Sixty

As unobtrusively as possible, Vezar opened a door in a city he’d once ruled over on the edge of Orileria. It still seemed to bustle with people and the scent of elven perfumes hung in the air. He smiled to himself as he made his way into the markets. Cloth would be what he required most pressingly, he could impose upon a seamstress from among the dead if necessary. And a gift for his treasure… Any other woman and he would need to find jewelry or some of the finer elvish perfumes but she would be elated with something slightly less expensive. He knew she enjoyed books or a complicated lock to toy with. 

His eyes moved over the stalls and came to rest on one that held a vivid selection of cloth bolts. The blue was what he wanted to see. Coming closer he reached out his hand to touch it.

“No beggars.” A thin strip of leather came down across the back of his hand. “Move on, you’ll scare away my customers.”

He fixed the fat man in gaudy clothes with a furious glare and was gratified by the man’s flinch.

“I am no beggar. I have money enough for the cloth if it’s of the quality I desire.” Vezar reached out his hand again and caressed the cloth. “The color is vibrant but the weave could be finer. Do you have anything better? And in black as well?”

The man began to stutter and a silvery elvish laugh made the skin on Vezar’s neck prickle.

“I can show you finer, your Majesty.” 

He turned and found himself face to face with an elf of breathtaking beauty. She was as golden as Syreilla and looked as he imagined his half-elf treasure would look if she hadn’t been born to a human mother.

“I… I would be grateful.”

“Why have your clothes become so poor?” The woman reached out to touch his rough cloth garments and he struggled to summon his wits.

“My favorite robe was torn and this conceals me enough to venture into a market to find cloth for a replacement. You seem to know me, most beautiful one, I beg of you, tell me your name.”

“You prayed to me…” She smiled almost slyly and Vezar bowed.

“Divinity. I was foolishly afraid. My treasure has returned her affection to me.” Remembering that Odos had been trying to deceive the other gods he added, “She was briefly confused by the dwarves.”

“She is a peculiar one, but I’m pleased your treasure returned to you.” Rielle took his arm and began to walk with him. “I’m most beautiful?” Her teasing tone sent a small thrill down his spine.

“If my treasure were not half human and her features were as delicate and refined as yours, perhaps she would rival your beauty, Divinity.”

The elf at his side looked pleased with the answer. “Come with me, the cloth will be brought to my temple for you to look over, King Undying.”

To be seen as a King once more by a creature so lovely, he couldn’t bear to refuse the invitation.

Vezar could remember the last time he’d enjoyed such fine wine and had so many beautiful women flocking around him. Memories of being a King, memories of being respected and feared washed over him as he selected the finest cloth from the hands of beautiful elvish women wearing nearly nothing.

When Rielle stripped his coarse clothes from him and discarded them, it was impossible to hide how the feeling of expensive fabric being fitted to him by the hands of beautiful women thrilled him.

The elven goddess drew him to her chamber with laughter like silver bells and a touch that made him burn as she spoke words of desire in the elegant tongue of elves. This was a creature to be gentle with, fragile and perfect, not a creature meant for his hands.

“You gaze at me Edra but you’re so quiet!” Rielle pressed him back among the silken cushions of her bed. “Speak to me so that I know you desire my touch.” 

“Divinity…” 

The goddess laughed and gave him a kiss so exquisite all he could do was groan. She was climbing to seat herself nearly on his hips, his achingly hard c**k pressed between her perfect round cheeks. Her glorious breasts swaying above him.

“I can feel you desire me, why don’t you speak? If you don’t tell me, I won’t mount you and then you’ll be depriving us both! I’ve always wanted to ride a dragon!”

He caressed her flawless skin, aching to have this goddess ride him until he found his release inside her but the smile on her delicate face was not Syreilla’s.

“I ache for it, but, Rielle, as beautiful as you are, as perfect and flawless, as magnificent, you are not my golden treasure.”

“I’m better than she is. More lovely and refined.” The goddess bent, kissing him lustfully as she ran her hands over his chest. When she stopped, she pouted prettily at him, “Your skin is so soft, you would deny me something I desire? I’ve denied you nothing.”

“You have been kind, and I ache to give you what you desire but as imperfect as my Syreilla is she loves me. She is mine and I am h-AAAHHHH!” The agony of threads severed as if by a burning blade, severed more completely than death turned his words into a scream. “What have you done?!” 

Vezar shoved the goddess off of him and tried to reach out to Syreilla, his wail of pain and misery resonated in the chamber as he found nothing in her place. Rielle covered her ears before attempting to console him. He held out his hand to ward her off and she flinched away from his claws.

“What have you done?! How have you torn my treasure from me?!” He wailed again, rattling the windows with the agony of a dragon robbed of what was his.

The goddess ran to the stairs and took a few steps down before changing her direction, rushing up them with a look of horror. “It’s gone! She stole it while I was here!”

The words washed over him like ice water. They had been speaking elvish. His treasure… she had been here and seen but she had not understood. She had only seen her dragon beneath… Vezar opened the door to go back to Hevtos, Syreilla would take the stone there and he would make her see-

It closed before he could stand to go through it.

“Did you plan this, Edra?! Did you distract me so that she could steal it?” Rielle was advancing on him furiously.

“My treasure has severed our bonds! She believes you seduced me, that I allowed you to take what was hers! Let me go to her! Let me-”

“She would have heard you refuse me!”

“SHE DOES NOT SPEAK ELVISH!” He roared the words and jerked himself up from his knees. “SHE SAW ONLY HER DRAGON WITH AN ELF!”

“Then she is repaid for stealing from me!” The goddess drew herself up, “If you no longer have threads that connect you, you’re useless to me. I had intended to keep you-”

Vezar roared again in fury and anguish and Rielle took a step back as he charged at her with his claws ready to rend her flawless flesh. Before he reached her a door was flung open and he stumbled, naked, onto Hevtos’ doorstep. He wailed out his anguish once more and the Divinity was at his side, covering him with his cloak.

“Son of my son…” 

“Rielle! I was foolish and nearly allowed myself to be seduced but I did not! Syreilla, my Syreilla saw! She has severed our bonds! My treasure! I have lost my treasure!” He looked into Hevtos’ eyes and allowed the Divinity to see the truth.

“I should not have allowed you to go alone while there are those who wish to strike at my Golden Rook.”

With a start, Hevtos turned and peered at a strange looking elf who had appeared. Vezar snarled at the creature and it’s already large eyes grew wider.

“Finwion, why are you-” 

The elf held out a gem and started making peculiar gestures.

“He did not betray her. His own foolishness put him there but he remembered himself before he made a mistake she could not forgive. My Golden Rook did not understand. I require her to return.”

There were more gestures and the elf came closer to offer the stone.

“I will not make her see Vezar. Bring my Golden Rook to me, Finwion.” Hevtos stood and took the stone.

The elf made a placating gesture and mimed opening a door. 

“As Nimphon does, I allow doors to be opened on my doorstep and not beyond my threshold. I will not prevent you.”

Vezar watched as the creature made a circle and seemed to polish it, within the circle he saw Syreilla staring at nothing as she dressed, her jaw clenched and an expression on her face that was strongly reminiscent of the one… He glanced at Hevtos who now wore the same grim expression as his golden treasure and then back at the miserable half-elf. If he could only speak to her… 

With a wave of his hand, the elf made the image vanish. 

Coming to his feet, Vezar pleaded, “Let me go to her, let me speak to her-”

“Finwion, you may give her some time, but she is my Golden Rook. She must be brought back. Her tasks are important.”

Hevtos sighed as the elf vanished. “I suspect he will try to steal her away. Perhaps with her father’s blessing.”

“She loathes elves.”

“She should loathe them less and you should be more wary of them.”

“Yes, Divinity. I will not make that mistake again.”

“Why would she not know your fidelity?” Hevtos guided him back to the threshold. “I understand that you were kept from her threads for a time which allowed her father to deceive you, but why did she not look into your threads and see the truth? She should have seen your devotion in them often enough to distrust her eyes.” 

He swallowed and stopped just inside the entrance. “She has opened herself to me but she never asked-”

“She is like Zyulla, she will not demand that which you do not offer. She gave herself to you freely, that is how she asks.”

The words felt like knives scoring his heart. “I would give her anything she desired. When she returns I will-”

“My Golden Rook has my brother’s temper. Forcing her to speak to you will drive her away or bring her to violence. I have gathered enough power that I can offer her a small indulgence. Help me create a modest chamber for her, something that will ease her feelings of being ‘locked in a hole’, something to entice her to choose to stay.”

Vezar swallowed his protests that she belonged in his chamber. “A gift… I wanted to find a gift for her.” If she remained here he would have some hope. “I know what she would enjoy.”

Reviews

[JayG]

Every day you’re posting another chapter, and I’m certain that every day you’re working on creating yet more writing. And because you’re working so hard, and so consistently, I thought seriously, of just saying, “Let it be,” and turning away. But watching you throw away what could be a career in writing triggers my engineering, "There's a problem we can fix" nature.

So, though I know thi swill sting...a lot, let me point out a few inconvenient facts:

1. No one is reading these stories. How do I know? If they were, there'd be comments on at least the last chapter, thanking you.

2. Because your methodology remains consistent, that of an external voice dispassionately reporting and explaining, the writing is fact-based and author-centric, which is a guaranteed rejection before the end of the first page in any publisher or agent’s office.

You may argue that you don’t intend to submit to one, but, given that the publisher rejects such work because a reader in the bookstore will, and thus negate all the work of bringing it to market, that argument is specious.

3. By continuing to write as you do you aren’t improving with practice, you are becoming better at writing work that will be rejected by the reader. And I know that’s not what you’re hoping for.

4. Your wordsmith skills are up to the task. Your dedication and enthusiasm are obvious. And, you appear to have the necessary talent. But your methodology is 100% that of nonfiction, and it pains me to see someone throw that away.

To prove me wrong...or right, try an experiment: Read this article, by Randy Ingermanson
http://www.advancedfictionwriting.com/art/scene.php
(because this site doesn't handle links, you have to copy the address, open a new window and paste the address into the URL window at the top, then hit a return)

It’s a condensation of one of the techniques to be found in that book I suggested. When you finish reading, and have thought about the implication of it in regard to your writing, duplicate the opening to a scene from one of your novels as a separate file and then rewrite a few pages according to the three-step template he gives for the response part of the MRU.

And when you finish, go back and check that every sequence has one and only one motivation, and one sequence of reaction. Then, have your computer read you the result and compare that the original. I think that will get you changing a LOT more. And that’s just one of the techniques you’ll find in Dwight Swain's book, in far greater detail. But that, the use of the MRU to place the reader into the action, is the biggie—the one that can change your prose from telling to showing.

And now, with apologies for becoming a pest, I’ll bow out.

[Isemay]

I am always looking to improve my skills, I appreciate criticism and being given things to consider. That said, there are many reasons that, on a site such as this one, not many people have found/read/enjoyed this story and my writing style is only one of them. As there are many reasons a publisher might reject a work of fiction.

I also appreciate that you enjoy my writing skill and enthusiasm. I do enjoy it when people enjoy my work, but I write the stories I want to read. They spin up in my head I get them down to the best of my ability and then I post them in case these are also stories someone else wanted to read. If one other person reads it and enjoys it I'm more than compensated for my time because I enjoyed writing it.

Allow me to make a suggestion to you. Please continue to suggest improvements and places to research to help an author grasp what you mean. It might also be helpful if you offer one or two examples from the text in the future and perhaps your own suggestions and examples of how to improve to assist in making your advice more concrete. Most importantly refrain from telling other authors that no one reads them and no one will want to read them, because not all of them are as aware as I am that your opinion on the matter is by no means the truth of it.

[JayG]

• That said, there are many reasons that, on a site such as this one, not many people have found/read/enjoyed this story and my writing style is only one of them

Seriously? You’re taking the approach that it’s YOUR style, as if you invented, or chose it from a menu? It’s the methodology we’re all trained in in school—the set of author-centric and fact-based writing techniques collectively known as nonfiction.

Yes, there are lots or reasons for not commenting after reading an entire novel, but the primary one is that you didn’t make the reader NEED to turn to the next page, and do that on every page, so they don't reach the end. The methodology you’re using is supplying information. But the reader is seeking to be made to feel, and care. Who reads history books for fun? Not many. But a highly detailed history is what you’ve written. The only one on stage, from start to finish is the narrator, reporting and explaining. The events are immutable, reported, one after another, in the form, This happened…then that happened…and here’s what that means…and after that…” We’re told “he decided,” but are never aware of the process and factors of his decision-making. So he’s not our avatar, not the protagonist, just the focus of YOUR attention. So there’s no uncertainty, just detail as yet unread.

• As there are many reasons a publisher might reject a work of fiction.

As someone who owned a manuscript critiquing service I know them all. People used to pay me to tell them why they were being rejected. And at the top of the list is writing that’s seen as unprofessional. Fully 75% of submissions are seen as unreadable because the author is still using the nonfiction skills of grade school. Of the remaining 25, only 3 are seen as being written on a professional level. Of those, 2 are wrong for that house. And only that single remaining submission out of 100 gets to submit the entire manuscript. So unless you’ve taken steps to learn the skills of the profession you’re not even in the game, because only one in ten of those is selected for publication. And for a peek into that process, Look at this excerpt to Chris Roerden's book on writing:

http://www.bellarosabooks.com/PDF/DMYM_Excerpt.pdf

• but I write the stories I want to read.

Were that true you wouldn’t have posted them all here for others to read, or left the comments window open. In any case, you should be writing stories your neighbor would want to read. When we write only to pleasure ourselves, we have the most lenient of critics. And when we post that work in public, we’re pleasuring ourselves in public, and you know what they say about people who do that. 😙

• It might also be helpful if you offer one or two examples from the text in the future and perhaps your own suggestions and examples of how to improve to assist in making your advice more concrete.

You miss the point—several, in fact. Had you gone back to chapter one of this novel, you’d see that I discussed, in detail, the problems with the first few lines—problems that repeat on every page, and which can’t be fixed by rephrasing, because it’s the approach that’s the problem. And had you read that book I suggested, or looked at the articles based on it, or read Randy’s article, you’d not be saying this.

• Most importantly refrain from telling other authors that no one reads them.

My mistake. I saw in your writing the potential to become a writer—something missing in the vast majority of hopeful writers posting here. Obviously, though, you’re seeking validation, not greaqter skill. So, I’ll just wish you success with your writing, and suggest that when the steam of outrage stops blasting from your ears, you read the book I suggested, just to see how wrong I was. The last person who did that mentioned me on the dedication page of their first sale.

A few relevant quotes:

“A writer, shy or not, needs a tough skin, for no matter how advanced one’s experience and career, expert criticism cuts to the quick, and one learns to endure and to perfect, if for no other reason than to challenge the pain-maker.” ~ Sol Stein

“Good writing is supposed to evoke sensation in the reader. Not the fact that it’s raining, but the feeling of being rained upon.” ~ E. L. Doctorow

“It ain’t what you don’t know that gets you into trouble. It’s what you know for sure that just ain’t so.” ~ Mark Twain

“It’s none of their business that you have to learn how to write. Let them think you were born that way.” ~Ernest Hemingway

[Isemay]

Oh wow! I must have really struck a chord. You got very upset.

My writing style, the style or manner in which I write, is something you personally find unpleasant, apparently. Not everyone does. It doesn't mean I should never try to improve but neither does it mean my writing is unreadable. And it is perfectly acceptable to write for myself and share it. As I said I enjoy it when others enjoy my stories. Everyone does. Art made just for the joy of it does not mean it should be hidden away with shame.

I am always learning. I am always practicing. And I am neither posting for your validation nor gratification. I told you that I appreciated the constructive criticism and the direction to find writing resources. I'm baffled why you think I'm angry and why you seem to be reacting as if I'm continuing to post my work to spite you.

You do realize that this story is already written and I'm posting it now, not writing it now. I'm prolific but 10 or 15 chapters a day from the top of my head... I may or may not come back and rewrite things after I've gotten it all posted. I've done it before with some of my writing, but I'm posting my work no matter how flawed you find it.

Let me leave you with a few quotes I find more relevant:

“Practicing an art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow, for heaven's sake. Sing in the shower. Dance to the radio. Tell stories. Write a poem to a friend, even a lousy poem. Do it as well as you possibly can. You will get an enormous reward. You will have created something.” - Kurt Vonnegut

“Write the book you want to read, the one you cannot find.” - Carol Shields

"Writing is its own reward." - Henry Miller

“Write your story as it needs to be written. Write it honestly, and tell it as best you can. I'm not sure that there are any other rules. Not ones that matter.” - Neil Gaiman