It was just the first line. Ignore that, then.Originally Posted by Nephilim
It was just the first line. Ignore that, then.Originally Posted by Nephilim
It doesn't flow well. Perhaps it could be improved by reduction:Originally posted by RevenantsKnight
I canít quite put my finger on it, but this sentence sounds off. For some reason, I paused after reading it, thinking that it didnít flow well...but I canít really figure out why.Quote:
Originally Posted by Nephilim
As if they were frantic not to lose face before the assassin, the rest quickly followed suit.
- remove "they were" (seems unnecessary)
- remove either "quickly" or "frantic" (seems redundant)
- remove the need for a comma by re-ordering the clauses
- "The rest followed suit as if frantic not to lose face before the assassin."
- "The rest quickly followed so as not to lose face before the assassin."
Another enjoyable chapter. I particularly liked the examination of the special senses possessed by several of the party, and the differences between them. I also liked Ismail's admonition against the misuse of distraction and his truism regarding fear and courage.
The fight scene was a little unsatisfying. At first I thought the dozen zombies had been defeated too easily, but then I realized that it made sense given that half the party are legendary warriors. Even so, it seemed a bit perfunctory: over almost before it began. But it did lend support to Kinemil's judgement that they could easily handle a pack of demons - perhaps what you intended?
The fight WAS supposed to seem very rushed and too easy. And though it WILL lend credence to Kinemil's view, there's more to it than that.
The fresh blood of Halaberd and his children staining her blades and her body, Moribande looked out from the balcony of the throne room at the city of Sescheron below her. The northern end of the city remained intact, as Baal's legions had flooded the southern half, and were still occupied there. She expected him to reach the Hall very soon.
In anticipation of his arrival, she had arranged the bodies of Halaberd's wife and children on the floor, sitting upright with backs to each other, and, in the cases of Halamere and Nimodred, with their heads in their laps. Halaberd himself, however, had been set upon his throne once more, and stabbed through the chest on his own sword, the Sacred Charge. And finally, the baby Deothen was placed within the limp arms of his mother Nimuen, her chest soaked in the blood spilled from her cut throat.
But then, everything here was stained with blood. Moribande had slaughtered Halaberd's eldest children here, and then had squared off against the Barbarian King himself. They all fell swiftly and brutally under her tonfa-like swords. She had completed her mission well, and she was ecstatic to think that Baal might be pleased with her.
The doors were blown off their hinges with a mighty crash, and the shouts of Baal's unholy entourage echoed up the long corridor to the throne room. Moribande attempted to control herself, but it was so very hard. Any time apart from him made her all the more eager at seeing him again, and it was all she could do to contain herself. They had spent a lifetime apart during his imprisonment in Sanctuary, and she had searched relentlessly for him, in all the wrong places, she would discover. She had been halfway across the world when he emerged from that horrific place, and a kind of pleasure she had only dared to dream of had enveloped her being. She had known immediately what that meant, and had not rested until she beheld his monstrously beautiful face once more.
Those feelings flooded through her veins again as Baal entered the throne room. He looked at the bodies on the floor, and then to Moribande, who had an arm draped across the back of the throne that held the body of Halaberd the Conqueror.
"Moribande," he said with an insidious smile.
"Your will be done, my Lord," the succubus replied with a bow.
Baal crept fully into the room on his four legs, and was closely followed by his bodyguard, the mummy Achmel, and Dac Farren. The imp glanced at Moribande's handiwork and gave her an impressed nod of approval.
"The city of Sescheron is ours for the destroying," Moribande reported, walking with a sultry gait over to her master as he inspected the bodies of Halaberd's children. "Unleash your forces upon what remains, and they will crumble."
"Let us not be too hasty, my dear," Baal responded, walking past the royal family to look upon the king himself. "If my brothers had one criticism of me, it was that I was too . . . mercurial in my practices. Destruction is, after all, very straight-forward."
This confused Moribande. "What choice do we have? Though it pains me to remind you, Diablo and Mephisto have been slain."
"A fact of which I need not reminding," Baal replied moodily, turning to her with angry eyes. Her heart sank into her stomach at the prospect of upsetting him. But his mood quickly changed. "But we only need a light touch, Moribande. A hint of Hatred."
Moribande raised a curious eyebrow. "What do you propose?"
Wordlessly, a dark grin crept onto Baal's visage, and he walked back towards the family in the centre of the hall. Tendrils whipped out from Baal's arms and batted the corpses out of the way, scattering them around in disarray. Moribande watched Deothen slide into a pillar.
Baal nodded his approval. "This will be the perfect place. This hall is the shattered glory of the Barbarians. They shall see just how severely Bul-Kathos has abandoned them." He clapped his hands together sharply. "Dac Farren! The time has come to summon reinforcements."
"Reinforcements?" asked Moribande, approaching her lord. "We have enough might to crush whatever feeble resistance the barbarians muster, but only if we act quickly. Every minute, things begin to worsen."
"Yes," Baal nodded in agreement, "but I wish to do more than crush them." He followed his statement with a wicked grin. Moribande was unsure of his plan, but his fiendish delight excited her nonetheless, and she returned the smile.
Baal turned to the assembly of demons who had followed after him. At the doorway, Sharptooth Slayer and Shenk, the two Grand Overseers of Baal's grunts, kept their minions in check with distorted shouts and cracks from their whips. An array of succubi like Moribande hovered above them, watching their lord intently. Like her, they too took pleasure in his mere presence.
"We shall need another," said Baal thoughtfully, eyeing Farren as he got into place. "Bring forth the Annihilator!"
Moribande gasped in surprise, and ran to Baal's side, looking up at him eagerly. "He has arrived?"
Baal stroked her face roughly, cutting into her skin with his jagged fingernails. "Yes. He heard my summons and arrived outside Sescheron as our invasion began. I was pleased to find him alive after so long - the Exile was likely quite rough on him. Ah, here he comes."
The minions in the door squealed in fear and parted as a tall, gaunt figure entered the throne room from the corridor leading up to it. Surrounded by a small army of personal bodyguards, Corlenzo the Annihilator stepped into the room, and bowed solemnly to the Lord of Destruction.
"My King, it has been too long."
"Far too long," Baal agreed.
Moribande could barely speak. Corlenzo, the virtual god of his people, the first of the Fallen. He was the model his race was crafted from. He was tall for one of his species, and two black, twisted, and ruined horns curled up from his forehead. His skin was a pale grey-purple, and was stretched and ragged, thin across his bones. But his face was creased with centuries of toil, and his eyes betrayed a wisdom few had come to expect from his people. In one hand, he held a small, jagged dagger, and in the other, he leaned upon a torn standard, bearing demonic runes over a face the likeness of Baal, entwined with his own, thin tentacles.
Corlenzo was Baal's oldest surviving generals, with millennia of destruction in his service. He had been in Sanctuary for a time before the Dark Exile, but when the Three were banished, he had no way to come home. He and Moribande had never met. But to stand in the presence of such a legendary lieutenant was an honour.
"Let us begin immediately," Baal suggested, gesturing to the two sorcerous demons, "we have lost enough time already."
With respectful nods, Dac Farren and Corlenzo took stances at equal distances from Baal, forming a perfect triangle. So their ritual began. All three rose their hands to the ceiling, and Baal's Soulstone glowed a sickly yellow. They began to chant, in ancient, terrible languages that the land of Sanctuary had been happy to forget. They spoke out of unison, each with a unique phrase they repeated over and over.
Moribande could feel the power building up like a static charge on the very air, and she felt something that she had not felt for thousands of years: a heat - an insidious heat that invaded her being and soothed her black, aching soul. It was home. She felt a bloody, nostalgic tear slither down her face.
A light shone up from the cracks in the marble floor, a light from a shifting fire that was too red to be of any worldly flame. There was golden lightning, now, that lanced out from each of the sorcerers to each other, and flashed across the floor. Their chants grew louder, faster, and more fervent. Many of the lesser demons - younger ones who had been created here in Sanctuary - backed away in fear. The elder among them, however, drew closer, drawn by the morbidly fragrant scent of death they had so long lived without. The succubi above them slowly circled the assembly, drinking in the sensation. They glided so silently and gracefully that they looked like ethereal wraiths.
Suddenly, the floor exploded. Heat and hatred poured out from the blast like water from a burst dam, and Moribande was very nearly overwhelmed.
However, even as the broken pieces of the floor and stone below were blasted away, they broke apart further, and rebuilt themselves. As if a thousand invisible architects worked tirelessly to please the Lord of Destruction, the bits of rock clamped together to form a platform, raised in the middle of the hole that had been blasted into the floor. Now a walkway was built, bridging the gap, and now an archway over the platform.
Very suddenly, and at the height of their fervor, the chanting stopped. There was a moment of hellish quiet, and a portal burst open beneath the archway. For the first time in millennia, Moribande heard the hauntingly beautiful screams of the damned.
The succubi above the portal broke from their graceful symmetry and caterwauled through the air. Even the younger demons, now enticed by the power they had never experienced before, drew nearer to the portal. Baal let out a cold sigh of relief as well. Moribande felt a sudden wave of compassion for her Lord, and approached him. How he must have missed home, too, being locked away in that otherworldly prison for all those years. She rebuked herself her desire to go home, and her self-pity. It was nothing in his glorious presence.
"Shenk!" Baal thundered, "take your best warriors and seek out my agents. They shall be expecting you."
The bloated overseer lumbered over to the portal, and with a bow to his master, led Eldritch and an army of his demons into the wound in reality.
Moribande clasped Baal's hand and caressed his mottled flesh. "Why do you not lead them yourself, my Lord? I know you wish to taste the acrid air of Hell once more."
"I do," said Baal, his gaze lowering, "but I must ensure our victory here first, and I do not know the conditions our homeland is currently in. It may be too dangerous for me." He smiled at her. "Do not worry, my dear, when we are done with Sanctuary, the two realms will be indistinguishable." He turned to Dac Farren. "They may be some time. The portal should remain open but make sure that nothing goes wrong."
The imp bowed graciously.
Moribande assumed a more professional posture. "There may be a problem."
Her master's face darkened, and she breathed a fearful, broken sigh. He would not be upset with her, it was not her fault. Nevertheless, Moribande dreaded bringing him bad news, not out of fear for her life, but for the look of disappointment that crossed his face. Every time she saw it, she knew she couldn't bear it.
"What kind of problem?" asked Baal quietly.
Moribande swallowed. "I have been surveying the city, my Lord. Before I slew him, Halaberd rang a great bell in the tower at of this palace. And I overheard the Council comment that it was to rally reinforcements."
Baal listened, and nodded for her to continue.
"But I have seen little movement from the northern part of this city. When we came from the south, soldiers ran from their homes to meet us in the streets. But I saw families flee northward."
Baal stroked his Soulstone thoughtfully. "I understand. They are organizing."
"The humans we have fought to the centre of this city were stupid, and chaotic. But I have a fear that the humans are staging a more significant assault. If they organize, they could pose a threat to us."
Baal pondered this. "But we . . . you have taken care of their leaders."
Moribande nodded. "Yes, and while that may make them faint of heart, it could also incense them into a vengeful fury. With that in mind, my Lord, I suggest that you do not meet this force on the front line."
The demon lord sighed. "I don't think that necessary. I have a plan still in the waiting. If it has failed, then I may consider your proposal, but where am I if not at the forefront of destruction?"
Moribande was about to object, when suddenly the portal before them flared. Baal turned, his brow furrowing at the imp he had left there. "Dac Farren?"
"All is well, my Lord," the demon assured him with a gracious bow. "But something emerges from the rift."
Quickly, Baal, with the succubus at his side, returned to the portal they had opened in the centre of the throne room.
Shenk emerged suddenly, and he nodded to Baal before crossing the arching bridge onto the broken marble floor. Next, a different demon emerged. One Moribande had not seen for some time. A goatman. In fact, she recognized him, and was surprised to see him alive. He was Deathshade Fleshmaul, one of the leaders of the Stone Clan. His flesh was grey, and the fur on his legs and head were deep red. His muscular torso was scarred and taut, and he breathed the air of Sanctuary deeply, surveying the assembled crowd with satisfaction.
When his caprine eyes fell upon the Lord of Destruction, however, he nearly burst into tears. Clopping as quickly as he could, he ran to the foot of Baal, and fell to his knees. "My Lord! I feared the worst! I -"
"Get up, Deathshade, and report," Baal commanded with a friendly smile. While pleased with the humility of his minions, he enjoyed getting straight to the point. Formality was a favourite of Mephisto.
Deathshade stood immediately to attention. "Of course, my Lord," he said in his caprine voice.
"What were you doing in Hell?" asked Baal curiously, "I had thought that you escaped to Sanctuary after the Exile."
"Yes, my Lord, but like so many of your most loyal servants, I was called by another. I was called to Tristram."
Baal smiled. "Diablo."
"Yes," Deathshade nodded. "I fought well for him but, as you know, it was not enough. I was defeated and left for dead. When the human warriors who defeated our forces left, however, we survivors began to recuperate. And after Diablo, possessing the body of the human who defeated him, left Tristram, we staged our attack on the town, and our vengeance was sated. We left Tristram in ruins, and some of us, per orders from Diablo, returned to Hell to make way for his coming."
Moribande looked at him quizzically. "But how? Diablo never opened a portal to Hell during his time in Tristram."
"No," Deathshade agreed with a nod to her, "but he had caused so much horror there, that Hell began to leak into the mortal world. The wall between worlds was weak enough to allow us to create a portal. But we were crippled from the battle and it was not very powerful. It did not stay open for long, and only a few of us managed to make it. We had been ordered to secure our alliances with forces in Hell still loyal to you and your brothers, my Lord. But the portal had scattered us to different places. I cannot say for certain that I am not the only one who survived the journey."
Moribande chanced a glance out the window, but the city remained still and silent.
"And did you accomplish your mission, Fleshmaul?" asked Baal, lowering his dark gaze on his minion.
"Yes, my lord," the goatman replied. "With the help of the balrog Ventar it was an easy task."
"Ventar?" asked Moribande. "I thought he betrayed us during the Exile."
"He was ordered to, by Diablo," Baal replied. "So that he might feign loyalty to the Lesser Evils and gather loyalists from their ranks." He turned back to Deathshade. "Go on."
"Ventar's agents were activated, and they turned on their masters with furious vengeance, in your names. We focused on defeating Azmodan's forces, and when Diablo finally returned, he led our forces to battle, and he personally saw to it that the Lord of Sin would trouble us no more."
Happy mutters passed through the assembly, and a devious grin overtook Baal.
Deathshade sighed. "Belial, however, went into hiding, his lieutenants leading the battle instead. We were occupied with them when the humans launched their raid from the Pandemonium Fortress and slew Diablo. We felt his death," he remarked, sadly, "and staged a hasty retreat, but by the time we arrived, his Soulstone had been shattered and the humans had already fled to Sanctuary."
"And Belial?" asked Corlenzo, hobbling forward on his staff. "Has he since been slain?"
"Not to my knowledge, Annihilator," Deathshade replied respectfully.
"Not to your knowledge?" Baal raised an eyebrow. "How could the death of our greatest surviving enemy escape your knowledge?" There was a veiled anger in his tone, and Moribande delighted in the thought that he might slay Deathshade. Though she would have preferred a human victim, destruction of any sort thrilled her to no end.
"With Diablo's death, his forces spiraled into utter chaos," said Deathshade, bowing his head in shame. "Many of our loyal minions revolted against us. They had felt Mephisto's Soulstone shatter, and many presumed that you had met your doom here in the mortal world. They questioned out leadership. Ventar and I did what we could, but it was no easy task."
Baal clenched his fist slowly. "We had hoped that our enemies would be dead by now. You disappoint me, Fleshmaul. I had greater confidence in you." He paused. "Do you have anything else to tell me?"
Deathshade raised his head. "I do, my Lord. I have acquired the gift."
Baal was nearly shocked, but a grin pervaded his surprise. "So, then . . . she lives."
She? Moribande had had many competitors for Baal's affections before the Exile, though she was first among his harem. Many had died in the civil war, and Moribande had not been regretful to see them go. She desperately hoped that it was not one of them.
However, bid by Deathmaul, the figure that stepped from the portal into Sanctuary was not one of Baal's succubi.
The succubi had been originally created by Andariel. By understanding pleasure, they could mete out greater anguish against her enemies. In an effort to win the favour of the Prime Evils, Andariel fashioned a harem to serve each of them. The demonlords, however, took her designs, and fashioned servants of their own to better suit them. Baal had cut open Andariel's gifts to better understand them, and when he was satisfied, he created his harem, of which Moribande was the first, chronologically and hierarchally . Diablo was less ambitious, and so he left his harem untouched. Bloodlust, his primary consort, was sent by Andariel, and remained at his side until her apparent death in Tristram. Mephisto, however, agreed with Baal. He slew his succubi, seeing them as useless to his forays, and in their place, he created a band of powerful sorceresses. They were known as the sirens. Mephisto used several methods to see which were the most effective, but the fruit of his labours was the most powerful of all the sirens. After she was born, he butchered all his previous efforts and modeled any subsequent succubi on her perfect form. Her name came to be feared and respected in all corners of Hell, and that name was Coppertongue the Shadowmaker.
And before Moribande's eyes, Coppertongue emerged from the portal.
After the defeat of the Prime Evils by the Lesser, most demons fled to Sanctuary, either per orders of their Lords, or from fear of the new masters of Hell. Coppertongue, however, had been overrun by Belial's forces, and Moribande had shrugged her off as another of the many casualties. But the Lord of Lies had, evidently, kept her as a trophy all these years. And a trophy was all she could be, for her most powerful had been torn from her body.
Coppertongue no longer had any lower jaw. It had been ripped from her face, along with most of her throat from her neck. The flesh, however, was frayed and dry. This had happened long, long ago. Baal looked at her with as close a thing to pity as he was capable.
"She was captured by Belial after her defeat," Deathshade explained. "But she was more a problem for him in prison than free, so he cut her tongue from her. Diablo ordered me to bring her to Sanctuary if ever I found her, but I'm afraid she's completely powerless."
Coppertongue turned away from Baal in shame. The exposed tubes of her neck convulsed as she swallowed.
Baal shook his head. "We will remedy that," he said quietly, then turned to the goatman. "In the meantime, you have yet pleased me, Deathshade. My confidence in you was well placed."
The demon knelt before his master again. "I live only to destroy in your honour, my Lord."
"Then," said Baal, extending one hand, while grasping his Soulstone firmly in the other, "I shall give you the power to do so."
Deathshade suddenly convulsed. Moirbande twitched, surprised and elated that Baal was going to kill him. It took her some time to realize that this was not going to happen.
Deathshade bleated in agony, and his body contorted. He held a hand to his stomach, and coughed up a puddle of blood. Then, his very flesh began to stretch, and tear. His jaws opened wider than they should, and broke a line up his snout. It was as if he was being filled with something, and it was too much for his flesh to contain. Finally, however, his skin gave way, and along his back, it erupted. But there was a new layer of flesh beneath it.
His jaws were now stretched so wide that they broke off, revealing a new face beneath it, as well. Dark horns erupted out of the side of his skull. Finally, he was complete, and a new Deathshade Fleshmaul arose, shaking off his skin as if it had been a used jacket.
Where in his previous form he had stood but a hair taller than a man, he was now gargantuan, unnaturally swelled with muscle and sinew. But his face was not longer a goat's, but that of an ox. He snorted, looking over his new body, and nodded his satisfaction.
"I shall take no gambles," Baal said decisively. "Do any more of your kind remain."
"Yes, Lord," Deathshade's voice was now a thundering baritone, completely devoid of his caprine distortion. "Belial held mock wars in arenas, as you once did, between clans. Ventar and I freed the prisoners of one such arena."
"Then bring them to me, and I will do for them what I have done for you," Baal announced. "You are a Stone Lord, now."
Deathshade experimentally clenched his fist, and then punched the other open palm with a grin on his bovine features. "These barbarians have met their match."
"And s for you," Baal turned to Coppertongue. She looked up at him, tears of blood, an icy blue, blowing down her face. Baal suddenly thrust forward, and a mass of tentacles shot into Coppertongue's open neck, going down her broken windpipe. She gagged, and convulsed, her wings flapping wildly.
This time, Moribande knew that he did not intend to slay her. Even as she watched, he saw him rebuild her flesh. His many insidious tentacles became her very flesh.
Deathshade strode into place beside Moribande. "When you did not come to Tristram, I feared for you."
"So you should," Moribande nodded. "I don't think I have to tell you that our time in Sactuary has been . . . unkind, at best."
"Hell hasn't been very charitable, either," Deathshade replied quietly.
Moribande ignored him, and instead looked back to Coppertongue. A faint, broken gurgle escaped her form. But it gained more coherence as Baal continued. It solidified into a feminine scream. Her fingers with taut with agony as her scream intensified. Finally, Baal pulled his appendages from her newly reformed mouth, and she collapsed on the ground, sputtering and coughing, putting a hand to her throat. She spat up some blood before she stood, running her hands over her face. She open and closed her mouth experimentally, chomping down on teeth she hadn't felt for ages.
"Mephisto is dead," Baal reported dismally.
Coppertongue's gaze lowered, and her eyes took on sorrow once more. "I know," she said. Moribande hadn't heard that haunting voice in so long that it nearly shook her. It was a crowd of voices, whispering, singing, and screaming as one. Moribande was suddenly overcome with a deep empathy, a pervasive sadness.
"I felt his spirit die," Coppertongue continued, and Moribande felt the despair unbearable. Some of the lesser demons let out whoops of anguish.
Baal quickly put a finger to her lips, and she fell silent. "You have not spoken for thousands of years, Coppertongue. The energies building up within you are anxious for release. So potent are they that with every word you say you utter incantations of powerful sorcery. So save them for now. The time will come to unleash you against our foes."
Coppertongue smiled, and knelt before Baal, bowing her head. He reached down, and turned her face to behold him. Moribande felt a surge of jealousy, but knew it to be unfounded. Coppertongue's dark heart belonged to Mephisto. She had been created so, and nothing Baal, or anyone could do would ever change that.
"My Lord!" the sudden shout from the balcony startled them out of the moment. It was from Dac Farren, who now pointed at the city below.
The generals approached, but as she walked, Moribande stepped over the body of the baby, Deothen. She stopped, and reached down, picking him up in her arms. Baal paused as he passed. "Surely he does not live."
"No, my King," Moribande assured him. She thought a moment. "My Lord, might I keep this one?"
He looked at her, a quizzical grin on his lips. "Why, my dear?"
She looked into the dead eyes of the baby, and shook her head. "I cannot say, for certain. It intrigues me."
Baal smiled, and leaned down to kiss her on her horn. Heat and lust pumped through her veins, and she held her breath. "It is my gift to you, my dear Moribande," he replied softly. "A reward for the work you have done me."
"Many thanks, my Lord," she said gratefully.
Baal continued to the balcony, and Moribande followed.
The streets of Sescheron were a flood of barbarians, but they were not chaotic crowds as they had been. Foot soldiers formed the front line, with cavalry scattered among them. Archers stood some distance behind them. They marched upon them, heralds carrying banners and shouting warcries. And at the forefront, upon the largest horse Moribande had ever seen, was a grizzled old barbarian - a giant of a man, made to look more so with the impressive armour and horned helm he wore. He raised a gigantic spear into the air, bellowed a battle cry, and urged the assembly forward.
Moribande looked to Baal, but the Lord of Destruction only smiled knowingly at the army advancing upon them, and his eyes slowly turned to Coppertongue, who beheld the humans with an expectant grin, licking her lips with her newly reformed tongue.
"Sing them to their graves," Baal commanded in a whisper.
Coppertongue opened her mouth, took a deep breath, and began to sing.
In this manner was the city of Sescheron destroyed.
Another well written chapter. Congrats.
This is in the passive voice; unless you particularly want this sentence this way, I'd revise it to the active voice, as something like "Golden lightning lanced out..."Originally Posted by Nephilim
The last clause here seems too much of an understatement to me. You could probably stretch this into a paragraph if you tried, or more realistically one or two more sentences that get more details across.Originally Posted by Nephilim
Again, passive voice. Change if you so desire.Originally Posted by Nephilim
"Caterwauled" means "to make a discordant, hideous noise" or "to behave lasciviously" according to the online edition of the Oxford English Dictionary. The former just doesn't work, and the latter has contemptuous connotations, so I'd change this verb to something else, since Moribande probably wouldn't view this action (if I correctly understand what you were trying to say) with contempt.Originally Posted by Nephilim
"Modeled" seems perhaps a little too direct and technical here.Originally Posted by Nephilim
The use of "overrun" here makes Coppertongue sound like a place, not a person. I'd suggest changing this verb.Originally Posted by Nephilim
Her "most powerful" what?Originally Posted by Nephilim
You're missing an "a" there...Originally Posted by Nephilim
Again, verb choice: "blowing down her face" seems off to me. Did you mean "flowing?"Originally Posted by Nephilim
I'd find a way to not use the word "flesh" in both instances here; it's a little repetitive.Originally Posted by Nephilim
Hope that helps, and thanks for posting!
Thanks again for the edit, Revenant, you're really pulling your weight in this forum.
Update! I demand an update...
Me too. I've had a lot of writing for school, lately. And also, World of Warcraft :mad:
Hopefully something in the next month.
This is fantastic. I especially enjoy the humanizing of Moribande with emotions such as love and jealousy and sadness. Having your audience sympathetic to her even as she kills an enfant is very intense. Very nicely done.
I'm also a bit obsessed with 'Zon's (I've got 4 that are 90+) so M'avina as a main character is just my cup of tea. I also like the Assasin's in the story as well. Very mysterious and eadly.
Keep it coming. I'm hooked.
*the_salmon (useast Ladder)