And Thus Dies a Beloved Series /// Humble Beginnings, Part 14

Yes, this day is both one of hilarity and despair. On July 14th of last year, we embarked on a journey of sarcasm and laughter, where I commentated on my oldest novel I've written. That post--the fifth one on my blog--is still at fourth place for most views. All good things must come to an end, though, and that's the case for the Humble Beginnings series. Prepare yourself for one last leg of our travel, and try not to cry too much.

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As if in response to the knight's statement, a series of cracks sounded. Chaos broke loose when the crew began shouting questions on what to do and the rookies started to get frightened.

"Calm yourselves NOW," the quartermaster hollered above the racket and instantly silence blanketed the people.

Oh my gosh, this crew is just the worst. First, they all abandon their posts, even if it is to pray, and when they're being run aground, they act like a bunch of headless chickens. Unbelievable. The quartermaster really shouldn't have to tell 'em to shut up.

Suddenly, a massive collage of icy spikes nailed the Thunder Cannon's bow. The fighters were jostled to the deck. Then, all was still. Isaac picked himself up and declared, "We've landed on Zracs, so we need to disembark and make our way to the wraithclaws' castle."

Ooh, that's a very cool opening sentence for the paragraph. I'll have to remember that. Also, is it just me, or is it very abrupt to be all, "Well, we're here, let's be on our way, we don't need to check if anyone's hurt or if the ship's a total wreck, nosiree"?

The gangplank was lowered and the miniature army stepped off the warship. Isaac gazed at it and queried, "Quartermaster Goliath, do you think we'll be able to sail this thing when our mission is complete?"

"It'll take a miracle, sir," answered Goliath. "We would have to push the boat off the shore and then fix it before it sank."

"Hmm," Isaac murmured, tapping his chin. "Sounds difficult." 

Clearly I didn't know anything about how sailors would beach their boats to clean or fix them. And while Isaac is interested in the ship's welfare, he should also be asking his men how they are. It might endear us to him a little more. On top of all that, why is the quartermaster only getting a name now? I feel like it should've happened in the last chapter.

They started the trek across the snowy landscape, their boots crunching. Wind nipped them, although it didn't have much affect, thanks to their cozy get-up.

The wind should nip at them, and it wouldn't have much effect. You're welcome.

The surrounding are was beutiful, complete with rolling hills and little caves here and there. Fir trees that had dazzling blue pines stood at various places like watchful sentinels. Creeping scarlet lichen stretched out on the ground and the side of rocks that seemed to resemble sculptures. An iced pond made itself visible occasionally. Snowflakes swirled gently, dancing to an unheard tune. "It's like an orchestra," Mark thought, "with Detrius as the conductor."

There's a few things I'll note here. Like how I forgot the a in beautiful. Or how my description of landscapes still sucked, but has a few details I want to remember for later. And can I just mention how we've had one whole page with no proper POV? We've seriously been a floating camera until we randomly attached to Mark. Unbelievable.

Michelle wandered to Marks side and smiled at him. He did the same to her, thinking she looked cute in her outfit.

"Isn't this place wonderful?" she questioned.

"Yeah. It could be warmer, but it's nice," Mark said. "Kind of . . . romantic, in a way."

Not gonna lie, I've sometimes thought girls in snow gear are cute, so I still agree with younger me's sentiment. But Mark could really work on his subtlety.

"No wonder the wraithclaws like it here. They're romance fanatics, if you know what I mean," added Michelle.

He nodded. "Sure thing." His hand was abruptly held, and he looked to see that Michelle had acted. Now he beamed and gripped her tighter.

*raises hand* I still don't know what you mean. What cause someone to fall under the classification of romance fanatic, and what does it all entail? Please elaborate for our sakes, because I surely can't be the only one who doesn't get it.

Half an hour later, the group reached a vast stretch of terrain that was non descript and had knee-deep snow. "The Barren Lands," Isaac said. "The worst place in the world to be in the middle of a storm. Those who have gone before us learned that the hard way."

"Obviously," Goliath interrupted, "a few made it, since our relationship with the wraithclaw has been dented."

"Fortunately, we have come with better preparations," Isaac continued. "Sewn inside our clothes are bits of dried and crushed fire blossams. So now, instead of creating flames, they provide an efficient heat to keep us toasty warm."

"Will they be hot enough to preserve us in a blizzard?" David wanted to know.

Goliath gave a grimace. "That is something only Detrius will be able to truly do."

Wow! Right off the bat, we're hit with a boatload of exposition. Then the plural for the tribe changes from wraithclaws to wraithclaw, blossoms is spelled incorrectly, and the fire blossoms are once again used as a deus ex machina, albeit a not-completely effective one.

The situation turned bleaker when the rushing stream of air became a torrent. Visibility was low, bad enough that one couldn't see very far ahead. Shouting had to be used in order for others to hear.

Virtually this entire paragraph is a prime example of my bad writing back in the day.

Michelle staggered to Mark, shivering harshly. "So . . . cold," she could barely manage to say.

Mark whirled in time to watch her eyes roll upward. She fell on her back in the growing snowdrifts. "Michelle!" he yelled, ripping his mitten off and almost numbing his hand in an instant. He felt for her pulse and was relieved to find it. He put the mitten back on and, unsure what else to do, lifted Michelle up gingerly.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but Michelle shouldn't really be passing out right now. Aren't you in more danger if you begin to feel warm again and then go unconscious? I don't think Mark would've really needed to almost freeze his hand in order to see if she's alive.

David and Taylor had heard his voice and went to its source. Taylor, upon catching sight of Mark, called, "What love won't do for a friend, eh, Mark?"

"'Course," said David, "you're used to carrying a woman while this chilly precipitation falls. I mean, you live in Canada."

Mark laughed. "You Americans think that Canada is a big, frozen, artic wasteland, and that's not true. Do you also assume we live in igloos and dress like Eskimoes?"

Lemme get this straight: Michelle is (supposedly) in danger, and David and Taylor are cracking jokes about it? Not seeing if she's okay? Is it a requirement for all characters to be unlikable at some point in this story? And jokes about Canadian weather really aren't that funny most of the time, for your information. They're just so overused.

"We need to stay together," commanded Isaac loudly. "Hey, where's Goliath?"

"Right here, sir. And I just found a cave for us to stay in until this weather passes."

"Perfect. Lead us on, quartermaster."

Oh, how convenient. A nice cave to die in, because they actually have no idea how long the storm is going to stick around. It could be days, and with their food supplies still on the ship, they'd die from the cold and/or starvation.

General Thorskov and his squad of wraithclaws were not having a successful hint.

"This weather is driving away the snow sparrows and flethry serpents," one said.

"Not to mention the boars and the elks," another complained.

Thorskov scratched his back. "I should'a known that a blasted storm would meddle with our huntin' plans."

"None o' us saw this coming," a soldier stated/

Okay, but you guys have lived here for who-knows how long. Shouldn't you understand the weather patterns a little better?

The sound of padding feet carried to the team. "Humans," the lieutenant cried excitedly as he raced into the cave's far room. "They're 'eaded here."

"How many, Quh?" Thorskov demanded.

"Dozens, all armed," Quh said. "And sire, I saw one young man holdin' a sweet looking girl in 'is arms."

The general's already soft heart somehow was able to soften more. "Get the goats and carts; we're going to take them to the emperor's palace. We never get guests anymore, so he'll be pleased, no doubt."

Some of the wraithclaw hunters/foot soldiers left with the lieutenant, while the others awaited the humans. "If they're friendly, they'll be blessed with hospitality. If not . . ." Thorskov let his thought hang.

But . . . but what about those who aren't the Chosen Ones hardening the wraithclaws' hearts toward humans? This seems like a contradiction! Wouldn't they be more likely to take them to the emperor as prisoners? Don't tell me it's just because Mark was carrying Michelle.

A curtain of fur abruptly emerged from a tunnel in the cave, and David hit it solidly as he was walking.

"Sorry lad, didn't see ya there," a voice apologized. 

David gaped up at the mountain of white fuzz that towered over him. It was humanoid and brawny, complete with wide hands and feet and sausage digits. It had iron gray talons that were three inches long, and its large, round, only black eyes probed David.

"I'm guessing you're either a wraithclaw or a yeti. Probably not the latter," David speculated.

The wraithclaw laughed. "Well met, sir! I'm General Thorskov." 

This is a pretty uncreative design for the wraithclaws. They might as well be your standard yetis. And I'm not sure if it would've been a better introduction to them if they only appeared now, instead of having their own little scene.

"General," Isaac greeted, "so nice to see you again. How's your wife these days?"

"'ello, cap'n," Thorskov said warmly. "My bride's fine, just fine. How's your ship?"

"The Thunder Cannon was accidently grounded on the shore. It took some damage in a fight with one of the drucoes' serpents."

"WHAT?! The weasles are playin' on our territory? Not on my watch, they're not."

David cleared his throat. "What exactly are they?"

Forget that! I want to know how the blazes Isaac and Thorskov know each other and happened to meet on this very important journey.

"Vicous half-man, half-squid things with terrible breath to boot," Thorskov replied. "Worse yet, they ate emotions, 'cept the bad ones. And love is on the top of the list. They don't even marry. Their brains must be a scrambled mess." He frowned disapprovingly.

Stop dumping info on other races and give us stuff that's actually important for this point in the story!

"Interesting," said David. "And how, might I ask, do you two know each other?"

Personally, I would've asked this question before the whole druco thing, but whatever. At least it's being asked.

"First, my men need to give you some comforts." Thorskov whirled around and boomed, "Alright, ya blokes, these people deserve the wool blankets. Bring 'em all out."

More wraithclaws like Thorskov came bearing the blankets and passing them to everybody. All of the creatures were apparently about seven feet tall, giving them a presence of fierceness, yet protection. They seemed friendly, exhibiting heartfelt concern for Isaac, his crew of knights, and the Chosen Ones.

Well, at least Thorskov's got his priorities straight, but I still feel like there's an inconsistency here. Are the wraithclaws antagonistic against the humans, or are they not? Is it just this squad that's friendly? I need more context, people!

After personally making sure everyone was comfortable, Thorskov sat next to David. "The way Isaac and I met was during the first trip to Zracs. He and his men 'ad just landed when large flethry serpents attacked them. Me and my huntin' group happened to be walking by when we 'eard the commotion. We found 'em with ease and helped end the skirmish, but not before a few of the fellows were bitten in vital areas. They died just a couple o' minutes than we could've given aid.

"Isaac closed his eyes in grief for just several seconds, and no one but I noticed the boar that was stealthily comin' at the cap'n. They can be quite sneaky creatures, those boars. Anywho, I grabbed a decently sized rock and chucked it at the things 'ead. Well, that boar crumpled to the ground as fast as lightnin'. That's when Isaac opened his eyeballs and thanked me so much, I thought he was going to yap my ears off. I 'eld up a hand and told him, 'One of the hunter's worst enemies is shut eyes, because in doing so, he could miss either an opportunity or a threat.'

"After that, I gave him some supplies, and they decided to leave. And in the voyages afterwords, we became good friends. That is 'ow we met. Now, if I am allowed, could you tell me your story of how you and that young man met?"

OH MAH BRICKING GOSH, WE MAY AS WELL WRITE A WHOLE OTHER STORY JUST TO HEAR ABOUT HOW THESE TWO GREAT FRIENDS MET.

*takes a deep breath* It's chock-full of conveniences: Thorskov's group happened to be in the area, Isaac happened to close his eyes, the boat happened to somehow be stealthy so that only ONE SOLITARY PERSON NOTICED. It's just poor writing all-around, and that goes for the wraithclaws' inconsistent accents as well. At least this kinda explains why this one particular squad is fond of humans. Sort of. Perhaps not really, if you think about it too much.

"Sure thing," David said and launched into his adventure. Thorskov was deeply interested, occasionally interrupting with questions, gasps, and exclamations. It seemed at some points the wraithclaw general couldn't stop shaking his head in wonder.

I mean, his adventure was decently interesting, but it was hilariously bad more than anything else.

At the end, Thorskov declared, "You, good sir, have done things most haven't, are smart and don't use it as an excuse to get uppity, and stick to your beliefs. I admire you, even if we've only just encountered each other. And if there's anything I can do to assist you in findin' Warren, just let me know, sir."

Aww, isn't that nice of Mr. Yeti-Knockoff? But seriously, Thorskov might be one of the only decent characters in this story, and that's saying something.

David looked at Thorskov and saw that he was completely concerned and sincere about his promise.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is where this project died. I got busy with school, and it fell to the wayside. Now, I actually have more that I wanna say, but I don't have enough time now. Keep your eyes peeled for a post soon that details what I'm going to do with the novel and what new series will take the place of Humble Beginnings.

So what'd you think, not just of this post, but of the series as a whole? Did I have enough sarcasm for your tastes? Are you going to miss these? Any fond memories from them? Let's take a moment to pay respects to the series. RIP Humble Beginnings; press F to pay respects.

The End is Nigh /// Humble Beginnings, Part 13

Welcome back to everyone's favorite show on the internet, where we mock authors and their horrible stories, because they deserve it even if they don't think so. It's the Humble Beginnings show!

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Today, we have a fan-favorite: Josiah Dyck with his unnamed first story in the Portal Chronicles trilogy. (What a guy! He can't even name his own projects.) When we last left off, the convenient Chosen Ones were running off with their tails between their legs because they got their butts whooped by the enemy situated in the Rachendax. Warren has been captured by Leviathan, and the good guys have suffered heavy losses in the battle, due to their bomb being used against them. Let's see what's happening today!

Mark, David, and Taylor rode in silence; it was like they were taking time to respect the courage the army of rebels and Followers had shown.

Eventually, they arrived at the human fort and summed up what happened to those there. Then they boarded the ship that was bound for Zracs. As they were, Taylor said, "General Clive never talks about Detrius, so what do you think caused him to?"

"Tumultous events such as these can prod someone towards a good type of soul questioning," David responded.

Oh, look, it's nothing new. We're getting more impassive showing with no search into what the characters are actually feeling right now after witnessing such a slaughter, and David is offering some religious statements that just don't sound right. How typical of younger me. And it's tumultuous, by the way.

They made their way to the sterncastle, where the quartermaster gave orders for the launch to the crew. Captain Isaac, a wiry young man, greeted them warmly. "Welcome aboard the Thunder Cannon. I hope for your sakes that the trip isn't as treacherous as it normally is."

He showed them his cube map of Erador. "See, Adiryulle, Ghrumet, and Kalansif form half the world, while Zracs, Nirackel, and Darava are the other side. The last three are set in the Carnert Ocean, translating to the misty ocean. Because of the temperature, Zracs has the thickest mist. And unlike the Ocean of Raffas, the Carnert is anything but peaceful. Tales and legends buzz about, describing horrendous sea creatures that smash ships."

Hey, guess what? It's another minor character pulled from a generic template that we don't care about. Man, was I good at those back in the day. I was also good at info-dumping stuff that the main characters should already know since they took a geography class.

I'm going to skip over the next two and a half pages, because it's basically a sermon in the middle of the story. While I agree with the points I made, it's not necessary to jam that kind of teaching in a novel. It bogs down the pace, has the potential to bore the reader, and comes off as really inorganic. My advice for you folks reading--er, watching this show is to avoid that same mistake.

Smits stood near Juinq's harbor, eyeing the rebel ships that were docking. For some reason the air felt more empty, more solemn, more . . . mournful. "Why?" he wondered.

Clive led the knights off the vessels of war. His normally smiling face was slumped with despair. Exhaustion showed itself in the entire group. Clive stopped by Smits. "Half."

Smits was confused, so he asked, "What do you mean?" 

"You were about to ask me how it went, and I told you we lost half our men," explained Clive wearily. "Plus, Warren got captured by Leviathan, who also killed Ethan."

At the risk of sounding like a broken record, I'm going to point out some repeat offenders: use of a term like "vessels of war" instead of saying something like warships; poor description of emotions, which leads to no empathy from the reader; attempted creativity with speaker tags (and potential overuse of adverbs); and reminding us of a character who was barely present and whom we'll never miss.

A gasp escaped Smits's lips. He put a hand on Clive. "I'm sorry, general. I'm sorry for all of us. Did the Chosen Ones, excluding Warren, leave for Zracs?"

"Yeah. We should've listened to you and the others. Maybe we could have avoided the carnage at the Rachendax. I'll give you the whole story later." As the depressed men left, Clive said, "I think us rebels need to rethink Detrius."

Smits swivelled back towards the ocean, gazing far out in the distance for any sign of the missing soldier. "Oh Warren," cried Smits, "where has Leviathan hidden you?"

A simple gasp is such an unemotive response to the news that 10,000 men died in combat. And the rebels need to rethink their whole way of life, not to mention their moral compass. Also, does Smits expect to see Warren out from where he's standing? Because that's not going to happen . . . or is it?

Warren awoke with a start. Had someone callen his name? He shook his head. "Must've been under the sun too long," he thought. He looked at his surroundings. He was in a small room with rock for three walls and metal bars as the fourth. There was a small cot, a table, and a chair. "Am I in a cell?" he asked himself.

Do recall that it's been previously mentioned that the rebels were building a BRICKING CASTLE for Leviathan. That's actually where Warren is being kept right now, which is why he heard his name being "callen." I have to ask myself, why do I always specify when a character is thinking with a speaker tag? It really isn't necessary. It also seems pretty obvious that he's in a cell based off the horrible description. He should know that.

Someone approached from down the corridor. Warren peered out and grew concerned. It was an ox that was eight feet high. Its hide was a brownish-black hue, and it appeared to be very muscular with wickedly sharp horns. And its eyes were like the ones for the statue of Lurkum, only yellow. Behemoth had arrived.

Can we all just appreciate that Warren "grew concerned"? How in the actual heck was I so bad at writing emotions? Gah, it's so frustrating. And I need to stop commenting about poor descriptions at this point, because I'll just be saying the same thing over and over again.

The massive ox stooped down to the jail. "So you are one of the chosen, eh?" Behemoth growled. "Don't look so special to me." He guffawed.

Warren was scared stiff. Never before had there been so much evil concentrated in one place close to him. "What's the matter? Leviathan cut your tongue?" Behemoth laughed again. "Well, I just come by to wish you a hopeless stay here. Enjoy it while it lasts, which won't be very long." He continued on his way, chuckling evilly.

. . . Seems I also need to stop talking about my poor conveyance of emotions. Now let's give Behemoth the "most cliché villain of this post" award.

"So, what's the story on the wraithclaw tribe?" David queried. "Why did we single them out as potential allies?"

"It started pretty soon after Lucas and Bart became Lurkum's elite generals," began Isaac. "A wraithclaw overheard the prince of evil discussing his plans of demoting the tribe to be workers with Leviathan and Behemoth. Now, at the time, the creatures were, in a sense, free, and to bring a certain group down to such a level was practically enslavement to the wraithclaws. So, since they could survive any temperature, the race packed up and left for Zracs, a vast, empty, ice-filled land. Troops were sent to get them back, but none survived the chilly weather.

"The aftermath of the situation was Lurkum setting up mini-kingdoms on the continents, with loyal kings ruling. The leaders took orders from the Dastardly Duo, who got their's from Lurkum. The arabons didn't take part in the deal, as they are the common soldiers.

"And the reason we're attempting a treaty is because it is prophesied. Remember what Chief Richard quoted at the war meeting?"

David nodded once.

"Well, we have, in the past, attempted to create a pact with the wraithclaws, because the Chosen Ones must do so. Of course, it never worked, since those who went were not actually the chosen. But now that we know that you guys are, this kind of a test, for both you and the tribe."

"That's right, the prophecy said we had to pass the 'wanting heart's test,' didn't it?" 

"Correct. It also says that those who aren't the Chosen Ones 'will harden the race.' So all this time we've been making it harder for you."

I'm not going to deny that the history/lore that's being presented is interesting, because it is. But I feel like it could be said in a more creative way. Plus, shouldn't David know this stuff? He took a history class, did he not? Just saying. This is obviously for the reader's benefit, not his.

There was a gurgling roar, and a sea serpent arose from the waters. It was the hue of a shiny, pale white and had eyes fully washed with purple. It reminded David of a Chinese dragon, only instead of limbs there were huge webbed fins.

It stretched its neck towards the lookout until their heads were mere yards apart. The serpent huffed, and a small blast of blue energy struck the man, who screamed horridly and toppled off his perch. Little sparks danced around his fallen body. 

"It breathes orbs of lightning? Definitely one of the drucoes' pets," Isaac muttered.

What another horrible reaction to death. I mean, it isn't even really a reaction. Isaac just glossed over the fact that one of his crewmen was just brutally killed.

Isaac went to the bell and rang it a few times. Men streamed out of the lower decks and took positions at the ballistas and catapults. At a yell from the quartermaster, ballistas on the upper layers of the ship fired. Some missed, but most hit their quarry, igniting in a small burst of flame. Now that the monster was lit up, knights in control of the catapults launched them, rocks slamming into the serpent. It trumpeted and dove under the waves, splashing an icy cold one over the main deck and drenching the defenders.

I was gonna point out that the knights don't need the serpent to be lit up, until I remember that they are currently in a thick fog. Instead, I'll mention the proper pluralization of ballista is ballistae. Carry on, gentlemen.

Suddenly, the water glowed with electricity, and the serpent lifted its head out. It began to ram the Thunder Cannon, either attempting to tip it or jolt the crew off, where the ocean sizzled.

For some reason, I really like the simple word picture of the ocean sizzling. At least younger me did a few things right.

 "Archers, your turn!" the quartermaster bellowed. The archers appeared, quickly sizing the situation and nocking their bows. Mark, who was among them, knew they were going to aim at the creature's eyeballs. It noticed the new group and raised its head higher, curious. Unfortunately, for the serpent, curiousity killed the cat. Or, in this case, blinded it. Arrows pierced both of its eyes, and purple liquid leaked out of the wounds. Slowly, they turned white, obviously meaning the beast was without eyesight.

Notice how the POV of this scene was originally David, then switched to a floating camera attached to no one, then transferred to Mark. Bad technique, I say. Curiosity, by the way. Not curiousity.

It howled and hammered its cranium onto the warship, knocking over a mast. Several jets of lightning zapped from the neck. Mark launched back in time, but a number of archers were hit. One near Mark, whose skin was whiter from the coolness, turned and then gray as he was fried from the inside out. He collapsed and broke into ashy pieces.

Pleasant. But I'm pretty sure this is the last gory thing we're going to encounter in our mocking of this story.

Mark stared in horror, not seeing the serpent rearing up and biting at the sea vessel. He would've become monster chow had a female archer not pulled him away.

The Canadian shook off his daze and looked at his rescuer. "Michelle! I hadn't seen you aboard before. How come?"

"I was in the female's quarters." She smiled. "You owe me one."

Mark grinned as well. "I guess being saved by a girl beats not being saved at all. If Warren was here, he'd say something like, 'But you got saved by a pretty girl; that's even better.'"

"Hey, we kind of have to focus on that oversized electric eel over there," David called to the pair. Mark saluted and readied his bow.

While I appreciate the banter, I can't ignore that people were literally fried to death right before their eyes, and they're acting all nonchalant. Mark was only horrified for a few seconds. *smacks all my characters upside the heads* What'sa matta wich ya?

Now the serpent was slapping the boat with its fins, trying to destroy its prey. "I've had enough," Isaac snapped. "Time to unleash the thunder cannon." He went to a big cannon on the sterncastle, loaded it, lined it at the right angle, then shouted, "Cover your ears!" He lit the explosive powder before following his own advice.

There was a second's pause, and the cannon roared like thunder. "Hence the name," thought David. A metal ball zoomed at the creature and broke upon its skull. It swayed with unconsciousness and pain, unable to detect what hit it.

If the thunder cannon is so effective, WHY DID ISAAC NOT USE AT THE BEGINNING OF THE BATTLE?! It'd be over in seconds, with no one dead. Honestly, I can't be the only who sees the lack of logic these people possess. And why would you name the ship after the weapon? Couldn't that get confusing as to which you're referring to?

Isaac grabbed the next cannonball and coated it with grease before putting it in the cannon. Another thunderclap, and the fiery ammunition careened into the target. The sea monster wailed as a ferocious burn spread across a portion of the milky skin.

"Yes! I knew the explosion of the powder would work," Isaac said to himself.

To quote Lizzy from the Cars movie, "You keep talking to yourself, people'll think you're crazy."

The beast gave a scratchy bellow, and the waves boiled harder. "I that doesn't stop soon, the bottom of the ship will melt," warned the helmsman.

The serpent began to suck in to deliver the death blow. David, in desperation, threw a knife, hoping to land the perfect hit, just as Mark and Michelle fired their bows.

Lightning flashed from the assailant as it heaved a giant orb. If it struck the warship, it would be the end. All of a sudden, it left its original course and swirled around the three weapons flying at the monstrosity, attracted to the metal of the dagger and the arrowheads.

Okay, hold up, hold up. You're telling me that one dagger and two arrows had enough metal to deter this giant electric orb from hitting the ship, which probably had more metal with the anchor and thunder cannon and whatnot? And how close is this serpent, anyway? I imagined it being pretty close if it's bashing its head against the deck. If that's the case, wouldn't the orb just instantly hit the ship and it'd be game over for the heroes? I know, suspension of belief, but that's no excuse for lazy, non-scientific writing.

The strengthened blast was absorbed by the creature's head. There was sharp crackling, and it swayed violently as it overheated. Then it froze, and its cranium rocketed off the rest of its body. Black, goopy blood splashed the deck.

"Well," David piped up, "I guess it's too late to ask for my favorite knife back."

The crew laughed, but stopped when the sea serpent's head thumped onto the water vessel. David eyed it and said, "You know what, maybe I should just keep that as a trophey instead. I don't want to carve it just to get my--"

Welp. Evidently I lied, by accident. The death by electric frying was not the last gory event. (Dude, why on earth did you add an e to trophy? You're a horrible speller.)

Michelle walked over to him, pulled up her sleeves, and reached into a hole in the scales. Feeling around, she retrieved the knife, along with a sticky mass of innards.

"--blade back," David finished. "If your hand wasn't covered in that filth, I would kiss you. Thank you very much, m'lady."

"You're welcome, noble sir," laughed Michelle.

Who would've ever thought that the girl who daintily picks flowers and giggles at boys would stick her hand straight into a dead monster's head to retrieve a knife? I sure wouldn't have! A little advice for you, David: you can still kiss her. It just can't be on the hand, lest you want to pick up some horrible disease on your mouth or something.

Mark huffed. "C'mon, Dave, anyone could've done that. Watch and learn." He rolled up one sleeve and placed his arm in the wound.

"Hey, I'm stuck. Somebody help, before my limp burns or something," panicked Mark.

Mark, remember that time when you tried to show that you were as muscular as Warren, when you really weren't? You should've learned from that. Don't show off unless you're actually prepared to deliver the goods.

David hefted the serpent's remainder and asked, "Why would it burn?"

"I don't know, there could be an acid inside," the Canadian argued as he attempted to jerk out. Finally, he was able to twist his army from the injury with a pop.

Peals of merriment resounded across the boat. "You weren't stuck," Isaac said, pointing at Mark's hand. "You were just holding onto that beastie's brain."

"I knew that. Wait, its brain?! Yuck!" Mark tossed it away with a vivid expression.

What shall we call this scene? Comical? Disgusting? Over-the-top? Illogical? I mean, how do you not know you're holding on to a brain? Most likely all of the above.

The quartermaster caught it quickly. "Thanks, Mark. I'll use this for my favorite dish--pickled brains. Did you want me to kiss your hand?"

The face of Mark was taut with feat at the possible prospect of eating the gross recipe. He doubled over and vomited near the man. The quartermaster moved away and replied, "Or you could almost puke on me. That works too."

I don't think anyone in the history of anything would eat pickled brains . . . right? *Googles for a minute and decides not to delve too deeply* I feel like the quartermaster and I share the same sense of humor. Whether that's a good thing or not is up to you. Also, "the face of Mark" is the greatest phrase of our time.

David sauntered to his friend, saying, "Watch and learn, huh? At least you taught me how to hurl."

"Har dee har har," Mark said, shoving David aside.

Isaac shook his head in amusement. "Okay, boys. It's time to put on your winter gear. And Mark, you might want to clean yourself first."

The fact that Isaac called them boys is actually pretty funny. I mean, they are acting a bit like schoolyard children right now, are they not?

They all went down, save the helmsman, and put on the warm clothes. There were heavy light gray fur coats and pants, as well as boots line with some kind of soft insulation. Also, things like ski masks were worn under the parka hood. Scabbards were attached to the torso like quivers.

Not gonna lie, these clothes actually sound super comfy. I'd totally be down for wearing this in winter. Though why "things like ski masks" and not just straight-up ski masks?

Isaac brought the helmsman's outfit with him and took the wheel while he put it on. The troops lined the deck as they waited to arrive at Zracs.

Once the steersman was finished, Isaac went to the front of the group and said loudly, "Let us pray. Detrius, thank You for taking us this far and reassuring us that You won't let us down. Help the Chosen Ones soften the hearts of the wraithclaw. May they join our ranks, and help us not to treat them wrongly. Thank You that Your powerful hand is upon us, and thank You that we re more than conquerors through You. In Your precious name, amen. Revier abounds!"

"And He is with us!" the soldiers yelled confidently.

Wham! One of the hatches to the lower levels slammed open and a knight emerged from the bowels. "The ship, she's . . ." he panted. "She's being run aground."

Let's comment on a few things here before we wrap up. Firstly, if Zracs is cold, wouldn't they have had to don their snow gear before they got so close? Secondly, Isaac, you called them wraithclaws before, and now they're wraithclaw. Make up your mind! Thirdly, I still love the whole "Revier abounds" mantra or chant that they do. Fourthly, while I have no issues with you guys praying before you do something dangerous, YOU'RE LEAVING THE SHIP VIRTUALLY UNATTENDED! Do you not feel or hear the ship scraping the ground? Where is your lookout to see how close you are to land? Get your act together!

That's all for today's show, folks! Tune in next month for the last episode of Humble Beginnings! Yes, I said last episode. Stop crying. You're making everyone feel awkward and uncomfortable.

Another (Lengthy) Dose of Death /// Humble Beginnings, Part 12

I've got some good news and some bad news. The bad news is that this is the third last Humble Beginnings post for my old story. The good news is that the chapter we're covering today is a longer one, from the looks of things. So that'll probably make this post longer too. Yay! Buckle up, children, we're going for a wild ride.

source

Don't ask why I called you children or why I included a weird Nicholas Cage gif.

A MESSAGE FROM THE JOSIAH OF THE FUTURE: This post is super long, possibly the longest Humble Beginnings post I've ever written. I debated separating it into two, but decided to keep it as one for simplicity's sake. If you find this too drawn-out or boring, I apologize.

Warren stood beside the rail of one of the rebel warships, pondering on the mystery of Hcol's death. Smits had just told him the news before leaving the sea vessel. Who would kill the prisoner and two knights without an obvious reason?

Personally, I'm not sure why Smits would tell Warren this, as it doesn't really pertain to him. I mean, maybe it's good to know, but I feel like it was done more for the reader's sake than Warren's. Also, some psychopaths just kill without reason, but my first--and perhaps the most obvous--guess is that someone didn't want Hcol spilling the beans about anything. You're a soldier, dude! I'm not one, and that was super easy to think up.

David and Mark neared their friend. "All the ships are set and ready to go," informed David. "We have a transport boat loaded with supplies to bring to the garrison we stop at. Plus, a Follower warship is carrying snow gear in case we need to head over Zracs. All of the treaty papers are in the watercraft as well."

Thanks for the clunky exposition, David. You also forgot to add the word "to" when you mentioned heading over to Zracs. And you used "watercraft" because words like "boat" and "ship" had just been said.

Smits watched them leave. "Godspeed to you, and may Detrius protect you."

Nice POV jump. I'm so glad younger me was committed to sticking with one character's head per scene.

The humans' fort was ample, hidden from sunlight by a rock formation that cast a shadow on the base. There was a cool basement, where the troops slept and got relief from the hot light. It was here that a conversation took place between the Chosen Ones.

Aw, man! What an amazing fortress! I can just totally see it in my mind's eye . . . What do you mean, you can't? There's clearly enough description given. *shakes my head* People these days, wanting more and more details on how places look.

"I don't get it. We're supposed to help find the Chosen Ones, and suddenly we're them," Warren said. "It's not like I don't want to be a Chosen One, but I just think I'm not cut out for the job. It's like there's a weight on my shoulders, now that I know we have to confront Leviathan and Behemoth."

None of us get it, Warren. You're not alone in this struggle.

"Don't worry, Warren," David assured. "Detrius will strengthen us. With Him, we can defeat anyone."

"David, how can you be so calm? I mean, aren't you afraid?" Mark wondered.

 The major shrugged. "Sure I am. Yet I know that Revier has a plan for us. Even if we can't see ourselves being the Chosen Ones, we need to remember that He has a purpose for everything He does."

This scene was my attempt to have them struggling with their new identity. But it never went beyond that, and you have to admit, this is a very weak conversation.

After supper, General Clive, an intelligent rebel, declared the news about the Chosen Ones. When the cheering and clapping diminished, Clive went on to say that the army was going to attack the Rachendax. Laying the plants on the table, he said in his Texas accent, "Alright, here's what we are going to do . . ."

*facepalms* Did I really, really have to specify that Clive was "an intelligent rebel"? Seriously, dude? I'm tempted to cuff younger me upside the head. For the record, it's a Texan accent, not a Texas accent.

As a full moon blazed into the sky, the attacking army left the safety of the garrison. They walked a fair distance before Clive ordered, "Time to separate to two groups. One of thirteen thousand, the other with seven thousand. Let's move, move, move!"

The two contingents went their ways. The larger one was meant to draw out the enemy forces while the smaller went a back way to place the bomb. At a signal, the bigger division would retreat as the bomb was the set and the others backed off. Should the bomb not wreck enough of the castle, the knights would come back and torch the place. Hopefully, their efforts would not be in vain.

I feel as though repeating words like "move" is a stereotypical military thing to do. Plus, if I'd actually had them talk about the plan instead of just dumping it here, it'd be a lot more interesting to read about.

A maraconda stood guard on the top of a tower. His eyes watched the sandy plains, and he occasionally licked his lips with a silvery blue tongue. His body was contorted and twisted, like a rag that was wrung out too much. But there was a contrast to his brown skin: his crystal clear head. A heart sent blood through invisible veins, and the brain rested not far from it.

While I'm genuinely intrigued by my design choice for the maraconda, this is a very clunky way of showing the reader what the race looks like.

Mark and David were in the first battle group. They strode side-by-side to the Rachendax. It was massive, its shape being half a stretched decagon. At each vertice stood a tower, and the back "wall" was a miniature mountain. On it, another tower, this one much taller and wider, rose proudly.

Again, I'm interested by the fortress's design, but the description feels awkward. It doesn't help matters that I forgot that "vertices" is the plural of "vertex."

As the fighters neared, maracondas raced along the walls to small catapults. David recalled from his studies that when a maraconda died, the heart disappeared. But the crafty creatures could play dead by shrinking their heart to a tiny size. Only a very careful observer would notice the micro-organ. So everyone would have to be cautious when assuming a maraconda had been killed.

What is this, a section of cool info written in a lame way? Three strikes and you're out, young me. Well, if that was the case, he'd--I mean, I'd--have been out long ago.

As Mark slid off the battlement to the wide wall's walkway, David ordered sharply, "Duck!" He obeyed, and a knife struck a maraconda, wearing the standard bronze breastplate and black ninja belt, behind Mark. The maraconda gasped and fell off.

Maybe I'm just nitpicking at this point, but this would've required some luck or good skills in a few ways. First, the maraconda would need to take a while in attempting to stab or hurt Mark in some fashion. Second, David would have missed spotting the enemy when he climbed up first. Third, Mark has to react to David fast enough, because I'm assuming that the latter is drawing a knife while he's giving the warning. Like I said, I might be digging too deep with this one, but still.

And please explain why a bricking ninja belt--a black one, no less--is standard-issue. That offers no protection for one's legs.

David set to getting rid of a catapult using his sword, and Mark guarded him with a nocked bow. Three arabon suddenly appeared, charging at the soldiers. Mark fired and watched the arrow go through one's heart and into the next's calf. The arabon screamed and spun around, slicing off the head of the third behind him. Another arrow slammed forcefully in his neck, causing him to collapse.

I'd really like to know what physical requirements are necessary for an arrow to pass through one body and enter another so that the second victim somehow turns fast enough, with a sword at the right angle, to behead the third dude behind him. Seems kinda iffy, but who am I to question it?

Correct me if I'm wrong, but shouldn't Mark get in a few rapid-fire shots rather than merely standing there and watching his arrows? If he misses, it gives the enemy (who have shown up out of the blue, even though this is on a tall castle wall) the opportunity to get close enough to kill him. I also feel like a sword isn't the best way to ruin a catapult . . . Speaking of which, is there no one manning it? Are they destroying it so that the baddies can't? It's not like the catapults are shooting themselves.

The Canadian came over to [David] and began to force the wheel to the left. The job wasn't as easy as it first looked, and their palms grew damp and clammy with sweat.

"Yikes," growled Mark. "I could do with some more exercise. This baby's tough and uncooperative." He glanced behind him. "You know, we're pretty exposed here, because we'd rather not stop and there is no protection for us."

"Except for Detrius," David uttered. "But don't worry, all the baddies are engaged in combat."

Guys, stop talking already! You're wasting your breath conversing when you should be focusing on getting the Rachendax's doors open. David's religious utterance felt forced, and he should know that by saying what he said, he's going to summon bad guys. (You're not allowed to say "baddies;" that's my thing.) Besides, don't you think that if enemy troops noticed that the doors were being opened, stopping Mark and David would become one of their top priorities? They should be rushed right now by a group of maraconda or something.

At his words, a group of maraconda appeared. Catching sigh of the humans, they used their defected legs to run awkwardly at them.

"Well, all except them," David said. "We have to open the gates before they get here."

"Already on that," Mark informed. The two put all their muscle behind the work, and the doors were opening, only at a slow pace. The maracondas neared quickly, raising their swords in anticipation for bloodshed.

What'd I tell ya? Realistically speaking, I think the two heroes should be dead at this point, but that'd ruin the story . . . maybe.

 David prayed, "Help us, Detrius. We need your strength." Mark added an amen.

Just as the maracondas were in front of the gates, it was like Revier's legnas had given a mighty push. The doors slammed into the walls beside them, and the battering rams, in mid-swing, careened into the Ghrumet creatures, sending them soaring through the air until their bodies smashed upon the ground.

"If this was a bowling game," Mark remarked, "I think the guys operating the battering rams got a strike."

More faith stuff that feels a little inorganic combined with brutal death and comedic jokes made about said death. This story in a nutshell, basically. Wait, why did I use "remark" as a speaker tag for Mark?

David chuckled and watched the rebel and Follower knights pour inside the Rachendax. Some went through the entrance, and some used the siege towers. And as everyone came into the open space, he also espied no other resistance. Then it clicked. "It's a trap!" he cried.

His warning was too late. Multiple doors to barracks in the mountain, letting maracondas and arabons swarm out. They formed a massive ring around the humans. Commander Ryle of the arabon unsheathed his scimitar and yelled, "Kill them all!"

The foes closed in.

And annihilated everybody. The end.

How convenient that not a single knight notices that the enemy has disappeared, and they all show up the instant David recognizes that it's a Star Wars reference. (Seriously, how can you not hear that line in Admiral Ackbar's voice?) You may have also noticed that I never specified what the barracks' doors did, only that creatures poured out. I seem to have forgotten or messed up a lot of words in this particular chapter.

source; a relevant picture that breaks up the text (you're welcome)

General Clive's sidekick Ethan led the smaller group around the back of the mountain. Large rocks lay in various places against the cliff. Ethan went to the biggest one and ordered several of the troops to roll the boulder, Warren being part of the selected. He went to the rock and pushed hard. Soon, a tunnel was revealed and the knights entered.

Sidekick? How about a military term like lieutenant or something? Give me a break. And man, that Dwayne Johnson. Always blocking the entrance to secret tunnels in evil lairs that the good guys probably shouldn't even know about.

The hallways were dark, and Warren felt they were quite confusing. But he knew they were going up, which was their purpose.

I . . . I just . . . I have no words, except that we can all really sense what Warren must be feeling in this difficult time.

Warren sniffed the air. "What is that smell?"

"Incense," Ethan growled. "This is a place of worship for Lurkum. They believe he's some god who is going to bring down Detrius." He snorted, then muttered an obscenity. "Where are the guards?"

Well, if this story's done one thing, it's made me look up what incense smells like on Google, because I'm curi--no, don't say that, Ethan! You'll--

As if like an answer, two maracondas approached them from shadows. Almost all maracondas were only five feet, but these were seven feet. Spindly limbs were replaced with thick ones. They wore a silver breastplate and balaclava with a red belt. By the way one held his halberd and the other a scythe, Warren assumed they were elite fighters.

--summon more enemies. When will people learn? I'd also like to just remind everyone that the Rachendax is in Ghrumet, which is the desert continent. So there is absolutely no need to wear a balaclava, not unless it gets super cold at night.

The first one chopped a solider in half and pierced another. Both Warren and Ethan made a swing at him, but the maraconda blocked with the halberd's staff. He stabbed at the two, and Warren jumped back while Ethan met the attack. The man nodded quickly towards the maraconda with the scythe, indicating that Warren needed to get him.

Yup, the violence is going to start picking up again from here on. You've been warned.

The assassin had already cleaved six knights, and Warren wasn't going to let him add more to his tally. He lunged at the maraconda, who parried at the last possible moment. The guard growled and whipped his scythe around at stomach level. Warren propelled himself backward, trying to avoid the weapon. The blade still sliced through a weak spot in the armor and cut open some of Warren's skin. The Chosen One felt blood soak into his tunic instantly. There was another swing, one Warren dodged, before he responded with a hack of his sword at the fighter's hand. The maraconda pulled back, but his thumb plunked on the ground, the scythe following. The guard made a fist, and long knives protruded from devices that were attached to leather wrist armor.

Dang, that was a long paragraph. I could've easily made that two, or maybe even three. But why are my main characters obsessed with cutting off bad guys' fingers? It's a weird thing to do. And don't get me started on calling Warren the Chosen One for one sentence there.

The creature batted his claws at his opponent and Warren moved away. He tried again, and again Warren eluded the movement. Now he was frustrated, so he began a series of attacks that an average person couldn't escape from. Unfortunately for the maraconda, Warren didn't fit the description.

Warren had put his sword away and, just as the guard finished a desperate slash, grapped the thing's arms and hurled him up mightily. The assassin hit the monument of Lurkum, and a pop rang as his spine dislocated. The maraconda wheezed and tumbled off, landing in one of the pots. A sickly odor of burning flesh and incense arose around the sanctuary. Warren crinkled his nose and thought, "Maraconda flambé is definitely not on my menu."

Oh, gosh, where to begin? Well, how about that awful paragraph that could've been so cool, but was instead so lame? I could think of so many ways to make that fight between the elite maraconda and Warren much more interesting (and believable--why aren't the other soldiers attacking too?). Then I totally misspell "grabbed," and throw in a bit of spinal injuries and burns for good measure. Someone needs to take thirteen-year-old me to a psychologist or something!

He turned in time to witness Ethan run through the remaining guard with his sword. The assassin crumpled, causing Ethan to rotate toward his men and pumped his fist. The knights cheered and clapped quietly for their commander's victory. But the maraconda had only pretended to be killed, and now, unseen by all except Warren, raised his halberd for the death blow. Warren noticed, however, and withdrew his hammer before pitching it at the creature. The hammer crashed heavily into the side of it's target's head. He gave a dying scream as the glass shattered and blood rushed from his open veins.

To quote Markiplier, "I have so many questions!" Do these people actually know about fist pumping? Why does Ethan change from present to past tense? Why are all the soldiers seemingly blind and the main characters not when it comes to noticing enemies or the lack thereof? Aren't halberds long enough that you'd see one moving? Why did I use "it's" instead of "its"? As for the death, that was somehow both really disgusting and really cool at the same time.

For the sake of moving the post along, I won't include everything that happens next. But just so you know what's going on, Ethan apologized for getting cocky (I think the knights should apologize for being lazy). Ethan comments on how it'll be ironic that the idol of Lurkum will be one of the first things to blow up--pretty sure he doesn't know what ironic means--and lights the bomb, then everyone runs out.

A sense of being lost washed through Warren again as they treaded the labyrinth of passageways. "This is random . . . but what does the word . . . Rachendax mean?" Warren asked Ethan.

"It means maze," the man panted. "Some claim . . . one can 'move' the walls . . . to block the entry of . . . various halls."

They were lagging behind a little when, all of a sudden, a thick wall slammed down from the roof, preventing them to continue that way.

When will you guys learn? Stop talking to save your breath for action! I bet if they'd ran without having that conversation, they would've still been with the rest of the group. This story is so very illogical sometimes. Not to mention its terrible grammar and spelling that poke up on a regular basis.

Before Ethan replied, a massive silhouette appeared in front of them and grabbed him, freezing Warren with his frightful orange eyes. Using his free hand, Leviathan clawed his way in Ethan's chest. He ripped out the general's assistant's heart. Ethan trembled, and then folded over, a victim of the dragon. Leviathan plopped the heart in his mouth and crunched down on it, sending a splat of blood across Warren's face. "Mmm," he mumbled, red saliva splashing down his jaw. "Still warm.

Okay, that is . . . vile, and gross, and completely unnecessary. Seriously, I'm getting uncomfortable just writing that out again. I swear, the nastiest deaths in this story have to do with hearts. *remembers Ssen's death* Or throats.

Why'd I call Ethan an assistant this time? I thought he was a sidekick. Whatever the case, at least he's dead now. There are far too many insignificant, boring secondary characters to keep track of. (To fill you in again, Warren gags and cries about what just unfolded. Leviathan, disgusted, knocks him out. Bye-bye, Warren. It was nice knowing ya.)

Meanwhile, Baron Narris of the maraconda strode down the stairs where he had stood when the fight occurred. Lifting the bomb, he said to himself, "I think it will be very ironic when, in an attempt to crush Lurkum, the rebels will crush themselves."

He went back up the flight of stairsteps that led to his chambers and let the fuse almost disappear. He peered out a wide window, saw where the most of the human army was, and chucked the weapon out.

Now that's what irony is, Ethan. Take note in the afterlife. Also, "the most of the human army"? What're we, five? How did I ever think that was proper grammar?

Also also, I just realized a huge inconsistency while reading this. *takes a deep breath* Why the actual brick are the rebels attacking Lurkum now if they let his army march through their port city earlier in the story? MAKE UP YOUR EVER-LOVING MINDS, PEOPLE! Who is your enemy: the Followers or Lurkum and his hooligans? And if they were forced to let the opposing army dock in their city and head for Malanthiv from there, we were never told, or given the slightest indication that was the case. For all the readers know, the rebels are just a bunch of jerkfaces. This frustrates me like you wouldn't believe. *smacks younger me upside the head* Get your act together, man.

The sealing noose of enemies suddenly dispersed. "Huh?" said Mark. "What is going on?"

There was a plunk, and Clive shouted, "Fire in the hole!" Everyone scattered away from the bomb, only it was too late. A thunderous explosion rippled in the air, smoke dancing to the sky. Mark glimpsed fellow knights being incinerated instantly, others falling to the sand and having their life drain right for their eyes to see.

Here we have Mark at the peak of his intelligence. Again, would they know about the "fire in the hole" expression, especially since it originated with miners? And if this bomb was supposed to bring down a fortress, you'd think everyone--bad guys included--would be dead right about now. (The scene continues with Clive and Taylor, who seems to have randomly shown up just so I can use him again, telling Mark and David that they need to leave for Zracs immediately.)

"And what about Warren?" asked David.

Flapping reached their ears, and Leviathan's shadow covered them. "If you want your friend," he taunted, "you'll have to get him yourself." Chuckling menacingly, he soared off, hefting Warren.

Why is Leviathan capturing Warren? He doesn't know that Warren's a Chosen One, so there's really no need to keep him alive. I double-checked, and there was never any sign that Ian or Alex found out about the three Earthlings being the ones in the prophecy. As far as the enemy is concerned, the Chosen Ones are still Reuben, Lance, and Xander. The icing on the cake is Leviathan's cliché dialogue and cheesy laughing as he flies off.

"Yes, sir." [Taylor, Mark, and David] ran toward some available horses, and, after mounting them, began the ride to the fort. While his steed galloped onward, Mark turned to the Rachendex, taking in the brave men who might be sacrificing their lives for him. Water choked his eyes, and his throat caught. Mark set his gaze ahead.

He never looked back again.

I'm getting some Prince Caspian movie vibes from this. Oh, and that water choking your eyes, Mark? Those are tears. (One more summary of what happens next: Clive tarries until the trio is further away before giving the call for a retreat. His cry is heard through the well in the secret tunnel, and those guys all leave too.)

Maraconda and arabon jeered at the receding army. "Should we give chase?" one questioned Ryl.

Ryl shook his head. "They've lost, and they know it. That's good enough."

As the sun set, one might notice that more red than green blood stained the ground. And in that blood rested ashes.

But if you pursue them, you could potentially kill more and earn brownie points with Leviathan. He'll roast you if you don't do a good job, and I don't mean the insulting kind of roast. I used to think that ending paragraph was cool and kind of poetic, but now it's just like, "Okay, sure, people I didn't care about died. Whoop-dee-doo."

And that's finally it! I'm sorry that this turned into such a monstrous post. Though I'm 75% certain you won't mind, since this is ending soon. What'd you think? Did you get your fill of laughs and sarcasm? I'm sure we all got more than our fair share of graphic character deaths.

Coincidence? I Think So /// Humble Beginnings, Part 11

Can I get some hype for another Humble Beginnings post?!

source; instantly regrets putting this in before writing enough to hide it

. . . That's it. The intro's over. Let's move on, please! Before our eyes hurt from that crazy Toad. I will just quickly insert here that the chapter is called "Silent Shadows," which seems a bit unnecessary. Last I checked, my shadow has always been the strong, silent type.

The table occupied most of the [meeting] hall, its round shape symbolizing that there was no head or tail; everyone was equal, and ideas could be shared freely.

This isn't a negative thing, but I just wanted to point it out because it makes me think of a humorous scene in the Ninjago show that was later imitated in the movie as well. Lord Garmadon, in both scenes, needed his minions to help come up with a plan to stop the Ninja, insisting that there was no such thing as a bad idea. But whenever someone suggested something he didn't like, he had them thrown off the ship (the show) or literally fired them out of his volcano base (the movie). Random, I know, but that's just how my brain thinks.

Soon, all that was left were ten empty spots. "Who are those for?" [Mark] asked John.

The former tank gunner stopped rubbing his stubble and said, "Oh, they're for the rebel delegates. See, when we need to discuss battle tactics here in Castle Wurlenit, they send 'ambassadors' to help."

"But why? Wouldn't they add negativity to the atmosphere?"

"Most aren't that bad. They just need a different cause."

Hold up for a minute. We need to discuss something a few things about this blurb. First, that's cute and all that they invite the rebels, but why? What if the rebels decide to sell them out? They could easily hand over all that info to Lurkum. I mean, they didn't care about Revier, so . . . I know, I know, different generation, sins of the father, and all that stuff. But still, has no one considered this?

Secondly, I'm getting tired of the whole "call the person by their job" trick that I overused in this story. I'm not joking when I say it's kinda getting on my nerves, and I have no idea why.

Thirdly, what the heck is the name Wurlenit? That's the dumbest name for a castle I could've come up with.

And fourthly, younger me, make up your EVER-LOVING MIND about the rebels. Are they good or are they bad? You don't seem to know, and if you don't, your readers won't either. Don't make me slap you upside the head; get your act together!

The men clasped hands tightly and shook. John whispered to Mark, "He's the rebel chief, or leader. Samuel and Richard are friends from way back. Unfortunately, that doesn't give a hoot to the rift between Followers and rebels."

Again, inconsistency with whether the rebels are decent or not. If the leaders are friends, does that literally have no effect whatsoever on their people? Also, incorrect use of "giving a hoot."

Richard raised a palm. "Your turn, Taylor."

The man who had helped David seemed hesitant. "We heard your bomb was finished, so we request that we use it to destroy a castle near Levgalne."

Samuel's jaw dropped. "The Rachendax? Not only does the maraconda baron dwell, but Leviathan is also stationed inside. Any attempt to blow up the castle would be extremely challenging, if not a sure death."

Hey, remember Taylor? You know . . . Taylor? C'mon, how could you forget such a memorable a guy like . . . wait, what his name again? Ah, that's right: Taylor! I feel like I reused characters I already named just because, if they wouldn't logically be wherever the scene was taking place.

Smooth exposition there, Samuel. I'm also glad you know how to speak and didn't forget any words in what you said, because that'd be awkward. Especially when you're trying to make the reader scared for the characters who are probably going to take up this suicide mission.

"At least it would be more useful than going to Zracs and signing a parchment before freezing to death," another delegate exclaimed.

Lemme fill you in by saying I didn't include Harvey's comment about them making a treaty with the wraithclaw tribe before launching an assault. Does this idiot delegate not think that their chances of success are higher if their forces are larger? How was he/she chosen to represent the rebels?

"Besides," Richard added a lot more gently, "I thought the chosen ones were supposed to do it." He then quoted a prophecy: "The ones who are chosen/Will bring out their best/If they will succeed/The wanting heart's test/But those who are not/Will harden the race/They will destroy/Like the spikes of a mace."

Eh . . . definitely not a great prophecy, or even a well-written one. I wouldn't rely on it too much. The prophet was probably drunk at the time.

"And that's just it," Smits said. "We know who the Chosen Ones are."

A hush blanketed the hall immediately. Richard broke it by saying a hopeful tone, "If you know, then who are they?"

Ooh, I wonder if it's Lance, Reuben, and Xander, just like the stupid villains thought! I can't stand the anticipation. Richard, by the way, you speak in a hopeful tone. Get it right next time.

"These three," replied Samuel, pointing to David, Mark, and Warren. "We translated a Toreth tablet by first looking at its reflection and unscrambling the words. It was a quote by an unknown philosopher that read, 'Detrius created love to be a rock in life's race.' The word race refers to when an apostle named Paul said that he had finished the race. David has firm Follower beliefs, therefore, relating to the 'race' of a believer. Warren is like a rock with his physical strength and solid friendships. And Mark is loving, besides the fact he is in love with Michelle."

. . . Are. You. BRICKING. SERIOUS?! What the actual brick, younger me? Explain to me how a random quote by a random philosopher randomly placed on a random tablet that randomly says "The Chosen Ones' Description" on top is talking about these three? It could apply to just about anyone. Heck, the baddies could've actually been on to something, and their guesses were the absolute worst. If you're going to do Chosen One/prophecy tropes, do them right, man! Not like this junk.

"We have the advantage of surprise now. We need to use it before it's snatched out of our grasps," a delegate argued. "We have siege towers, ballistas, catapults, men, horses, and the bomb. There's no time to waste. And if you don't give us permission to use the Chosen Ones, we may take them by force."

#MoreConflictingRebelStuff

For your information, the proper pluralization of ballista is ballistae. You're also being a little forward, assuming that the Followers are gonna hand over their bomb to you when you've done nothing to deserve it.

Warren cleared his throat and felt eyes turn his way. "I have a compromise. We go with the attack, but should trouble show, we run and sail to Zracs."

Yes, this is a compromise, but it is by no means a good strategy. I'm a little surprised/not surprised that none of the rebels see this.

Ian made sure the coast was clear before he left the darkness the barracks provided from the moonlight. He had two important jobs to do tonight, both with swiftness and stealth. The less people that saw him, the better. Because he had instructions to eliminate any that noticed him. So hopefully, no one had been awake when he passed by the barracks window.

As per usual, I've got a couple of bones to pick with this, but I'm gonna do it rapid-fire. The first sentence feels awkward; the "because" sentence feels like an afterthought; and Mark did see Ian (just didn't include that part), except he thought it was his imagination, so I guess Ian's in the clear.

He dashed from shadow to shadow, avoiding patrols that made their rounds. His eyes scanned the area, searching for a high vantage point. Catching sight of a tree, Ian ran to it. He scrambled up the branches, wanting none to hear or see.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but wouldn't dashing make you more noticeable to the patrols? Surely they'd sense movement in their peripheral vision and check it out. I'd also like to see a demonstration of someone climbing a tree quietly.

At a high part, he looked over the gigantic courtyard. He finally spotted the prison building a good distance away. Satisfied, he hurried to the solid ground.

Let me get this straight: this dude somehow convinced his superiors to station him in front of the room where they were deciphering the tablet, but he DOESN'T KNOW THE WAY TO THE PRISON?! This . . . I . . . I have no words.

"Ian," a watchman said."What brings you out here at the late hours of the night? You anxious for the fight tomorrow or something?"

Ian cursed his foolish actions. He had forgotten there was a tower close to the tree. He turned and looked at the man, who was illuminated by a torch. The traitor produced a blowgun, targeted the watchman, and blew out. The arrow whizzed into the guard's throat, sending poison to his heart. The watchman buckled, cracking his skull on the hard floor.

And now he's forgetting about nearby towers? I'm starting to think Leviathan chose the wrong guys to work for him on Adiryulle. Now all the patrols within earshot should be wondering why there was no response to the watchman's questions. If only they knew he was killed by conveniently-fast-acting poison.

He reached the prison with ease. The building was dull and set low in the earth, stairs leading down to the doorway. A sentry stood in front of the steps, his helmet on the ground next to him. Seeing Ian approach, he waved and started to say his greeting. Unfortunately for him, Ian's flail was already in action. The spiked ball slammed the side of his head. A severe crunch sounded and the sentry fell, his mortal wound leaking a thick substance. Ian took the fellow's key ring and stepped to the door, unlocked it, and going inside.

*gags* Blegh . . . that is morbid and gross and disgusting and what was wrong with you, Josiah? Why did the sentry have his helmet off? How did he not see Ian start to make a move for his head? I will say, I love the tense change in the last sentence. Best idea for the story so far.

"You failed," Ian said flatly.

"Ssen flunked his job," Hcol growled. "If he hadn't, I would have succeeded my part. Now hurry up!"

Yeah, about that . . . both you virockel spy dudes failed. He was a poor imitator, and you showed up at the trail disguised like someone already there. Just saying, is all. Oh, and by the way, you might want to take an English course. "Succeeded my part" sounds pretty bad, and if it is correct, that's plain stupid.

As Ian took off the shackles on his hands and feet, he asked, "Hcol, do virockels have a weak spot?"

Hcol glared. "Yes, one." He pointed to the base of his skull on the back of his neck. "That's where."

"Interesting." Ian pulled off the neck shackle. "Well, you just may want to keep that part covered."

"Why?"

"Somebody might do this." Ian whipped his flail at the soft area full force. It connected, and the virockel stumbled forward.

"You'll . . . pay," Hcol grunted, fury alight in his taut face.

"Nah. Leviathan would have you executed anyway, so die, won't you?" Ian shoved Hcol, who in turn toppled onto his back. Green and blue blood mingled in an oozing mess.

Wow. So there's no one you can trust in the bad guy army, can you? Everyone's gonna double-cross you, and then they'll get double-crossed by someone else. To be fair, if someone asks about your weak spot, you probably should be concerned. (Also, I used to think Ian's last line to Hcol was so cool, but now it's just meh.)

Ian left the building and headed for the stables. Now that the job was done, there was another to tend to, which was telling Alex the assault plans.

The Followers and rebels were in for a nasty surprise.

You do realize you're gonna have to pick up the pace, right, buddy? If Leviathan wants to get a drop on the heroes, Alex is going to need to book it back to the castle as fast as he can. Just make sure he doesn't kill ya first. And ooh, such suspense! I'm shaking in me boots.

It's so weird to think that there are only three chapters left. Does that news bring heartache to you? I hope you enjoyed this part regardless. Did I up my sarcasm enough? (Pretty sure I did.) 

The Worst Trial Ever /// Humble Beginnings, Part 10

It feels like it's been a long time since I did one of these. Missing a month and then having the vlog edition probably threw me off. But it's good to be back! Are you ready to be amused? If so, keep reading! If not . . . then, uh, keep reading, I guess.

source

Ahem. Let's begin!

Within less than an hour, news of what Harvey did had spread throughout Malanthiv, and the Council was gathered for a trial.

Quick refresher: the last chapter ended with High General Harvey under arrest for using God's name in vain. Now, maybe I'm just being too logical today, but doesn't it seem highly improbable that this news would spread through a large city so quickly? I mean, I could potentially seeing that happen if they had radios, but they don't! So to me, that happened way too fast.

The Elders quickly set to organizing their things. David shifted and glanced at those sitting next to him, the exact same thing Mark and Warren were doing. Smits, Nathan, Xander, Brook, Reuben, Lance, and Michelle all looked patient, so obviously this was usual for the Elders to set up right before the meeting.

One: that's a lot of characters to keep track of, especially since a number of them are so minor. Two: I'm calling it now. The Elders are unprofessional. You don't set up whatever you need for a trial right before you do it, with everyone waiting and watching you. C'mon, guys!

The doors to the Council chamber opened, and Justin walked in with a short but broad man. David motioned for them to sit on the empty chairs to his left. The duo gratefully accepted, the unknown one settling on the seat beside David. He turned to David, extended his hand, and greeted, "John Houston. You are?"

Wow. Way to make the only teen character late to the trial, younger me. (Then again, a lot of other people act like teens, so . . .) Aren't Justin and John being disruptive by coming late and chattering? What I really wanna know is if other people in the room are talking, or if they're the only ones and are attracting the attention of everyone else present. That'd be awkward.

"David Sanders," the American answered. "Hey, aren't you from that group of soldiers that came before us?" 

John beamed. "That's correct. And didn't you jump off an enemy ship and injure your leg?"

"Not something I'm proud of, but yes, I did."

"Well, I'm sure you did it gracefully. Like a ballerina." 

Warren, overhearing the quiet conversation, said jokingly, "If that guy could do anything like a ballet dancer, it would be like a drunk one."

Mark snorted, then gasped, "Ow! I did that too hard."

I'm not sure what to think of this conversation as a whole. I mean, it's a little funny, but not uproariously so. Sometimes my humor feels a bit tacked-on in this story. But I can attest to the fact that you can indeed snort too hard, with or without laughter.

A humming kind of sound erupted near Mark. He turned to see Michelle shaking, trying to hold her laughter in and making that noise instead.

True story: I knew a girl who laughed like this. It was very infectious.

"Michelle, it's really not that funny," Nathan said in an amused tone. "Anyone can do it. Watch." He gave a loud snort. "Wow, that does hurt."

Now Michelle was laughing and Xander joined her, doing it so hard he leaned forward and banged his forehead on the seat in front of him.

I concur with Nathan. It really wasn't all that hilarious. You have to understand, they're basically in a courtroom, and they're acting like disruptive schoolchildren. Now who's not being professional?

Samuel looked up, finished with his sorting. "No one told me there were going to be pigs in here," he bantered. "Or is someone already so bored they're sleeping?" All present chuckled.

. . . That was a pity laugh, old bean. Don't let it get to your head that you're a comedian.

"Now, from the guesses of witnesses, we estimate that Harvey swore about twenty times. Any more than this and he would've been banished. So since we knew the accusation, the accused shall be brought forth."

How did Hcol make this believable in any way? Would anyone be fooled by him pretending to get angry as the general and then misusing God's name twenty times? To be honest, this feels like a shabby plan.

"General, how do you defend yourself?" Samuel questioned.

Harvey took a long breath and said matter-of-factly, "I can't really. All I can say is that I did not commit the crime." 

An Elder raised his eyebrows. "Harvey, I know we all trust you. Unfortunately, you're going too far to be believable."

"I'm sorry, Harvey," Samuel added sadly. He gazed at the crowd. "Is there any who could strengthen the high general's defense?"

Well, apparently the plan was good enough, because the Elders all fell for it. That one dude said it himself: they all trust Harvey. So why don't they act it? Were they not made aware that, a mere hour ago, a virockel was alive in their city? Shouldn't they suspect that others might be around? And Harvey's defense is the worst. He, of all people, should be able to convince the Elders that he's innocent. This whole situation is frustrating, but not in a good way.

Hcol walked briskly toward the Council chamber. It was the changing of the sentries, and he needed to get in before the shift was complete.

Before Hcol walked in, he made sure his disguise as somebody else he saw earlier was complete. Satisfied with the check, he entered. Only a few noticed him come. Hcol stood in the shadows.

I'm seeing a few things wrong here, and I think you'll agree. First off, why are the guards changing IN THE MIDDLE OF THE HIGH GENERAL'S TRIAL? If they were smart, they'd realize this is the perfect opportunity for an assassination, and they'd either change before or after. Secondly, Hcol is just as bright as Ssen was, because he has no idea if the person he just transformed into is going bump into him, or if said person is present at the trail. Bad move. And finally, it's never only "a few" people who notice someone coming late. Have you ever been present at a class or something where somebody arrives after it has already begun? There are a lot of people, myself included, who turn to see who showed up. Hcol's barely been in the story, and we know he's an idiot.

Warren continued, "I'm not saying I've been perfect. What I mean is that I have perished the thought of swearing. I find it detestful, especially when our Creator's name is used. To drag His name through the mud is to be ignorant and disrespectful."

I will say, I appreciate the fact that Warren isn't a typical "unbeliever" like Alex is. But I find it odd that he's the one defending the general, when he's barely known the guy. Also, it's "detestable," not "detestful."

"My theory is that he was either hypnotized and commanded to swear or had his voice used by another."

Samuel sighed. "Warren, that's a bit wild. How could that happen?"

"The same way there's two Xanders in one room." The defender gestured to the back where, shrouded in shadow, Hcol stood. The virockel transformed into his body and attempted to flee. However, he was surrounded by over a dozen knights and was chained. A special shackle was put around Hcol's neck, cutting off the blue blood supply. The men led him away to prison.

Well, uh . . . that was over quickly. Warren must have really good eyesight, because you'd think this chamber would be pretty massive. And if I were Hcol, I wouldn't flee. Rather, that's when I would attempt to kill Harvey. Y'know, as a backup plan. Still loving the whole "blue blood" concept!

Beaming, the High Elder praised, "It seems your theory proved to be true. Wherever did you get such an idea?"

"Sir, today I was captured by another virockel who's name was Ssen. When I heard what had occurred, I suspected foul play."

You mean no one thought to tell the Elders about this? Really? How bricking dumb is everyone in this city?! Also "whose," not "who's."

"That's alright," Harvey comforted. "In a war this scale, one must be extra careful when choosing friends."

I used to think this quote was so amazing, but now it just feels mediocre. Like I'm trying to be epic, but I'm only fooling myself.

"And now, gentlemen," instructed Harvey, "I'd like you to help me spread the word that we're having a war meeting tonight. It's time we got offensive."

If it takes longer than an hour to pass the news along, I'm going to be disappointed. And I thought the whole point of you being on trial was because you were offensive . . .? (Just kidding. But seriously, though.)

Well, I considering mocking another chapter (because the one I did today was shorter), but that'd make this post too long. That leaves us with just four chapters! Are you going to miss this series when it's over? Did you enjoy this part? Got enough sarcasm to last you another month?