Chapter One: The Nameless

The Great Winter of the Cycle Shade, The Mooring of Lalifen

It was neither the pride nor the glory of Stawa, or indeed the rest of the Warring Cantons, Lalifen was a ruin. Most of its citizens would struggle to live past twenty-five, while more would suffer in death. Yet, despite being known throughout the realm as a cesspool, everyone seemed busy, as if in a rush to die. How the mooring had grown since men first came to the bastion, and how it had survived, was a mystery to many.

At twilight, the view of the city from the river was enviable. At its heart, nearly a hundred grey minarets peppered the burgh, while too, warder towers half as many and half their size shot above the rest of the skyline, which were whitewashed houses, inns and taverns. Antonio had just arrived from Azuka, over the Ria Tocati, and against an eastern wind, he made good time. Despite the smell of putrefaction, he adored the city, its amenities, and its people.

The Lord Ambassador to the Western Cantons was none other than the knightly Antonio Barlough and with powerful strides he tore past everyone, every man, with vim. His squire Eóghan struggled to keep abreast. In a fiery voice, he called back, “Eóghan, do you remember Lalifen?”

Eóghan’s reply was droll as usual, “How could I forget, sire? The stench is unbearable.”

Antonio couldn’t help but crack a smile. The man’s dry wit appealed to the ambassador. That, and his exceptional skill with a dagger; to be pitted against him would prove a challenging battle, for Eóghan, though looking meek and thin, was deceptively powerful, and incredibly fast. The deadliest knife-fighter ever seen, Antonio claimed. The blue-eyed man with long brown hair was the son to a farmer, and a slave, thus he became a slave himself. Yet through uncommon events, he soon became responsible for the life and livelihood of his master, Lord Barlough.

“Yes,” Antonio chuckled, “I know, the city has a recognisable smell,”

“Not just recognisable, sire. Unmistakable. I could have told you we were en route for the mooring blindfolded, and I could tell you exactly how far away we were, I could tell you the time of day…”

“Eóghan, I believe you on such a matter, though I doubt the usefulness of your ability in a practical setting.”

“Of course, sire.”

“And though I can appreciate your levity under the circumstances, my question was more serious in nature.”

“It wouldn’t matter, sire, the answer would remain the same. I couldn’t forget the last time I was here, lest my body was removed from my head.”

“I had several follow-up questions in mind...” Antonio slowed to let Eóghan match his pace, and to privatise their conversation.

“Ask at your leisure, sire. I will reply truthfully.”

“Good. Do you know of a man by the name of Fahid Alad, or his sister Isa Alad?”

“Vaguely sire, and only because they are regular correspondents of yours.”

“They are indeed. And... what is your opinion of Marshall Gaermot, Lord of Tazuma, the high commander of the Pelenese.”

“Do you truly wish to know, sire?”

“I see,” Antonio surmised, “You don’t think highly of the man at all,” and he stopped Eóghan when he was about to protest, “Not to worry… I couldn’t agree more.”

It was Eóghan’s turn to grin, “Sire, may I speak?”

Antonio stopped abruptly and pushed Eóghan by the shoulders into an alley. When they were deep enough away from prying eyes, he said to his squire in confidence, “Eóghan, since I have been in the Warring Cantons I’ve yet to find anyone I can trust,” he breathed heavily, and angrily.

“I can imagine, sire. Here, trust is a virtue difficult to come by; a treacherous place.”

Antonio’s yellow eyes looked the man over, as Eóghan seemed to be calm, and readied himself to ask a question. “I’m curious, sire, why would you remain in the cantons for so long, when some of your businesses necessitate a certain... discretion?”

His squire straightened his clothing, after Antonio released him, “You are my responsibility, sire, you know I am sworn to protect you.”

“I know you take your vows very seriously, but that doesn’t mean I can trust you. Unfortunately, I don’t have much choice in the matter. In the interim, don’t call me ‘sire,’ unless we’re in… more formal settings. Antonio or Barlough if you please. Now especially. I’d prefer no one knew of my status for the duration of our stay here, understood?”

“I understand.”

“...You had a question, Eóghan?”

“Yes. I was about to ask you, what palaver requires our being in Lalifen? considering it is an Eastern Canton.”

“What indeed, Eóghan.”

“Are you trustworthy, sire?” but he corrected himself, “Barlough?”

“Not at all.” Antonio grinned. “Come. The hour draws thin. My contact is expecting us shortly, but not for long.”

People were scarcer as Devywar had nearly met with the horizon, and the twosome made their way out of the alley for the southern mooring, where Antonio’s meeting was scheduled to occur, though with whom, Eóghan was unaware.

As a major harbour of the cantons, it was far from devoid of life, and Eóghan watched his master scan the jetties and vessels for a certain individual, a harbour rat perhaps, but he quickly dismissed the theory. On that token he wondered, Could we be meeting with Marshall Gaermot? Or his correspondents, the Alads?

It looked as though something or someone caught Antonio’s eye suddenly, and with a single hand, he bolstered Eóghan to the edge of the pier, implying him to wait. Antonio went forward alone, and climbed aboard a merchant vessel, where he remained out of sight for several minutes. The young man examined every aspect of the ship, the masts, the sails, the hull, everything he would need a memory for. He looked for a name, however it seemed not to have one. That should make it easy to find.

Finally, he saw Antonio come unto the upper deck once again, where he saw his master shake hands with a figure as tall as Lord Barlough, dressed head to foot in a black robe. This person, Eóghan surmised, could not be the Marshall Gaermot. Immediately, Antonio departed and returned to his squire’s side.

“A productive conversation, Eóghan. If you were wondering.” He looked around to see if anyone was watching, and he just as quickly returned to his train of thought. “We had best retire for the night. There is still much to be done in Lalifen.”

“Barlough,” Eóghan vocalised, “The man, in the black… what was his name? And the vessel, what of its name?”

“It is not written, but she is called the Nameless.” Antonio marched onward, while Eóghan paused, as he received a partial answer, and so in half-hearted frustration he exclaimed, “Sire!”

Antonio turned, and answered before the young man could repeat himself, “I cannot tell, Eóghan, with this you must trust me. I promised he too would remain nameless.”

Eóghan wasn’t satisfied with the answer, but he nodded in assent, content for now to live in mystery. They ventured to the nearest inn, where they in turn retired.

By the early morning Eóghan stirred ready to prepare for breakfast, though the simple truth remained, Eóghan was no longer sure if this was required of him. He knew before he came into Lord Barlough’s service, that his master treated him more or less as an equal. And per the previous night’s instructions, he was told to also speak with Antonio as his equal.

However, when he looked up he didn’t see his master in the adjacent bed. He scanned the rest of the room, for any sign of life, and finding none, withdrew from his room, and toured the open hall. There too, he found no trace of his Lordship, and so left the establishment altogether, with Eoghan mysteriously vanished. Slightly worried, he searched the open air for the tallest and proudest Ambassador of Azuka, though to no avail.

Lord Barlough never slept for long, nor was he accustomed to sleeping well, and to this disadvantage, he planned to meet with an old friend while he was in Lalifen. Quietly and carefully, he had crept out from his sleeping chambers and made for a tavern not five minutes away. From there, he asked the barman for the private balcony, which he received without delay. An attractive, though slightly bruised server led the way, and instantly, Lord Barlough recognised the man seated there. The young maid left, and Antonio stood still at the vacant threshold.

“You’re still drinking the Swill a la Macabre, I see.”

“I have it on good authority you drink very much the same tonic…” and the man turned to face his guest, “...old friend.”

Fahid Alad was an orphan and a pirate, as were his younger brothers, which were six in number, and his sister. His chin was sharp, a Sotorian trait, and hanging off it was a well-groomed ebony beard, as curled as the locks on his head, and as dark as his eyes. Though he was smaller, and less burly, he never looked at his friend in fear, he did in fact, admire Antonio, and thought of him as a brother.

“It’s so good to see you again!” Fahid cried, fanning out his arms, before wrapping them around Antonio. Both men gave a pat on the other’s back.

“And you, Fahid.” chuckled Antonio, “It’s been too long.”

“Please, join me, Antonio, there is plenty swill here for the both of us.”

Antonio took the obligatory chair to Fahid’s right. The balcony overlooked a massive and busy marketplace, its merchants, and customers bickering and haggling for the price of fresh produce or fish or meats, or the quality of fine cloth or trinkets all in the sweltering heat of the morning sun, and the smell of sweat and s**t. An ewer of Fahid’s cordial rested on the ledge beside another glass, to which Antonio helped himself. He took an acceptably long look at the view from his perch, ere the business.

“Fahid, your brothers, how do they fare?”

“All in good health. As well as my sister; she looks forward to your reunion.”

“Oh, Isa,” sighed Antonio, “hers are the desires of an adolescent girl, they most certainly will fade.”

Fahid rebutted, “Do not be so sure, my friend, she is not a young girl any longer. Whenever in her retinue, you still dominate our discussions, so often, and in between; it is driving enough to madden. As good a man as you are... some freedom from you is good for the mind.”

“On that token, I could not agree more. And how is Mantor?”

“The old man misses you more than Isa, though he would never admit it. But enough gab. Why now, my friend? Why seek my company after three years?” inquired Fahid.

“Because three years is long enough for me. Because three years is safe.”

“Safe?” Fahid pried, “Is not your position a secure one? Are you not among the wealthiest in all of the Warring Cantons?”

“Indeed I am. But am I not still in the Warring Cantons?”

Fahid nodded in agreement, for Antonio was truly in danger, every waking minute he dared call himself a Lord. And his profile only made him an easier target with the lives he had lived still hanging over him. Being so reputable, even without a title, he often wondered how his friend had remained alive for so long. 

“You’ve never told me, Antonio, but however did you assume the position of Ambassador? What entitled you to your present lordship? After all, you are a foreigner.”

“It seems I saved the wrong nobleman from certain danger,” Antonio replied quickly.

Fahid was about to take another sip, but the last statement stopped him, and confusion drew across his face, “How uncharacteristic of you, Antonio; saving someone in peril is unheard of. Who was this highborn you rescued?”

“His highness, Prince Martius of Azuka, heir to the Eastern Cantons,” replied Antonio quickly again, and this time Fahid spat at the answer, quite bewildered by his friend’s past deeds.

“Antonio, oh Antonio. How misguided could you have been?”

“He is a good man, and a good prince, and he shall soon make a great king and I owe him much more than what I have already done.”

“Yet his father has done unspeakable evils!”

“Indeed. So what I plan to do; why I sent for you, is why I shall sleep at night, and why we shall both do so soundly.”

“It is when you talk in this manner for which I like you. This is what I’ve missed the most. Your scheming. Oh, those were the days… I only hope being out of the game for so long has not impaired you.”

“I can assure you, that is not the case. The plan is foolproof.”

Fahid leaned in close, and urged on his friend, “Go on, Antonio. What have you in mind?”

Eóghan wondered what he was to do, if he could not find the man, the enigma that was his master. He searched the market, which increasingly busied with merchant and prospect, and as his quest yielded no results, he inadvertently bumped into a large grotesque man with a large snout, covered in boils, and two nasty beady eyes.

The bulging man sneered at Eóghan, “Watch yourself, boy, I nearly stepped on you.”

Genuinely, Eóghan apologised, “Of course, sir. Sorry sir,” and he backed slowly away when the man’s friends also turned toward him. Though they were more impish, there were just as unpleasant.

“Where do you think you’re going?” the man exclaimed, and continued before Eóghan got a word in, “No, no, no! I’m not finished with you just yet, boy! I want to have a little chat first!”

With a sweeping clubbed hand, he reached out to smite, but Eóghan easily evaded him, as he continued to back from a skirmish. “I told you to come here, didn’t your mother teach you manners?” the man’s growl thickened when he acquired no answer, “are you deaf, boy?”

His associates moved on Eóghan, who in turn jerked. “Have it your way. Gentlemen… learn this one some decorum for me.” They then drew their swords, and Eóghan ran in the opposite direction. The man thudded forward, and pulled an axe from his belt, while he glared at the fleeing squire. He spat, then he gave the order, “After him.”

Antonio watched from three storeys up, as Fahid disappeared into the agora, as he became indistinguishable from the rest of the crowd. His server returned, this time with a message, and said to him rather timidly, “There is a lady here to see you Mister Barlough. Shall I tell her to come onto the veranda?” Antonio nodded simply, and after a few moments she was returned with a cloaked figure smelling of attar. She dismissed the server, and lifted her hood to reveal her beauty, and Antonio thought he had seen her blue eyes before when she looked through him, in effect, though however briefly, stunning him. Her pursed lips entangled his mind, and her searing auburn hair made his heart skip. The woman’s comment to Antonio’s unexaggerated reaction was, “You look as though you have seen a ghost, Lord Barlough,” and she took Fahid’s vacant seat before Antonio had the chance to offer it.

He hurriedly replied, “Indeed, I did believe you were one.”

“How flattering,” she said dryly. She kept her gaze on the view, while Antonio eyed her inquisitively. She barely moved, yet Antonio could tell something had the woman disturbed.

“Am I to assume you are The Rose?”

“I am Lady Rowena, the Duchess of Gaurs. I was led to believe you might have some respect for the gentry, considering you yourself are an especially reputable one.”

“A spy is a spy, Your Grace. You will forgive me, if I thought we could dispense with frivolities and pleasantries. Besides, our titles are meaningless, yours and mine, while we are here unofficially.

The Lady Rowena turned and glared, but relented ever so slightly, “Very well, Barlough. Care to guess why I might be here? And do proceed as savagely as you have thus.”

Antonio smiled, and he too relented to appease the duchess, “Your Grace, it is my understanding that you are under the protection of Count Garnalian, and that within months you both are to be wed?”

“Oh, would you hazard to say so?”

“Pardon?”

Lady Rowena scoffed, “I have been told time and again, if any a man in the Warring Cantons could be of assistance, it would be you! Yet contrarily, you have proven in under a minute, to be an offensive, second-rate cad! So it would seem I was misinformed! Good day to you!” Immediately, the Duchess rose to leave, but Antonio quickly put his hand on her wrist, and gripped it quite firmly. Rowena sat down reluctantly.

“I’ve also been informed by a less than reputable source, you were caught stealing secrets from His Lordship. Your engagement is nothing more than a ruse to avoid an act of war. And of course, no one would suspect your subsequent death on the wedding night to be anything more than suicide.”

“Half of your information is speculation,” Rowena quipped.

“No, you’ve already considered similar theories, that perhaps you’ll be assassinated before the wedding even takes place, and a third party would be framed. It’s unlike His Lordship to resort to such methodology, but I wouldn’t put it past him, depending on how threatening the information. Your situation, Your Grace, is not a covetable one,” Antonio paused, his mind ticking away, “You have a rather long leash, wouldn’t you agree? One with a skill set such as yours should have no problem evading your captor’s ensnarement?”

“Regrettably, I’m spellbound,” and she showed off a chain bracelet, of a bronze coloured alloy, implying the chain could not be broken, and prevented her from trying to escape. “I would have even less space in Tazuma to wander freely. The Count has a mage under his employ, and of course my ladies-in-waiting and His Lordship’s personal guard are stationed downstairs.”

“What secrets did you uncover?”

“Wouldn’t you care to know?”

“I am your ally, Your Grace!”

“You are a foreigner, My Lord. Frankly, I am inundated you rose to position at all, let alone Lord Ambassador.”

“As are you, and you have short of confirmed that you are a spy.”

“One could say the same of you! Where did you come from? What were you before you came to these parts of Aurlom?

Antonio mused, quitting his spar, “I’m afraid I can’t help.”

Rowena laughed, “What a surprise.”

“I of course implied I cannot help you now, there’s simply no time. My sources say you set sail for Tazuma this very night, and I leave even sooner. Moreover, I have neither the means nor the motivation.”

“Name your price,” said Rowena through gritted teeth.

“My weight in gold. Or whatever… substance you very nearly secreted away before you were captured.”

Down below, both Antonio and Rowena focused upon the hollering and jeering that had erupted, and was now closing in on their position. Antonio immediately recognised his squire leading a chase, but he had yet to determine the circumstances or the depth of the trouble Eóghan now found himself. Rowena saw the perplexion in Antonio’s eyes, and when she found where his gaze was directed she asked, “Is that a friend of yours?”

Antonio gave Rowena a grin. “My apologies, Duchess. It seems we shall need to conclude our discussion forthwith. I will keep you apprised, and I look forward to seeing you in Tazuma. Until the next, Your Grace.” With a kiss on her hand, Antonio leapt off the balcony, while she watched in shock.

For the first time in his life, Eóghan was running for his life, and for inadvertently insulting a pathetic excuse of a man who was both crazed and overzealous. However, the young squire wouldn’t be alone in his encounter for any longer, when from above, Lord Barlough flew through the air, and landed on his feet with a thud, barely a length before him.

Eóghan huffed and heaved, and his master grabbed him once again by the collar, dragging him not far, but behind him, and he held a magnificent pose, and rooted his feet into the square of the bazaar. The angered parade who made chase, one by one came to a halt, sweating, and panting as much, when they found Antonio held fast, glowering at them. Eóghan saw the man look to the balcony from where he jumped, seemingly at nothing. He took a step forward beside the towering man, and drew a knife; knowing his and Lord Barlough’s fight would be unfair, but that his odds had improved. When Eóghan’s pursuers circled the two men however, he feared it wouldn’t make a difference. There were sixteen, not including their leader, who had yet to appear, and each of them slowly tore their hooked blades from leather sheaths, and showed them off in growing light.  

“Move away, you overgrown imbecile!” a man called out. Eóghan knew the voice belonged to the lumbering giant who unjustly persecuted him. Thereafter his unsightly face was revealed as he plodded, entering the circle. He favoured his right leg, and made no attempt to hide his weakness, but his arms told a different story. Where an ordinary man would struggle to drag his axe along the ground, this man succeeded in holding it in a single hand, and made it look easy with it crossed on the opposing shoulder. “We only want the boy! Scurry off, and you’ll live.”

Antonio wasn’t daunted by the man’s words or even the man himself, nor did he seem to notice the threat of his wreathing cohorts. “Do you hear me? I will deliver you from this plane!” the fat man screamed.

“Idle threats,” Antonio mumbled.

“What?” the blimp hawked, wiping spittle from his chin.

“What are you named, you s**t-stained half-wit?”

Eóghan whispered, “Barlough, I’m not sure it’s wise to provoke this man, as swinish as he is.”

Reassuredly, Antonio patted the young man on the back, “Nonsense, this situation will be over before it has begun,” and then redirected his line of insulting questions, “Well, are you as slow as you lead us to believe, or do you not have a name?”

The fat man turned red and his beady bloodshot eyes bulged out further than ever. With a deadly snarl he reluctantly replied, “Dravus of Stawa. I’m sure you’ve heard my name.”

“The sickest, fattest s**t that has ever walked the land? No I’ve never heard of you. I am Lord Barlough. Ambassador to the Western Cantons. If you return to your business, we will to ours, so there needn’t be any bloodshed today.”

“What a slimy tongue you have!” Dravus jeered, hiding his ire to no avail.

“Slimy. Indeed. You will be interested to know, that not only can I be slimy, but slippery to boot. Leave now, or you shan’t possess the limbs to do so.”

Listening with some esteem, Eóghan began to wonder how he would manage to remit such damage to the thugs, with no weapon of his own. He looked to Dravus, and saw him actually consider Antonio’s diction, for a moment, but what Eóghan had noticed, had dawned on Dravus as well, and he leered, “I like my chances. Gentlemen! Have at them!”

Dravus’ men obeyed; the first man on the left charged, and with ease, Antonio sidestepped the downward swing, and lifted him at the midsection before hurling him into a nearby fruit stand. Though it was limited, the man’s injuries would prevent him from walking, perhaps for the rest of his life.

The rest of the men hesitated, because of Antonio’s unexpected display.

“This is your last chance, Dravus!” Antonio advised.

Ignoring the warning, Dravus shouted at his men again, “I said kill them, don’t just stand there!”

The goons rushed again, this time all toward the two men at the centre, flailing swords, while Dravus stood back and watched. Eóghan threw his knife, and smiled; the shot to the eye immediately incapacitated the foremost man.

Antonio ducked and closed the distance between two swords swinging down, and the massive Lord Barlough tackled the two men, winding and crushing them under his weight. He grabbed both of their swords, and jumped to his feet.

Ducking a slash at neck height, Eóghan then ripped his attacker’s blade from his hands, before slashing in the opposite direction, using only the power of his wrist, to cut open the man’s neck.

Both Antonio and Eóghan were armed now, and their bronze weapons crashed against their foes’, and the battlers were now five short. The agora had long ago cleared as the war waged. Another, and another man fell dead from powerful swipes by the heroes.

Dravus’ men, now less than a dozen, stopped once more, all of them panting, regrouping for but a moment, before the frenzy rebegan, with the clashing metal sounding loudly through the city.

A man charged at Eóghan with a hooked blade held up, and thrashed on the foreswing, and followed on the backswing. Eóghan dodged the first, while the second hit his cutlass. Then an arcing shot cut his arm. He recoiled, as a second man swung to the left, eating only air. He countered with a  upward stroke, and the metal bit into the flesh, up to the hip. He quickly dug it out, and jabbed it into the second man’s belly before the first fell dead.

Meanwhile, Antonio struck one assailant in the neck, not fully through, but far enough to kill him. He kicked another in the shin, almost knocking him over before spilling his entrails with a vertical slice with his second sword.

For a final time, the remaining thugs stopped. One on the ground dragged himself backward ere standing, and they fled before they too were nothing more than corpses.

“Where are you going? Cowards!” Dravus yelled.

Eóghan’s chest ached, and he felt as though his lungs might explode, they pounded on his ribs so hard. On going to pull his knife out of his first kill’s eye socket, he looked at his partner, who appeared angry, though as calm as ever after such intense onslaught.

With an equally vehement hatred, Dravus glared at his still standing enemies. He exclaimed, “You b******s!”

“Fly, Dravus. Fly, and I will spare you too,” Antonio advised.

Like a stampede, Dravus hurtled himself directly for Antonio, with his axe above his head, and he bellowed again, “You b******s!”

Instinctively, Eóghan flicked his knife again, this time right between the eyes. Dravus shut up, but he kept moving, and no slower than before. Antonio dropped on one knee and tossed away the lighter of his swords. With two hands, he held on tightly to the remaining blade, and as the braindead carcass was about to collide with him, he thrust it into Dravus’ heart, and flipped him over his head, somersaulting backward as he did so. Antonio released the sword, and watched as Dravus landed with a thud.

He had barely caught his breath, when Eóghan and Antonio were surrounded for a second time, this time by nearly a hundred men, tower guards, and militiamen alike. Eóghan came alongside his master and whispered sarcastically, “I’m game for another bout if you are.”

“I know you’re anxious, but hold off on that for now. I have a plan.”

“By order of The Duke of Stawa, you will lay down your arms, and you will be remanded into custody, or face swift justice here and now!” the leader of the guard said aloud.

Antonio did as he was told, and Eóghan followed suit, though before any of the guardsmen could apprehend either of them, he declared in an unexpected shrill and prideful tone, “Halt! You will not have us arrested, nor will you have us imprisoned! For I am the Duke of Stawa, Lord of Lalifen and her surrounding lands! I demand, that you disband, and return to your stations immediately, or you all shall face swift justice here and now!”

Without a second thought, all of the guards, and militiamen knelt, as if to apologise, their eyes averted. Antonio strode forth in silence, signalling for Eóghan to follow, and together they went through the men onto the main artery of the market, and marched unchallenged. However, a second brigade hurried toward the square, led by the true Duke of Stawa, dressed in immaculate scale armour. His voice carried through the pathways, and between the edifices of the city, “Stop him! That man is an imposter!”

“Run!” Antonio yelled, and at breakneck speed, he shot through the alleys of the city, with Eóghan barely keeping stride, and the armed guards close behind.

The two men ducked between stands in the labyrinth of a marketplace, although they never strayed from the straightaway of the main concourse. In some instances Antonio cleared them entirely, a stunt Eóghan was not physically able to do. Then he turned onto an intersecting road and Eóghan thought he had lost him in one of the tributaries. However, the giant Lord Barlough reached down from a single storey, and hoisted Eóghan through the open window. As Antonio immobilised his squire, and stifled his screams and swearing, the guards ran past, oblivious of where the Duke’s imposter had retreated.

Author's Note

Lord Barlough, and his squire Eóghan, arrive in Lalifen from Azuka. While there, Lord Barlough has a conclave with a mysterious hooded figure and owner of an unnamed vessel, appropriately called the Nameless. The following morning, he meets with an old friend and then Lady Rowena, the Duchess of Gaurs to negotiate a rescue mission, while Eóghan instigates a fight with a gang of local bandits.

Reviews

[Gre7g Luterman]

I found myself tripping over the beginning of this chapter too many times and I eventually just gave up. I'll try to come back later and give it another chance, but as it stands it seems a little too complex to flow well. Too many unfamiliar names, unfamiliar places, and the like.

Perhaps you could jump into some action first to get everyone hooked and then slowly introduce the places and people?

[Danielle Anatomyy]

I agree a bit with A. Amos. You should definitely take more time to introduce your characters; especially if they are going to play a continuous role in your story. There are some cases where all the characters are introduced later in a novel, and it works out fine, but that is on rare occasions from what I've read. Starting an entire book in the middle of an action-based part can draw the reader in, but not when the scene drawls. Your detail is sufficient enough, and the dialogue is well organized. That aspect is your strong suit; use it to the best of your abilities.

[Sam]

Well thank you for your compliments I do appreciate it. In the case of character introduction, I think I've given enough. I know what you mean, especially with the case of major characters, but for the sake of mystery and intrigue, chiefly with the Barlough character, information is deliberately omitted. And by giving limited descriptions at the beginning, allows the reader to draw conclusions about the characters, and imagine what they look like, and secondly, allows me to continue describing them throughout the story, as the characters develop.

[A. Amos]

I start reading your story and was lost, my advise you first introduce Lalifen; or the best would be if you make a synopsis of your tale. It will help the readers to understand what your story is all about. I hope you take it on positive side and make an awesome synopsis, once you do please do send me read request would love to read this chapter. Thanks

[Sam]

I agree, a synopsis is good advice, and I have made additional synopses per chapter. However, I must point out that I have indeed introduced Lalifen. It is a city, and I have gone into as much depth as possible to leave room for mystery. On that note, the city is the setting for but a few chapters, for this is an adventure story. The journey that will begin precludes vast descriptions and introductions, for there are more important ones in store. And as a writer, what I lack in description I leave to the imagination of the reader, as is my right as a writer, and it is a well-used technique by others. Nevertheless, I will keep your words under advisement.

[A. Amos]

Thank you Sam, see synopsis give a brief detail what they are going to read...i believe you're mind blowing talented.