The Beast of Extrarius [Dark Fantasy] [A rep to constructive critisism]

[DARKPLANT RISING]

[center][size="6"][b]The Beast of Extrarius[/b][/size][/center]

This is something wrote for my hobby, a Dark Fantasy-genre story. I have several opening drafts, and this is one of them in which the main character is "Nex".
[spoiler=Characters]
[b]Alliance[/b]
Nex Glinski – The Fourth "Ga’reth", created by Trueman
Zeo Draxter – The Third "Ga’reth", created by Trueman
"Trueman" – Unknown ruler of the nation known as the Alliance
[b]Knivestabs[/b]
Vellum Vi’zilva – The new monarch of the Knivestab Kingdom, archenemy of the Alliance[/spoiler][spoiler=I]
[i] Should God regulate me to dispose of countless pieces of clay, I shall take the largest and place it upon the others before removing the eventually formed cluster. It is a ubiquitous crumb of intelligence demanding no head, and yet no one even tries to test it upon the adversaries. How the world is so foolish, so unknowing, and yet so amusing. –Trueman[/i]

Trueman is a legend. He is our lord, our existence, our motivation of life.

They say that once, the land of Barathrum was a wasteland where anarchy was the singular overlord. Hundreds of minuscule nations fought against each other in what the younger Trueman considered “irrationally imprudent, if not immature methods”. And several years ago, to revolutionize the corrupt and yet once sacred land, the very sorcerer initiated his plans of taking the throne of the Twin Continents. It was perhaps luck, or perhaps simply his intellect that assisted him; no one knows for sure. However, one common truth is that he is now known as the most successful sorcerer recorded in the last one thousand years, always in command of half of the boundless continent of Barathrum in the form of a nation known as the “Alliance”. Despite achieving this feat that has never been done by any other, they say our ruler is still displeased, and wishes to continue upon the east side of Barathrum, where the Knivestab Kingdom alone still stands in his way.

Though very few have ever met him face to face, those lucky enough tell the tale of his magnificent charisma that allures all men. They swing their arms and scream that he had this veil of mystical sorcery, hanging about his presence as though it were a mist. They say that the encounter was the paramount moment in their lives. That all attending were obliged to worship him as God, and if needed sacrifice their lives to help him. Trueman was everything.

Perhaps it was this dazzling charisma, or aura, which enabled the being to rule over millions without ease - the stories of that being upon the obsidian chair, high in the fortress of Zapaliti, made him seem even inhuman. It was as though he were some divinity from a higher plane that descended to earth. Anyone who lived even for once under banner of crossed scythes was struck by the determination to kneel before Trueman, their born ruler, the chosen one bound to someday gain the throne of Twin Continents.

While the “word” Trueman is nationally recognized, in some realms feared, in others respected, almost none know his real name or face. Trueman never showed himself to anyone, save for those in the high council of the Zenith. I believe it is simply for the aspect of unknown horror – without telling his proper name, proper face, Trueman can maintain a better rule over his men as a mysterious shadow. Take any age in human history, and the dark is feared.

And as so, even during the gatherings, instead of showing himself at the table as others did, he let his spirit descend to his seat in a particular form he seemed to find irresistible.

He was always in the form of a reversed pentacle, drawn in blue, swirling and spinning in the air without halting at all. In its unmoving center was what could be a crimson crystal of magic, radiating rainbow light, possibly acting as Trueman’s eye.


“Vellum has taken the throne,” Trueman said. That was the first thing the spirit of the pentacle said here.

Inside the depths of the Zapaliti Fortress the High Gathering was held on days of new moon. Every being working under the Alliance will, regardless of birth or state, assemble in the center hall, each and every one under the vaulted ceiling of ebony wood. I was only several seats away from the grand ruler’s mirage – a seat of honor.

“Hey Nex,” the blond man next to me whispered, golden eyes still fixed upon Trueman. “Who is Vellum?”

“Listen,” I slipped an egg from my pockets and snapped my fingers once, making the shell slip off without a single crack, leaving a perfect boiled egg glimmering in my hands. The eggshell plopped onto my lap. “If you go to the Archives you will see.” I yawned deeply and buried my head into the table. “Those chambers hold most information relating to worldwide matters.”

“I’ve never went there,” he grumbled. The eerie cerulean light of the chandeliers hung from the ceiling glimmered upon his oily, pallid skin and made his gaunt structure seem even more skeletal. “Too lazy for that.”

Beside us, Trueman’s form was teasingly spinning, and still going on with his discussion. “Upon the next First Day, those assigned to Knivestab Army Camp Grade 3-H will…”

“It is certainly worth the watch Zeo,” I rubbed my eyes while still keeping an ear for Trueman. “If you do not know of Vellum it will certainly be a blemish in your reputation.”

“Oh?” Zeo scratched his head. “Really? Then I’ll go I guess.”

“I recommend it highly,” I took a bite of the boiled egg, eyes about to shut. Some yolk streamed out and made a stain on my white shirt. I sighed, with the egg still left in my mouth, and let out a muffled grumble. “…Oh the temerity of those eggs left in the state of half-boiled. As a personal opinion those hardboiled exceed these in terms of both taste and texture. Why did I not alter the brand of the spell?”

“Eggs? Eggs? Pah!” Zeo chuckled, eyes wide, raising a palm. In it a flame was dancing midair as though it was a tribe from the depths of the Sarkanian Forests. I found it amusing that Zeo had the same Barathrumic vocabulary skills as those tribesmen. “Nothing exceeds the beauty of the blaze.”

“Eggs,” I yawned once more, and the fireball popped into another empty eggshell.

“Hey!” Zeo yelped, about to drop the glimmering shell. “I don’t want this–”

“Then give it to me please,” I lifted a hand sleepily to his side. Complaining something about the brilliance of his pyromaniac hobbies Zeo handed it over. I placed it upon the table before myself, crushing its bottom to make it stand, and took out the other eggshell resting upon my femurs. I flicked it from my palm, and after several somersaults midair it snapped perfectly into place upon top of its brother. “Ta-da,” I rubbed my eyes with a weak smile. “Flames are plasmas. They can never hope to do this. Proof eggs, as solids, are superior.”

“I have no idea what you’re saying, mind you.”

I sniggered drowsily. “You always interest me Zeo.”

“I’m the Bullet, right?” Zeo rested his chin upon his hands. “A Bullet doesn’t need
to think does it?”

The conference was still going on, with some screams of horror from the weaklings, and sighs of despair from some others, but it was mainly a matter between the Generals nevertheless, and we were Ga’reths – thus, neither of us cared. Finally the great horn sounded from above, signaling the end of tedious matters, much to my relief.

First Trueman, at his seat, upon its end, faded away as though he was a mirage. One of two Marshals who were sitting beside him, a tall, muscular man wearing formal necromancer clothing with bulging veins just below his wrinkled, tanned skin, and white, short hair that grew around his ears, departed his seat, bloodshot eyes glaring. Lumbering towards the door of hardened wood and steel, he placed a gigantic hand upon the knob; with a low rumble, it groaned open. The man slowly trudged into the corridor, disappearing into the inky blackness.

It seemed the other Marshal was away – in what was once his seat sat a young girl, burying her mouth in hands, sobbing. Wearing a white gown of silk several sizes too large, she slumped there. On the top of her little, cute head sat a white, squished beret. And inside her left eye flickered something like flame. She looked normal, nothing but a crying girl, but I sensed something inhuman about her.

As soon as the other Marshal left, the soldiers started to depart the room. All were wearing dark expressions, some even close to crying, and others in a state I could consider quite possibly lifeless. The deathly silence seemed to suck in all bright feelings. Zeo did not seem to know or care why, wearing the same confused mask, but I did.

Vellum Vi’zilva. That name…possibly –

“Zeo,” I turned to my old friend, throwing the rest of the boiled egg in my mouth, gulping down a yawn. “As a matter of fact maybe you should not go to the Archives today.”

Zeo looked up with a puzzled expression. “Why?”

“I expect its space pertaining the Vi’zilvas to be full,” I said. “I am sure you do not want to be in a crammed room full of others.”

“Well yeah I see,” Zeo nodded. “I’d most likely do whatever it takes to get my free space. I’m that type, you know. But hey, can you give me a bit of that info?”

“As you say,” I rubbed my eyes. “Where should I start…hmm, let me put it this way: I assume you at least know Kibraj.”

“The former king of the Knivestabs who we killed a Moon ago?” Zeo sniggered. “Of course I know! I’m not that stupid.”

“Yes,” I said, and flicked the third eggshell onto the tower, yawning. “This war between our Alliance and the Knivestabs those Vi’zilvas rule over – has not been going in any progress, neither positive nor negative, for the last several weeks. Did you realize?”

“What do you mean?” Zeo scratched his head, raising a befuddled eyebrow.

“This Moon we have never participated in any major battle,” I gave a fleeting look at the egg tower, now complete, and then turned to Zeo once more, uttering groggily. “That is because the Knivestabs had an inner conflict on who will be the Heir of the Vi’zilvas.”

“Inner conflict?” Zeo chuckled. “Those idiots.”

“It would have been according to plan if they took another Moon,” I stretched a hand to the tip of the tower. “And if so we would have took those Knivestabs by surprise, and this continent of Barathrum would have been ours. However a side won with effortlessness several days ago. I assumed it would be Vellum’s – he was always the more cunning of two brothers. At the same time I hoped it was wrong. Much to my, and the whole Alliance’s disappointment–” I softly stroked the eggshell, then flinging my fist down, crushed it all into a heap of white – “it was Vellum who turned out victorious.”

“He’s that smart at war?” Zeo cocked his head. “I don’t think anyone can beat Trueman anyways. He’s taken over a hundred countries with his own tactics.”

“Perhaps. But in addition, how should I put it…” I cut off, rubbed my eyes again. “Vellum is the type better as a criminal over a king.”

“What?”

“His first convicted murder was when he was thirteen,” I traced through my memory. “Against a man he found in the roads who begged for money. And the reason was quite simple. He did not like his face.”

“But I’ve never seen a Knivestab guard handsome.”

“I assume the beggar must have resembled the Third Ga’reth.” Zeo gritted his teeth at these words of mine. “Well, one thing is sure – the war would never go on as easily as before.”

I whistled once and a mirror appeared in my hands. I glanced inside – reflected was, instead of my face, the primordial sun, far beyond the jagged peaks of the Barathrumic Mountains. Sunlight poured from between the Twins and flooded through the Plains.

“It’s as though the world’s burning,” Zeo peeked in my mirror.

“It is nothing besides a stream of yolk,” I suggested. “And quite near sundown. That was what I wanted to verify anyways. We should probably go back to our rooms.”


It was now midnight. We were both settled in our room, within one of the central towers of the Zapaliti Fortress. Zeo was snoring loudly by my side, completely asleep upon the floor, his pillow sprawled besides the bed. In the chamber’s center hunched a table of ebony wood, crafted in the shape of four kneeling men holding together the above board. Upon it a deck of cards was sprawled, the last thing we had been playing together before Zeo had fallen asleep. I took a Black Joker off the table, glanced at the laughing clown, and walked over to the windowsill. Rubbing my eyes, I cast it over the blinking lights of the nighttime city of Zapaliti. My home. My birthplace. And yet I have never got to love it. Sighing deeply, I let the Joker drop to the floor. The clown circled several times in the air, flickering in and out, and landed face-down upon the freezing marble. I looked up at the gray clouds shuffling in the indigo sky.

Perhaps my secret hate towards Zapaliti was because my feelings were not human, but those of a Ga’reth. Or perhaps it was simply that I did not want to admit I loved it, because I was trying to hate it. Either way I did not know. And I did not care either. The truth will never change as long as I live, and Trueman rules over the Alliance with his supreme authority. I will never get freed from my state. How I would love to be like Zeo, so both unknowing and bloodless to the point of not even knowing remorse to himself at all. But no. I was born this way, just like Zeo was, as a man-made beast of mass destruction. I will be frequently assigned to missions out in the Battlefields, and be shocked myself at how easily men fall to my hands. And when I feel so worn out with sin, praying to Barathrum to save my soul, I realize I am standing in a mountain of bodies under the same gray heavens. A Ga’reth was miserable.

How many times I have thought of a rebellion. But somewhere I always knew I can never. The world was going towards a better future. If Trueman dies the Knivestabs will rule all of this blessed land – and that was what I least wanted. Truly, that was the only reason I fought at all.

But Vellum Vi’zilva. He rising was far from good. In fact it was reasonably what we least wanted of all possibilities. From now on the conflict will never be unilateral. Somewhere, I was starting to consider the chances of Vellum gaining the throne of Barathrum.

The matters were overwhelming. I flung myself onto my bed, atop the pillows, squishing it under myself. I stared at the ceiling, trying to sleep – and found the sun already rising.

And so I stay sleepy forever.[/spoiler]

[Bahamut - Envoy of the End]

I enjoyed this.

Writing from the 1st person is an interesting choice, doesn't leave you a lot of room to move in terms of scenes without Nex though.

There's enough going on to make it interesting, while the light hearted element of Nex idly building this egg tower in the background was quite well balanced.

This could prove a good read.

[DARKPLANT RISING]

Thanks.

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Chapter 2 added.

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Bumped, and changed the name of Nex's friend.

[Sunshine Jesse]

I like it so far. The first person perspective is definitely interesting.

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Well, I tried it once from the perspective of Zeo. Then I realized it would be difficult since he's one of those characters who know nothing, and so I changed it to Nex. I've never been good at third person.

Thanks for commenting.

[DARKPLANT RISING]

Bump.

[Twig]

The language of the story is odd to me, not that it's bad. And there were times when I didn't feel like it was in first person. Also, some descriptions and exposition seemed forced.

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Could you tell me what parts? I'll gladly change them then.

[Twig]

First person usually adds emotional depth to the "I" character. I didn't get that feeling for connection or emotion in many cases, but this snippet is probably the best first person part.

[spoiler=Best first person part]It was now midnight. Zeo was snoring loudly by my side, completely asleep upon the floor, his pillow sprawled besides the bed. I was resting my head upon the windowsill, rubbing my eyes, glancing out at the lights of the city of Zapaliti. My home. My birthplace. And yet I have never got to love it.

Perhaps it was because my feelings were not human, but those of a Ga’reth. Or perhaps it was simply that I did not want to admit I loved it, because I was trying to hate it. Either way I did not know. And I did not care either. The truth will never change as long as I live, and Extrarius rules over the Alliance with his supreme authority. I will never get freed from my state. How I would love to be like Zeo, so both unknowing and bloodless to the point of not even knowing remorse to himself at all. But no. I was born this way, just like Zeo was, as a man-made beast of mass destruction. I will be frequently assigned to missions out in the Battlefields, and be shocked myself at how easily men fall to my hands. And when I feel so worn out with sin, praying to Barathrum to save my soul, I realize I am standing in a mountain of bodies under the same gray heavens. A Ga’reth was miserable.

How many times I have thought of a rebellion. But somewhere I always knew I can never. The world was going towards a better future. If Extrarius dies the Knivestabs will rule all of this blessed land – and that was what I least wanted. Truly, that was the only reason I fought at all. [/spoiler]

You can really develop characterization and even connection with the readers through thoughts.


The places descriptions are forced are clearly shown in the parenthesis. Also, I can't help but think you're just using Zeo's idiocy to explain stuff.

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Well, yeah, Zeo's idiocy is at this time sort of an explanation device. Maybe I'd change that a little and keep it down.

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Bump.

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Bumped yet again.

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Another.

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Yet another.

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Bumped.