This story has nothing to do with Planeshift, so I\'m posting it here
Anyway, like the topic says, I need some opinions on the writings I just started. It\'s beginning of first chapter (I\'ll edit in the rest of it sometime next week when I actually have time) of book I\'m writing. I would be grateful for any opinions on my writing style... or anything for that matter... Besides that, enjoy
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Rarely does the human eye witness nature\'s manifestations of a power that could raze a whole town in just one night. Tidal waves, earthquakes and whirling winds can bring both fear and amazement to the masses taking part in the demonstrations of nature\'s might. These powers many times have plagued mankind, leaving mayhem and despair wherever they went. What could born in the hearts of those who stand face to face with the force ready to take their lives in its never-ending crave for fresh blood? The last hope of escape? Can one really fool his mind to believe that there is always a possibility to elude the devastating strikes of enraged elements? Or is it just a need to prolong the existence of one\'s miserable life? One thing is for sure - beings limited by their flesh stand absolutely no chance against the godlike materialisations of rage and destruction. Not much can be done in such situations. People may often conclude on saying their prayers in hope that pleased gods would let them keep their worthless lives. Strange as it seems, citizens of Rathurn showed completely different behaviour. But what could be expected when they had the dubious pleasure of experiencing such manifestations many times a year?
Without a word, Daramir stared at a raging thunderstorm extending its realm of pandemonium not that far away above a vast sea. Every few seconds mighty lightning bolts pierced through the disturbed air, annihilating the pitch blackness of the night and sending a dreadful peal through the atmosphere, as if a shock-wave of countless souls filled with agony ran right above the tract of water and towards the shore. Heavy hail kept thrusting into the sea, with each blow sending eerie ammounts of liquid into the air, as if trying to dig right to the very ground. Nothing quite like it ever appeared before his eyes, Daramir was filled with awe and dismay caused by the impression that compared to such fearsome force, he was just about nothing. Still, in some way the whole situation was causing a tingling sensation. His skin felt as if the electricity was running through his whole body, pulsing together with the rapid pounding of his heart. He could smell it in the air... an odd tint of sulphur was floating all around, somehow inflaming his soul and bringing passion to his bright grey eyes. It was more than obvious to him - it couldn\'t be a normal thunderstorm. Some fearsome force had to be responsible for all that he could witness in that very moment. Just for a while Daramir turned away from the awe-inspiring vision and took a look around.
Many of the Rathurn citizens were already standing on the shore, gazing into the play of the raging force of nature. None of them seemed to be surprised though, with ease on their faces they fed their eyes with the normally uncommon event. From what Daramir heard, people of Rathurn were used to seeing such manifestations up to five times a year. He still did not understand how they could get familiar with them, completely throwing away any signs of fear. Is a possibility of death any less dreadful if it happens on a regular basis? He glanced down to Garnil, his old dwarven companion whom he went through many tough and often macabre fights with. He was standing by his side, calm like all the others. Whether that was caused by his frequent visits in this city, or the dwarf\'s fearless attitude still remained unknown to him. It was truly strange to see such peace in the city, whilst the sea showed its lust for chaos and mayhem, sending blackened waves towards the crowded shore.
Daramir snapped out of the reverie as the thunderstorm projected a mighty lightning bolt, thus creating an outstanding peal that pierced through his heart, instantly triggering all of his nerves. The passion in his eyes quickly got replaced with a shock and his heart started pounding even faster than before. With fear clutching his chest, he could hardly catch a breath. Daramir clenched his fists in an attempt to regain his calmness.
\"The citizens must have offended Wador in some way.\" Still struggling with fear, he tried to make his voice as calm as possible and yet loud enough to pierce through the noise filling the shore, so that his friend would hear his words. It appeared quite obvious to him that the lightning must have been a form of manifestation chosen by the god of war himself to send a message to the unwary citizens. How else could have he done it? There were no temples devoted to him in the city, let alone priests who could pass on Wador\'s will.
\"You speak of deities?\" Garnil looked up to him and slightly shook his head. \"It is not gods that hold blame for what we can witness here,\" He frowned and went on, raising his voice. \"The fault lies in the actions of careless humans, who think of nothing but themselves.\" The dwarf was going to end his answer on these words, yet seeing the surprise on Daramir\'s face, he decided to carry on. \"You see, large ports are not the only cause that brings fame and renown to this strange city... This place is also holding the greatest mages\' guild in the whole land. Yes, mages of Rathurn know a lot about their art,\" Garnil turned around to face the city, with his eyes seemingly searching for something in the blackness of the night. \"But the careless magicians hold no regards for the safety of the common folk. Their experiments bring pain and despair to the lives of people inhabiting this city... They disgust me.\" He concluded his answer by spitting on the ground.
\"But wouldn\'t emperor cease such experiments?\" Daramir many times had experienced hardships of life in the empire, but he couldn\'t make himself to believe that the life of citizens could be so unimportant.
\"Emperor? Ha! And why would he think about safety of the people? All he really cares for is the money... His greed is legendary even among us dwarves!\" Garnil still could remember the military campaign launched against the forces of chaos, which eventually ended up in a complete failure. Failure caused solely by the still young emperor, who didn\'t send the final blow to the armies inhabiting the Dark Mountains, because, as he himself said, \'The war took enough of money already\'. \"Remember, my friend,\" He continued. \"For your emperor it is all about the money... solely... don\'t expect him to care about anything else.\"
Sadness covered Daramir\'s face. He understood it pretty well that the emperor wasn\'t really a person that could be trusted. His greed had often proved to have more strength than his common sense, but Daramir still could remember his own service as a city guard in the capital of the empire. He had always followed law and took pride out of service for the emperor. However, if the emperor indeed was an unjust man, then where\'s the honor? Where\'s the pride?
It was all gone now though. Many years passed since Garnil took him away from the city life and brought to the way of an adventurer. Although they did not find the promissed \'richies\' and great fame yet, this life was far more exciting and rewarding than that of a city guard. The large risk of losing his life didn\'t seem to be too appealing as well. Over the years Daramir learned that more blood spilled is just that and nothing more. No sorrow over the killed ones, just moving forward. He could die as well - that\'s true, but so what? Did he have anything to live for? Anyone? Quite contrary. His blood spilled in a battle could give him a pass to the realm of the wargod Wador. What could be more rewarding than meeting the ancient brothers in arms, with whom he could then fulfill the will of his lord?
\"Ah, it is ending now,\" Garnil was gazing into the thunderstorm, which seemed to be sending the last of its lightning bolts. \"Maybe we should head back to the tavern. We have some work to do tomorrow.\"
\"Yes, maybe we should.\" Daramir answered silently and once again glanced towards the sea. Strange thoughts were gathering in his mind. The thunderstorm showed an immense power, but it was fading away now. He on the other hand remained so little, unnoticed, and yet his life force gave him the possibility to carry on his existance. So what was the superior force? Daramir was given a chance to live on, maybe for many years to come, whilst the horrid manifestation was about to cease its existance. Could it be that he, such a tiny soul, might hold the superiority over such a fearsome power? Daramir shook his head shrugging away all of the thoughts and whispered: \"Let\'s go.\" As he turned his head towards the city.
It was pretty late, the time most likely reaching midnight. The streets were void from any signs of life. Most of the people who remained awake, were either gathered on the shore or enjoying their careless moments in the taverns. The air was somewhat heavy, bringing both Daramir and Garnil a feeling of tiredness and melancholy. It seemed like the best thing to do would be to get some sleep and let the day come to the past. After few minutes they reached the Golden Buckler tavern. With a jingle of a bell they opened the door, soon immersing themselves in the loud racket of the tavern patrons.
Passing by the cheering drunkards, they finally found a free table. There was some ale spilled all over it, but that detail didn\'t seem to be too important for the tired adventurers. Daramir quickly sat on a chair, leaning backwards and sighing loudly.
\"I don\'t think either of us is in a partying mood right now,\" Garnil chuckled. \"But a pint of ale won\'t do any harm. Wait here while I go to get us some.\" The dwarf didn\'t wait for Daramir\'s answer and quickly walked towards the bar, soon disappearing behind the conversing bar flies.
But Daramir wasn\'t going to answer anyway. He closed his eyes, drifting away to the realm of his deep considerations, where various thoughts nonstop stormed his mind. Some time passed since he joined the last adventure. Together with Garnil and few others, he was supposed to venture into some godforsaken cave to retrieve an ancient statuette said to symbolise an old idol. There were no statuettes though... lots of goblins instead. Who would expect those creatures so deep in the empire? They usually didn\'t go far beyond the southern fortresses - too risky for them to encounter the empire\'s army. But either way, the statuette was lost and the quest turned out to be a complete failure. Pity, but that\'s just how it is.
Twenty or so moons passed since then. He and Garnil were supposed to meet in Rathurn to hire themselves as guards for some merchants\' caravan. The spring was reaching its end and the season for certain wares, in this case silk clothes, was about to start. Such journeys were usually pretty dull, but hey, the merchants paid pretty well. Still, the caravan wasn\'t supposed to start until the next week, Daramir didn\'t expect to see his dwarven friend in the city just yet.
It turned out that he was doing a favour for a friend of his, who seemingly couldn\'t come to the city himself. Some old wizard living in a village several miles away, Daramir didn\'t really know much about him.
\"And the troll roared with a deep voice that could bring dread to the hearts of the bravest of men!\" Suddenly Daramir\'s thoughts got interrupted by someone uttering some kind of a tale. He turned around. It was a bard, at the moment surrounded by few men who listened to him in enjoyment. \"But he did not step back, oh no! He extanded his naked blade and looked into the beast\'s eyes, as if trying to tell it that one of them shall die... and he intends to live for many years to come. The troll didn\'t wait any longer, it swinged its enormous club at Werelor, but the paladin was quick enough to evade it. Not waiting for the beast to regain its balance, he charged at it while uttering a loud battlecry. But the attack failed... The troll sent a blow at him with its left fist, completely smashing Werelor\'s shield.\"
\"Just the shield?\" One of the men suddenly interrupted him. \"I think a punch of a troll would do far more than that.\"
\"Well Werelor survived it,\" The bard smirked. \"And wasn\'t going to give up.\"
\"Fine, fine,\" The man laughed. \"Carry on with it.\"
\"Well my throat is getting pretty sore,\" The bard slightly motioned to an empty mug standing next to him. \"I\'m unsure if I can...\"
\"Another pint of ale!\" The man exclaimed towards the bar and with a smirk turned back to the bard, as if expecting him to continue now.
\"Ah, much appreciated! Well as I said, Werelor received quite a mighty blow from the troll. But the troll didn\'t use the occassion to finish him off. Instead, it sent a mighty roar, as if trying to show its superiority over the paladin... that caused its doom. Werelor once again charged at the beast and with a mighty swing, he slashed through the troll\'s flesh, opening its stomach. Acid from the beast\'s bowels streamed right at the paladin, in same moment destroying all of his armour. But the protective aura guarded him... and by his will, Werelor survived.\"
\"Hah, bards\' tales!\" Garnil returned with two pints of ale right before the storyteller described the death of the troll. \"I have seen many men die under the force of trolls\' acid. Let me tell you this,\" He put one of the pints before Daramir. \"No aura may protect a man from something like that!\"
Daramir didn\'t answer, only smiled slightly and took a sip from his mug. He recalled an old story he once heard, of a man who lost his hand when trying to take a luckily found diamond out of troll\'s stomach. Daramir never seen the acid in action on his own eyes. In fact, he had never even seen a troll.
They sat there for a while, enjoying their drinks. Anyone who would look at them, might think that they were about to join some kind of a warpath. Daramir wore his plate armour, missing only the helmet, thus letting his brown hair to freely rest upon his shoulders. By his side there was his trusted sword, remaining in sheathe made of some fine leather. Garnil on the other hand had no armour. His hair dyed to orange however, was a sign that this dwarf was ready to fight anywhere and at any time. Fight for his honor and with no regards for own safety. His hazel eyes showed a bit of insanity and traces of alcohol could be noticed on his brown beard. Not exactly someone to pick a fight with. All in all, Garnil was ready to make use of his large battle axe for any, even the smallest insult pointed at his person.
Garnil glanced into his mug. It was empty already. \"It always ends before it starts for good...\" He mumbled to himself. \"Well we should get some sleep,\" He nodded to his companion \"Are you coming?\"
Daramir who until now was immersing himself in the bard\'s story, turned back to his dwarven friend. The tavern was quite silent already. Some drunkards, who seemingly couldn\'t take their alcohol were lying next to the still filled mugs. Daramir took the last gulp of his pint and answered: \"Yes, let\'s go.\"
