, and his vest and cloak were brown wool. His short hair was almost the same color as his cloak. Though they were closed, Brynweir was willing to bet that his eyes were brown as well.
Tamlin: Tamlin is a ranger and his biggest flaw is that he loves Brynweir like a daughter and indulges her too much. Sometimes his choices get him in trouble with his patron deity, Corellon Larethain. He is physically perfect – elvish golden hair and emerald green eyes, etc. sometimes his perfection is irritating.
He knelt in the alley next to the prone figure and began examining him. Smiling, Brynweir noticed that as a result of his tumble in the alley, Tamlin had a small patch of dirt on his right shoulder. Finally, she thought. It was rare to see dirt cling to him.
Jasen: Brynweir's nephew whom she only recently met
...she noticed a young man who hung back from the rest. He appeared to be around seventeen or eighteen years of age, with short dark hair and light brown eyes. His belt held a beautifully worked sword and matching dagger. Brynweir had to wonder if they were as sturdy as they were pretty. He stood very straight, in a proud, almost defiant pose, as she looked him over. She didn’t know him, yet he seemed familiar. Brynweir gestured for the boy to come forward. Though she could tell he was nervous, he came to her without hesitation. A point in his favor. With a twist of her finger Brynweir signaled for him to turn around. While he slowly turned in a circle, she glanced out the window at what had to be his horse. When he came to a stop, she had him hold out his hands. They held many calluses and scars.
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Anyone who likes to read something that's really dark and gritty and completely awesome ought to read The Night Angel Trilogy by Brent Weeks. You can check out a little taste at www.BrentWeeks.com I should probably warn you, though, that it is definitely not PG-13 :-D
He also started a new Trilogy with Black Prism, which may even surpass the Night Angel Trilogy in its awesomeness.
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Edited by - Brynweir on 20 Dec 2008 17:40:43 |
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Brynweir
Senior Scribe
USA
436 Posts |
Posted - 01 Feb 2008 : 01:44:16
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[[I had to post something new so that people will keep reading ...Remember, feedback is desired, even if it is critical. I am trying to improve.]]
After double-checking the knots, Brynweir was satisfied that they were secure and the trio started out across the ice. The wind picked up even more and hurled the snow in their faces. Conversation became difficult so they traveled in silence; except for the howling of the wind.
For the next two and a half hours they moved slowly, with Neiko in the lead and Caden in the rear. Brynweir had started to argue that she should go first since she was the lightest, but since they traveled with that pony it really didn’t matter. Neiko wanted the lead and she let him have it.
Her thoughts trailed off as she caught a glimpse of movement at the edge of her vision. Before she could shout a warning to Neiko, something small and gray-white darted across the ice straight for him. The fox looked as startled as Neiko when it slammed into his legs knocking him off balance. It stumbled away towards the frightened pony. As the pony reared up, time seemed to slow. Brynweir felt a strange sense of detachment, like she wasn’t inside her body anymore. She froze.
The pony pawed the air. Caden yelled for Neiko to watch out, but he seemed to be moving in slow motion. He turned. It was too late. The pony slashed out with its front hoof and caught Neiko across the side of his head. He crumpled to the ice. The pony slammed its hooves down and tried to smash the fox. Trying to get away from the flying hooves, the fox darted in between the pony’s legs. The pony went mad. He began leaping and bucking around trying to see where the fox had gone. If Neiko hadn’t been in mortal danger, it would have been comical.
The pony fell and landed heavily. Crack! At first Brynweir didn’t recognize the sound. It was quickly followed by several smaller crackling noises. The pony tried to stand. Crack! It sounded again.
“Gods, no!” she whispered… prayed…as understanding came. “Caden, pull!” she screamed.
Putting action to her words, she tugged on the rope that remained attached to Neiko. He barely moved. Caden hurried up beside her and put his hands on the rope above hers. When he pulled, Neiko began to slide across the ice towards them. Brynweir let out the breath that she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and started to relax. That’s when the stupid pony tried to follow Neiko.
With a final loud snap, the ice under the pony gave way. The animal disappeared in a spray of icy water. Neiko, however, was far enough away that he didn’t go in. Before Brynweir could even thank the gods for that small favor, the pony resurfaced scraping at the ice. He got his front legs onto the ice, but it just collapsed under his bulk. More of the ice began to crumble away and a huge crack spread out towards Brynweir and Caden. The pony went under for what seemed to be the last time.
“Lie down,” Caden ordered. “Disperse your weight over the ice. Slither to your left, away from the split.” Brynweir followed his orders without question. If that damnable fox had waited just a few more minutes they would have been across and had solid ground under their feet instead of the ice that was quickly disintegrating.
She turned her attention back to Neiko. Moving very slowly, she and Caden began to pull on the rope again. Inch by inch they closed the distance between them. Without warning, the ice under Neiko collapsed.
“No!” Brynweir screamed and began to scrabble across the ice towards the hole.
“Bryn, stop!” Caden called. “You’ll fall too.”
“I’ve got to get him. I’ve got to,” she repeated to herself.
“The rope, remember? Help me pull him out.”
Of course! How could I be so stupid? Rolling onto her back, Brynweir braced her feet against the ice and pulled. She and Caden heaved together. Neiko slid onto the ice. Luckily, the rope had slipped up to the upper half of his body and now was secure around his chest, just under his arms. It’s about time that something went our way, Brynweir thought.
“He’s stuck,” Caden stated flatly.
“What?” she asked incredulously.
“He’s stuck. I can’t move him an inch further. Something he’s wearing must be caught on the ice.”
Brynweir moved closer to Caden to create some slack in the rope. She quickly began untying herself. “Can you hold him?” she asked.
“I think so. Hey, what are you doing? Are you crazy?”
“I won’t just leave him, Caden, and I can’t get to him if I’m stuck on that rope. I can do this. Don’t worry.”
Still lying flat on the ice, Brynweir made her way towards Neiko. If this doesn’t work, she thought, I don’t know what I’ll do. I won’t let him die.
After what seemed an excruciatingly long time, she finally reached the edge of the hole. Using her teeth, she tugged off her gloves. Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she plunged her hands into the water. Immediately she felt tiny pin pricks of pain running along her hands and arms. She had to hurry. Working as quickly as she could, Bryn felt around Neiko’s waist trying to see what had caught him. There was nothing.
He wasn’t wearing a knife, a belt buckle or... Wait! Though her hands were losing sensation, she felt the leather strap twisted around his leg. She couldn’t imagine what it could be or how it had gotten there. What’s more, how was it keeping Caden from pulling him out?
Of course! she thought pulling back. Brynweir pulled her long knife from its sheath on her thigh. Reaching quickly back into the water she cut the reins that had become tangled around his legs.
“Stupid pony,” she muttered through teeth that had begun to chatter. Bryn couldn’t imagine the kind of pain Neiko would be in if he were conscious. “Pull Caden, pull.”
As Caden began to haul on the rope, she helped to ease Neiko over the edge and onto the ice. The skin she could see was deathly white and his lips were already turning blue. If she hadn’t seen the flutter of his eyelids in that moment, she would have believed him dead.
Caden and Brynweir pulled Neiko across the ice until he was several yards away from the split. Carefully they got to their feet and Bryn tried to help Caden sling Neiko over his shoulder. With his clothing completely soaked with water, he was just too heavy to lift. Instead, they each took hold of an arm and dragged him across the frozen lake.
“He’s like ice,” Caden remarked as they started towards shore.
Nodding Brynweir replied, “We’ve got to get him warm soon or we could still lose him.”
****************
Later that same day….
Brynweir remained quiet for most of the evening, although the two men seemed unusually talkative. As they started to wind down and get ready to sleep, she volunteered for the first watch so that she could have some time to think. It wasn’t until after they were snoring quietly that Brynweir relaxed. Her mind kept coming back to the same thought over and over again. She was in love with Neiko. She didn’t know how or why, but she slowly came to realize that it had always been so.
Lost in contemplation, she did not hear Neiko as he approached. He had always been the only person who could catch her unaware, but he moved carefully this time, not wanting to startle her. “Bryn?” he said softly as he stopped a few feet away.
She tensed before she turned to look at him. “What’s wrong?” she whispered.
“I don’t know.” He shrugged, a gesture that always included his hands, and almost dropped the blanket he had wrapped around him. Catching it as it slipped, he closed the distance between them. “I just couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d take the watch so you could rest,” he answered quietly.
Brynweir shook her head. “I’m not going to sleep anytime soon,” she assured him.
“Why, Bryn? What’s eating you?” The concern was clear in his voice as he sat down next to her.
Not knowing how to answer his question, she remained silent for a time. Finally, she decided to tell him the truth and see where it went from there. Looking him in the eye was difficult, but she forced her gaze to meet his.
“We need to talk,” she began.
The serious tone in her voice caused Neiko to sit up straight. He didn’t think he was going to be happy with where the conversation was headed.
“Neiko,” she began quietly, glancing over her shoulder to see if Caden was still sleeping. “My perceptions of you have recently changed. I look back now, to the day I hired you, and I think I made a terrible mistake.” Neiko began to protest, but she raised her hand to forestall him. “Let me finish. Please.” The conversation was difficult enough without him interrupting.
Trying to fight the sinking feeling in his gut, Neiko nodded for her to go on.
“The day I met you, I knew there was something special about you. You showed great skill and even greater promise. That’s why I hired you.” She smiled wistfully at the memory.
“Since that day, everything you have done has proven my judgment to be a sound one. You have been a great asset to the group and to me. You have been a trusted ally and a true friend; always looking out for me, but trusting in me, believing that I could take care of myself. Not once, in the three years that I have known you, have you ever said an unkind word to me.”
Brynweir could see that her speech was only confusing him further. A wry smile flitted across her face as she tried to think of how to continue. Her throat had gone dry and she had to swallow several times before speaking again.
“The incident today, with the ice, made me realize my error.” He drew breath to interrupt again, probably to argue that it wasn’t his fault, but she pushed ahead. “Neiko, when I hired you, made you one of my men, that made you -- to my mind at least-- off limits. I think that if I hadn’t made that mistake, if I hadn’t hired you, then I might have fallen in love with you sooner.” She stopped, holding her breath, waiting to gauge his reaction.
An array of emotions played across Neiko’s face as he tried to come to terms with what she had just said. Shaking his head and scrunching his face in confusion, he finally managed, “I must have been hit harder than I thought. Did you just say that you love me?” He was clearly skeptical.
She nodded.
His mouth split into grin so wide he wondered how his face could contain it. As he began to lean forward, he caught himself and froze, uncertain. He wanted to kiss her, but after so much time holding back, he couldn’t bring himself to do so.
Brynweir could see the conflict plainly on his face. With a smile of her own, she resolved the matter. Sliding her right hand up behind his neck, she gently pulled him closer until she could kiss him. She was tentative at first, but soon gained confidence as he returned the kiss.
“Took you long enough,” Caden muttered from the other side of the cave. The pair broke apart as Brynweir released an embarrassed giggle.
Turning slightly, she slid over so that she was right up against Neiko. He put his arm around her shoulders as she leaned into him. Snug in the cocoon of his blanket, they both lay down on the cave floor. He wrapped her in a tight embrace, cradling her like he never intended to let go. Neither one spoke for a while. Words no longer seemed necessary.
After a time, Brynweir drifted off to sleep in the comfort of his arms. Neiko, however, remained awake most of the night. Part of him feared that he was dreaming and if he fell asleep, when he awoke he would discover that it had all been an illusion.
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Anyone who likes to read something that's really dark and gritty and completely awesome ought to read The Night Angel Trilogy by Brent Weeks. You can check out a little taste at www.BrentWeeks.com I should probably warn you, though, that it is definitely not PG-13 :-D
He also started a new Trilogy with Black Prism, which may even surpass the Night Angel Trilogy in its awesomeness.
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Edited by - Brynweir on 01 Feb 2008 01:59:32 |
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Slaygrim
Learned Scribe
111 Posts |
Posted - 01 Feb 2008 : 15:35:24
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| I'm looking forward to reading this. I am in a call center and keep getting interupted but I will try to read this today. Thanks for sharing! |
Watch my gorgeous wife sing at:
www.youtube.com/Airicx |
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Silverwulf
Acolyte
USA
9 Posts |
Posted - 22 Apr 2008 : 01:59:05
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| good work. |
I do not speak my sword speaks for me. |
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riot the outsider
Learned Scribe
USA
121 Posts |
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Brynweir
Senior Scribe
USA
436 Posts |
Posted - 16 Dec 2008 : 15:47:14
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Ok, I need help  . I haven't really written anything for a while and I'm trying to get back into Bryn's story. This scene is the first of many attempts by her brother to taunt her, and it's the point where she meets Jasen, who turns out to be her nephew (the one who kills Gavin in an earlier posting). I've always had trouble writing fight scenes and this one is no exception. Any helpful comments are welcome.
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Just before midday, they came upon a small village and decided to stop for a real meal and a bath before continuing. The men decided to go ahead and eat lunch, but Bryn decided that she would rather have a bath first. Her last real, hot bath had happened a few tendays before when she was still in Waterdeep. Hot water, fresh soap, and clean clothes sounded too good to pass up.
With clean clothes in hand, she made her way to the bathhouse in back of the village’s only inn. At this time of day, the place was deserted except for the young girl the innkeep had sent as her attendant. The girl handed Bryn a lump of lavender smelling soap, and proceeded to help her fill the tub with buckets of steaming hot water. Once the tub was filled and the fire roaring in the hearth, Bryn gave the girl a handful of coppers and dismissed her, then she climbed into the tub. She placed a rolled towel behind her head so she could rest. The heat went to work, immediately loosening the tension in muscles that hadn’t relaxed in more than a tenday. Pain and pleasure were both intense. Closing her eyes Bryn vowed to let the steaming water soak away all her worries.
Though it felt like only a moment had passed, when she glanced at the small windows near the ceiling, Bryn could tell that midday had come and gone. Her friends would probably be starting to wonder. She really should get out. Besides, the water had grown cold, and her skin was peppered with goose bumps and as wrinkled as a prune. Before she could grab the soap off the nearby stool, a flicker of movement caught her eye. She looked to the doorway to discover three armed men. Each wore dark clothing and a scowl. Though surprised, Bryn counted herself lucky to have awoken before they came in. A quick glance over at the bench where her weapons rested told her that she'd never reach it before they got to her. Trying to buy some time and to hide her distress, she spoke. “I believe the men’s baths are across the yard.”
“We haven’t come for baths,” the man in front said, confirming her fears. “We’ve come for you.” A slow smile spread across his skinny rat face. “Gavin said to say 'hello'.”
At the mention of her brother’s name, she felt the blood drain from her face. How did he know I was here? Has he already gone after the others? Will my friends be coming to look for me after all? These thoughts and more raced through her mind in an instant.
The men moved further into the room and began to spread out. Bryn slipped out of the tub and placed it between herself and her attackers. She watched them carefully. They didn't move like fighters, didn't even hold their weapons like fighters. Their balance was off, and the man closest to her had a white-knuckled grip that rested way too close to the hand guard. “It is a shame we have to kill you. We could have so much fun,” he said, leering at her. The other two laughed.
Glancing quickly around the room, Bryn snatched a towel off the stool, but not to cover herself. She had outgrown simple embarrassment long ago. Hastily, she rolled the lump of soap in the towel and soaked it in the tub. Then she picked up the stool. Though neither large nor heavy, it was better than nothing.
The men began to move across the room, flanking her. As the man on her left drew closer, she stepped forward and took a wild swing at him with the stool. He backed off a bit, allowing her a moment to turn on the man to her right. This second man made the mistake of approaching her near the fire. With barely a thought, she dropped low and swept his legs out from under him, sending him sprawling sideways into the fireplace. His head struck the lintel with only a glancing blow as he fell, but his clothing and hair went up in flames almost instantly. Screaming and thrashing his arms around, he plunged into the nearest tub trying to douse the flames. Unfortunately for Bryn, he flung his arms around so violently that his sword slid across the room and out of reach. She smashed his skull with the stool before the other two could close. The stool shattered, and the man lay still, bleeding in the tub.
The man to her left came charging forward in a rage. With only the towel and a broken leg of the stool, she faced his charge. He swung at her. She ducked low, at the same time deflecting the blade high with the stool leg. It snapped so that she was left with only a stub. Before he could direct another blow, she flicked the wet towel in his face. The hard ball of soap struck him near the eye and he took a step back. Flinging the towel out to her left, she entagled the blade and pulled it wide and down. Then she stepped forward and thrust the stake upwards into his throat. The man collapsed with a wordless gurgle, jerking the towel out of her hand as he fell. He struggled for a moment, clawing at the wood, before finally expiring.
Sight of his two companions dead at the hand of an unarmed woman was too much for the rat-faced man, and he broke and ran for the door. Bryn scooped up the second man’s sword as she pursued him. It was much heavier than her own blade and slick from the water now pooled on the floor. Gripping it tightly, she hurried after him. Instinct was all that saved her.
Just as she was about to exit the door, she threw herself sideways. The man’s strike inflicted a fairly deep, but not immediately fatal wound along the right side of her ribcage and across her arm. She spun in time to parry his next strike and returned a blow of her own. She could tell that she was losing a lot of blood and needed to end the fight quickly. She just needed one good hit to distract him, but she didn’t see an opening. This last man must have been the best swordsman of the bunch. She had to find a way to get past his guard before she grew too weak from blood loss.
As luck would have it, she didn’t need to. Desperately trying to see her way out, she was surprised when the man’s body suddenly went rigid and toppled over. The arrow with its silver and black fletching told her whom she needed to thank.
Seeing that the man was dead, she drooped the sword and fell to her knees clutching the wound. She needed a healer. Neiko came running up to her. Without a word he pulled off his cloak followed by his shirt. The latter he wadded up and pressed to her side. He then wrapped her tightly in his cloak, lifted her from the ground, and carried her back to the inn. Jeryll and Owen both came running up as Neiko kicked the door open. Jeryll cleared off a table so Neiko could lay her down, and Owen sent for a physician. The village had no real physician, but the innkeeper had one of the serving girls go fetch a seamstress.
Before she returned, the inn door was flung open and several armed men rushed into the room. Both Neiko and Jeryll drew steal as they spun, but they instantly relaxed. Tamlin’s face appeared over Neiko’s shoulder and an unfamiliar voice said from the doorway, “So you were right. She was in trouble.” Lucky for Bryn, help had arrived.
“Hey big brother, how’d you know I’d be here?” she asked softly.
“Lucky guess,” Tamlin replied dismissively. “Oh, Bryn, what’d you do to yourself?” he whispered upon seeing her blood soaking through Neiko’s shirt.
“Gavin,” she gasped in pain as he pulled away the makeshift bandage. “He sent me a message.”
Tamlin placed his hands on the chest wound and closed his eyes. Promptly, she felt a warm tingle spread across her side. An itching sensation followed. When he finally pulled away, his hands were covered in blood, but the chest wound was almost completely healed. Only a thin straight scar remained along her ribs, and the one on her arm was barely visible.
“You say Gavin sent you a message? It looks more like he tried to kill you,” Neiko stated bluntly.
“No,” Bryn said sitting up. She used Neiko's already ruined cloak to clean off most of the blood before putting on the tunic and pants that Christopher flung at her. “If he had been trying to kill me, they’d have been better fighters and their blades would have been poisoned. He wants me to know that he knows where I am and where I’m going. He wants me to know that he is two steps ahead. I think he believes that he will be able to get the pieces before we do.” And I’m beginning to believe it, too, she thought but didn't say.
As the rest of her men piled into the inn, she noticed a young man who hung back from the others. He had short dark hair and brown eyes. His belt held a beautifully worked sword and matching dagger. She had to wonder if they were as sturdy as they were pretty. He stood very straight, in a proud, almost defiant pose, as she looked him over. She didn’t know him, yet he seemed familiar.
“Who’s this?” Bryn asked, gesturing towards him.
“His name is Jasen. We met in Longsaddle, and he insisted on coming. He... wants you to hire him,” Tamlin answered.
Bryn gave Tamlin a funny look. No one ever insisted on anything with Tam. There must be something special about Jasen for Tamlin to allow him to travel with them. “Was he alone?” she asked, though she didn’t know why. Something tickled the edge of memory, but it was gone before she was aware it was really there.
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Edited by - Brynweir on 20 Dec 2008 17:11:33 |
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dwarvenranger
Senior Scribe
USA
428 Posts |
Posted - 17 Dec 2008 : 04:33:14
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| This was quite good Bryn. The fight scene was descriptive enough without being overly complex and had some good action in it. |
If I waited till I knew what I was doing, I'd never get anything done.
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riot the outsider
Learned Scribe
USA
121 Posts |
Posted - 17 Dec 2008 : 23:41:59
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| Awesome fight sence. I really like how you used the left over piece of stool leg as a stake to put through someones throat,very creatative. Thats something I would have done/came up with. |
Those who fear the darkness have never seen what the light can do. http://s13.gladiatus.com/game/c.php?uid=67846
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Brynweir
Senior Scribe
USA
436 Posts |
Posted - 20 Dec 2008 : 18:28:23
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As the magical fog thickened, Jeryll, Shari and Farien hurried towards the forest. They had no idea how long the shroud would last, so they moved as quickly as they dared. Shari took the lead since she knew where they were going. It wasn’t long, however, before a huge shadow loomed up out of the fog ahead of her. She froze. In his rush, Farien was three steps beyond her before he realized that she had stopped.
He turned back and caught her hand. Pulling her close, he whispered, “It’s only a tree.” She jerked a nod and started after him. Before she completed the step, they were thrown to the ground. The earth was shaking so violently that they couldn’t rise.
Once the shaking passed, they jumped to their feet and began running again. The sound of Gavin’s voice calling out across the field made them cringe. “Did you really think that a little fog was going to cause me problems? You must remember who it is you face, dear sister.”
Jeryll turned back. Farien grabbed him by the shoulder and roughly jerked him back around. Keeping his voice low he said, “You can’t do anything for her against a power like that. We have to keep him from getting the artifact and getting any stronger. If you go back there, you’ll just be a distraction for Bryn. Why do you think she made sure you came with me? The best thing you can do for her now is to keep your word. We have to get the Circlet before Gavin can.”
Jeryll nodded sharply and followed Farien. He couldn’t help looking over his shoulder as he ran, however. “Please be okay,” he whispered.
It wasn’t long before the trio came across the first of Gavin’s troops. The soldiers were spread all throughout the woods, and the little group had to move more cautiously. Jeryll could tell by the staffs some of the men carried that they were magic users, as well. At least they appeared to be. Again he thought of turning back, but he knew that one more blade against magic would be no good. If he wanted to help, he had to get the Circlet.
Traveling from tree to tree and hiding in the scrub when necessary, the three made their way to the other side of the crater. Shari walked along examining the wall as though looking for something.
“Well, where is it?” Jeryll hissed.
“I think it’s… yeah… here it is.” She was standing before a section of the rock wall that looked exactly like the rest of the mountain around them.
“What are you…?” Farien started to ask, but Shari stepped through the wall. He and Jeryll quickly followed. It was dark inside the tunnel, but a strange moss gave off a pale green phosphorescent glow. Shari was already moving down the passage as the two men entered behind her. They hurried to catch up before they became lost in the darkness.
It was difficult to keep her in sight because she was moving so fast in the tunnel, but there was really no where else for her to go. It seemed like they were in the close tunnel for hours before Shari finally disappeared. The men stopped, looking around carefully trying to see where she might have gone.
“There,” Farien pointed. Off to the left there was a small space on the tunnel wall that appeared darker than the rest. As they moved to the space, they discovered that it was an opening. Farien took the lead as they turned down this side passage. They had only gone a few steps before they were faced with a dilemma. This new passage branched off again.
“Left or right?” Farien asked Jeryll, who shrugged in reply.
“Shari! Shari, wait up! Which way do we go?” Jeryll called softly to the darkness.
There was no response. He stepped forward to examine each passage. There was no discernable difference. They would have to guess.
“Want to split up?” Farien asked. “I’ll go right and you go left.”
“No,” Jeryll replied. “Remember what happened to Max. We should stay together.”
“Okay, but which passage?”
Instead of answering, Jeryll turned and entered the one on the left. They traveled for several long minutes before they came to another opening. This one, however, passed into a large open chamber. Here the green glow seemed to be brighter than in the tunnels they had passed through. On the opposite side of the chamber they could barely make out Shari. She was kneeling in front of a low natural shelf. As they approached they could see that she was cupping something in her hands. It appeared to be a small crown, it's central gem nearly the size of an egg. The glow was coming from there.
“Shari,” Farien said softly.
She spun around with an indefinable look on her face. There were so many emotions that the men didn’t know what to think. She looked terrified, angry, and rapturous all at once. Clutching the crown to her chest, she snarled at them. “Stay back!”
“Shari, what’s going on? Is that the Circlet?” Farien asked taking a step toward her. He tried to keep her attention on him while he motioned for Jeryll to move around to the side. She began to turn toward Jeryll and Farien snapped, “Shari, give that to me!”
“No!” she cried and lunged at him. She struck him across the face and he staggered back, bleeding. Jeryll grabbed her arms from behind and pinned them to her side. Farien recovered quickly. He wasn’t about to touch the Circlet, just in case it had the power to corrupt him the way it appeared to have corrupted Shari, so he used the edge of his cloak to snatch the crown away from her. She cried out like a wild animal and began struggling in Jeryll’s grip.
“I hate to do this,” Farien said as he took out his dagger.
“Don’t kill her, maybe it will wear off,” Jeryll pleaded.
Farien nodded and reversed the dagger. He struck her hard behind her left ear and she collapsed. Jeryll carefully placed her on the cave floor and stripped off his pack. Farien dropped the Circlet in the bag and Jeryll slipped it back over his shoulders.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said. Leaving Shari unconscious on the cave floor, the two men headed back the way they had come. They didn’t get far. Upon entering the chamber that they had previously passed through, they discovered that it now had only a single opening, the tunnel on the right that they had not taken before.
“What now?” Jeryll asked.
“It doesn’t appear that we have a choice,” Farien answered and entered the opening.
As they traveled down this new path, they began to notice that it wasn’t as large as the tunnel they had passed through previously. The further they went, the smaller the tunnel appeared to get. It wasn’t long before they had to stoop over to walk, and not long after that, they had to crouch down and kind of waddle through. The muscles in their legs and back began to burn. Soon they felt as thought they were one big knot of pain.
“How far do you suppose this goes?” Jeryll asked, panting.
“No idea,” Farien replied just as winded.
They finally reached a small chamber that was large enough to allow them to stand up straight. They stopped there for several minutes trying to work the kinks out of tired muscles. Farien took out his water skin and they both drank sparingly. Not knowing how long they might wander around inside the tunnels, they didn’t want to run out of water.
Jeryll walked a slow circle around the small room while Farien sat down for a rest. “What do you think is happening outside?” Jeryll asked.
“Better not to think about it,” Farien replied. “You’ll only start worrying over things you can’t control. Best thing to do is concentrate on getting out of here. Then we can worry about helping.”
Jeryll nodded. What Farien said made sense, but he still couldn’t help worrying. “Come on,” Farien said, finally climbing to his feet. “The sooner we get out of here the sooner you can see she’s okay.”
This time Jeryll took the lead, and, despite the cramped space in the tunnel, he tried to hurry. Dread had gripped him as they spoke of Brynweir and he just knew something terrible was going to happen.
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Brynweir's story
