Finishing Chapter 1, and going a bit into Chapter 2.
Firstly, this is hopefully the last of the unedited pieces. I've started editing for Sanderson's class, which is about a week ahead of our group, so the next stuff will be more refined. I'm not too fond of this piece, but it still has an important event happen near the end of the chapter.
I'll go ahead and put the things of note you should be aware of here, so you know now. This is stuff that has not been referred to in these chapters, but are in later chapters.
Firstly, Saul (the general) was imprisoned in a maximum security prison (the Tomb), until authorities deemed him to no longer be a threat wherein he was moved to a lesser prison and promptly broke out the first week. He was there partly for harboring a cosmic-touched (his wife, but they sort of said don't do it again and gave him a warning), and on the charge that he was supporting Markos of Soydan's escape. (this one landed him in prison)
Markos of Soydan - A shepherd's son who grew to be a great military leader and orator who led a rebellion for control of Blackwell about 20 years previous to current story line. The druids won, and he was imprisoned but not executed, as his death would have thrown the populace into a frenzy. Followers are called Markosians. Supports removing druids from power.
Wanderer - Apolitical druid. They stay to the wilds of all lands and don't get involved save where the Balance is concerned/being upset.
Shepherd - Political druids that following the Gnomish uprising and the dwarven genocide, took control of human lands, seeing themselves as having to shepherd humanity into the way of the Balance.
Dwarven Genocide - Five centuries previously, the dwarves held the gnomes as a slave race. Incited by the invading Western Legions, the gnomes rose up and exterminated the dwarves, becoming the dominant power in the continent.
Graft - The item of power granted to a druid by Daiya. Represents a metaphorical grafting of the person to the planet and vice versa. Generally just a common twig or stick.
Daiya - The embodiment of the planet's consciousness. Represents the grand cycle of life and reincarnation where upon death and individual's life force returns to the planet.
1. How does the dialogue work?
2. How about descriptions? This is already marked on my list of redrafting portions to work out more evident descriptions.
3. How does Mert and Saul's camaraderie feel?
4. Anything else you saw that felt confusing or odd? Remember this is marked for heavy redrafting.
Previous events: The general is breaking out of prison. They fought some druids, killed them and fun times were had by all.
Chapter 1 cont.
The main concourse ended in the stairwell that led up to the surface. The only access in or out, guarded by a dozen men at the top and bottom at all times. The same dozen lying in pools of their own blood, surrounded by the bodies of the prisoners who had fought for their freedom. Saul strode past without giving them a second glance. He stood straighter, walked more boldy, ignoring the pain from the main wounds he had suffered. No one came to challenge him as he stepped into the stairwell and began the ascent that the non-extinct dwarves had carved centuries back.
Every step brought him closer to the surface. Every step forward was a chance to avenge Leeya. The druids that had killed her, the guards that had captured him, even the wanderer, had all been Thorozean. As soon as he finished here, he would see that they payed. He knew all of their faces by heart, for they had haunted his every dream for the past twenty years. His foot touched down on the stone steps with a light sound, and brought him another step closer.
Then he was at the top. A long non-descript hallway led out from the staircase, and at the end lay a sight that forced him and Gromli to stop in their tracks. The stun only lasted a moment and then he was moving, faster and more hurredly. He was at the enterence in a few heartbeats, unsure if what he was seeing was real or not. It was. The nights sky opened out before him as he exited the Tomb. Stars glittered far above him, as if welcoming him back to the surface. A slight breeze from his right wafted across him, slightly bristling his prison clothes. The wind on his skin after twenty years of nothing was the touch of ecstasy whispering across his skin, and filling him with such pleasure he never imagined he could have garnered from such an experience.
He ignored the bodies of the guards that lay about him, with their eyes now staring blanky towards the heavens. Escaped prisoners, the first of many were already disappearing off into the woods at the base of the mountain, and their hoots of joy faded off into the distance as they bolted to Daiya knows where. They’d be captured within a day and hanged in twice that.
His eyes spied a stream trickling down off the mountainside several hundred steps away, and he found himself compelled to go towards the trickling fresh water. The very air about him smelled fresh and clean as if he was completely reborn. His compusion brought him to the edge of the water, and he peered back briefly towards Gromli. The Fist had simply fallen to the ground, laying on his back, staring into the starry sky.
Saul turned back towards the stream and splashed the water in his face. The refreshing waters drove new life into him, and he finally felt complete and secure. The peace didn’t last for longer than several moments. Shouting rose up from behind him, and he spun, silently but quickly. Gromli had stood up immediately, and was staring off towards the trees on the opposite side of the mountainside. Torch-light shone through the conifers, the heralds of what the freedman had feared. The druids in the nearby town had regrouped and were coming to reinforce the area. He cursed himself for getting so caught up in the exhilaration of freedom. He needed to get to work, and he needed to do it fast. He started back for Gromli, to guide the gnome out of this place.
A moment later the druids came out of the trees. There was at least a half dozen and probably four times that in armed guards, shift workers for the prison who had been roused from their sleep. Saul immediately hid behind a nearby tree. It was far too many to take in a standup fight. Gromli had been caught out in the open, and the guards and druids spied him immediately. The gnome managed to topple one before they subdued him. Saul saw Gromli looking straight at him, his gaze locked. He started to charge forward, to defend his brother in arms, who had already saved his life at least once today. The freedman froze a half step later. Even if he got into the fight, he couldn’t stand against that many. At best, they’d both be imprisoned again and probably never have a chance to escape. At worst, they’d be dead. I’ve come too far.
His last sight of Gromli was the proud gnome’s eyes looking expectantly towards him for aid, before the freedman turned his back and ran into the night. Saul Rawne is a free man.
Chapter 2
Two years later.
Thunder crashed overhead as the storm swept in off the Norden Sea. The rain began to fall in torrents and quickly the streets of Koldar Hollow were muddy and flooding. Mert Asherban, or so he had called himself, pulled his coat tighter around his body, and cursed the raid for what had not been the first time.
Saul Rawne led the way into the city, boldly striding forward, as if he was daring the weather, the force of Daiya herself to stop him or impede him. Nothing did. He was very much playing the part of the bold Lord, a striking difference between the man who had wandered out of the forests of Deolatia and into Verdesberg. Mert was the first person Saul had found when he had arrived in the city. Mert had always been loyal to the core to Saul, and was willing to do anything for the man.
A native Lorhal hussar stepped past astride his massive cockatrice mount. Mert’s gaze lingered on the man for a moment, but the hussar continued past undaunted. His mount ‘s clawed talons sunk into the mud with each footstep, and the hussar calmly urged it on with subtle motions with his feet. The man’s thick leather coat and wide brimmed hat, the standard fashion in Lorhal seemed to be giving him enough protection from the rain, and Mert envied him slightly. He took his gaze off the man and focused ahead of them.
Saul was silent as he kept forward, occasionally craning his head, looking for the appropriate sign over one of the buildings. Mert likewise kept a watch for the correct place. They were looking for an inn, called the Silent Wench. They turned a corner and stopped. Two druids were walking through the streets jovially conversing with one another. There was no way they could recognize Saul now, but that wasn’t reason to be cautious. Mert idly thumbed his beard with on hand, and scanned off into the distance as if he was looking for someone.
The druids passed by close enough for Mert to see the grafts they held in their hands. One a graft of command, and another a graft of storms. Definetly not worth bothering. As soon as they were past, Saul continued forward, walking slightly less boldly. Mert watched the druids for a moment before turning back to Saul.
They stopped a moment later at their destination. The pouring rain was obscuring vision, but Mert was more than capable of seeing the sign above the large building. Big bold letters proclaimed this to be the Silent Wench. A large painted carving of a woman carrying several mugs of whisky in one hand and her own severed head was seated behind the name placard. Saul and Mert both looked at the darkly humerous carving.
“So tell me more about our fellow inside,” Saul said.
“Prelate Sargoth, is probably the most decorated male anything to have come out of the Pollos Expanse. Were he a female, he probably would be supreme commander for the entire Western Legions. As it is, the Sylthanian’s own sexism forced him into routinue and ultimately pointless buerocratic tasks. He left, caused quite an uproar too. Apparently he was the most requested… well for lack of a better word, studding male,” Mert said.
Saul remained passive. Most people would have flinched at the odd customs of the Sylthanians. Seven females for every one male for no explicable reason anyone had ever come up with meant the females fought, governed, and worked while the males spent their time either in philosophical debates or reproducing. Whenever Mert explained it, any nearby male humans started paying attention around that bit.
“He’s got all the money he needs. You’d be surprised how many people are looking for a freelance strategist, regardless of where he came from. Now he only does the business for the pleasure of the game. We take down Thorozean, we’re going to need him to do it,” Mert said.
Saul nodded. “I hear he’s getting on in years. Are you sure we can count on him?”
Before Mert could answer, the door to the inn swung open. The flailing body of a drunk came hurtling out of the inn, letting out a sharp wail before he splattered into the mud sending a splash of gunk all around him. The one who had thrown him caught Mert’s eye. He was easily a foot taller than Mert, and Mert was not a small man. A glittering robe of scale male was covered under a tabard of pure unmarked white. His feet were likewise adorned with polished plates of brass and silver. The figure’s long legs were jointed in a digitigrades fashion like those of the cockatrices he had seen hussars riding out in the streets.
Before Mert to get a better look, the door slammed shut.
“I think we found our man,” Mert said.
