Dear all, March 2002
Best Openings Contest ResultsThe March Best Opening Contest is over, and the results are in. I give you...
*** Josh Langston *** as this month's winner! <wild cheering ensues from the crowd>
Congratulations, Josh! In second place, we have Beth Shope, and taking third this month, Bill Allan. Well done, and many thanks to all who entered!
Here is the breakdown of votes. The comments will be posted on the message boards shortly, and I will also be uploading the entries and comments to the library.
Opening title Author 1st 2nd 3rd V Total Pretty Super Josh Langston 3 1 0 y 14 Unicorn Hunt Beth Shope 2 0 1 y 10 In the Time of.. Bill Allan 0 2 2 y 9 Flight of the X-13 Derek Paterson 0 2 1 y 8 (voted only) Kevin S. 0 0 0 y 3 Untitled Deb Dunkerton 0 0 0 0Thank you,
Your Administratix,
Sophia
sophia.ahmed@ntlworld.comIndex Unicorn Hunt - Beth Shope
Flight of the X-13 - Derek Paterson
Pretty Super - Josh Langston
In the Time of the Ebony Moon - Bill Allan
Well met by Moonlight (novel) - Deb Dunkerton
Unicorn Hunt - Beth Shope
The gate between worlds was narrow, made of viscous, clinging matter, contracting like the walls of the birth passage. He couldn't breathe, but like a newborn making the journey from dark to light, he didn't need to. He shrugged, pushed, grunted, his legs forced tight against his belly. This gate was not made for such as he.
The passage compressed until it threatened to crush his ribs and skull. He made a great effort, heaving himself—forward? up? down? There was no direction here, only blackness shrinking around him like a wet hide. His legs scrabbled wildly, pushed...
Abruptly, he burst free.
His lungs inflated with cool air. Darkness still surrounded him, but it was the darkness of ordinary night, grayed by starlight and moonlight. He shook hair out of his eyes and swung his head this way and that, nostrils sifting the scents. Behind him, he caught a glimpse of his own pale flanks, and beyond, row upon row of stones thrusting up from the earth like the worn nubs of rotten teeth, saturated with the reek of stale death. Another smell lay heavy on the night, familiar and hated: the pungent, warm odor of humans.
The thieves were here.
A terrible rapture filled him. He would find them and impale their beating hearts, drain their flesh of blood. And when their puny souls escaped the prison of their bodies, he would rend them until nothing remained—no memories, no vestige of life.
The thieves had left a trail in the air like drops of blood on leaves. He began walking purposefully among the stones, and on the damp grass his hooves made no sound.§ Andrew sniffled loudly. "I wanna go home."
"Not till we find it." Josh kicked at the loose dirt of a fresh grave.
"There ain't no stupid unicorn horn. That ol' lady jus' made it up. And if Mom finds out we're gone, she'll kill us."
"Nah. She'll just take Nintendo away for a month."
"That's near as bad."
"C'mon, Andrew. We're talkin' a hundred bucks! Give it an hour, then we'll go home. Deal?"
"One hour. I got my watch, so I'll know if yer cheatin'."
Josh led the way, his flashlight beam bobbing among the graves. "D'ya suppose it's buried?"
"Hope not, since we ain't got no shovel. Maybe it's hid under a bush or somethin'." Andrew stumbled over a root. "Ow!"
"Shut up! You'll wake somebody!"
Andrew looked around at the sleeping graveyard, the tombstones erect and quiet, each standing guard over its own mound of grass. "Nothin's gonna wake these guys up." He snickered. "Get it, Josh? Get it?"
"Yeah. Dumb joke..." Josh's voice trailed off. He cowered against a tree.
A creature stood several feet away, watching them.
It was bleached white as the moon, and shaped like a horse. Except that a long horn grew out of its forehead, cold and shiny as an icicle. The point was rapier sharp and aimed directly at Josh's chest. His throat shrank up until he thought he'd choke.
"I reckon we found it," Andrew muttered.
A baleful light kindled deep in the creature's eyes, like flames behind smoky glass.
"Yeah," Josh answered in a dry, strangled whisper. "Funny how that ol' lady completely forgot to mention the thing's still attached."
§ I can't really see any problem with this one. The only reason it doesn't get a vote from me is because of the subject matter. Alas, unicorns just aren't my thing... no matter how cleverly author merges them into modern setting. Good surreal opening sequence, BTW. -DP§ Mine. - Beth§ Very evocative opening scene (dare I say resonant? <G>). The birthing/intra-world transport idea is well done. The second scene is likewise skillfully done. The dialog is quite good and ends with a nifty hook. My only quibble would be that the humans seem a bit too cool in their comments (in Josh's case almost verbose) compared to the emotions we're asked to believe they're undergoing. <Shrug> YMMV. First. —Josh§ Usual disclaimer. All comments are subjective, IMHO and I don't do spelling or grammar checks.
Nit-pick bulb went on at character's remembrance of, 'birth passage'. (May be due to the fact my own memory is cr*p)
'This gate was not made for such as he.' Either redundant or imply something like, '...the creatures who used it were not his kind, their build was different, smaller.'
'Darkness still surrounded...' Rephrase to, 'This world's night, greyed by...' or similar. Shorter explanation.
'Sifting the new scents for danger or an enemy...'
Delete, 'He would find...vestige of life.' for now. Can be transferred to later in story. When the Unicorn is actually in combat.
Like the fact that the title can be seen from two viewpoints.
1st place. - Kevin§ The opening of this opening had me nibbling at the bait, but the second half lost me, perhaps due to the dialect. It's laid on too thick and adds a clichéd, B-movie quality to the proceedings. Third Place. WA§ Well-written, and easy to read. I can't give a reason other than possibly the child POV, but this opening just doesn't grab me. Josh's final line of dialogue seemed much too calm; I'd expect more of an incoherent whimper, if anything, from someone in his position. - Admin
Flight of the X-13 - Derek Paterson
"There's your new ship, Lieutenant. What do you think of her?"
Lola Dexter craned her neck and gazed up at the enormous, bullet-shaped spacecraft that gleamed silver beneath the silo's lights. Lola turned to Fleet Admiral Chessit and grinned. "She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, sir."
Chessit nodded. "You're entitled to feel that way about your first command. Hell, I'd be surprised if you didn't. Her code-name is X-13. The letter indicates she's an experimental ship. The number should tell you that twelve ships just like her were built and launched previously."
"Where are they, sir?"
"None of them came back."
Lola's grin faded. "None of them, sir?"
"That's right. They vanished, Lieutenant. Vanished into the ether as if they had never existed. The robot ships we sent to investigate found nothing—no wreckage, no bodies, not even a trace of abnormal radiation. We kept it all hush-hush, for obvious reasons. There's already enough public hostility toward deep space exploration. The Isolationists would have a field day." Chessit paused, then said, "You knew Captain Rawlins, didn't you?"
"Rocky" Rawlins' handsome face floated before Lola's mind's eye. She recalled their last fateful night together. He'd towered over her like some mighty prehistoric dinosaur, his unstoppable volcanic passion opening a well of emotion deep within her that had hitherto lain untapped. She'd hoped it would last forever, but outer space had called to her lover like a siren, tearing him from her embrace. With Rawlins, duty came first. That was the kind of man he was; that was why Lola loved him so.
The fact Chessit had spoken in past tense slowly dawned on her. She tried to control her fears. The last thing she wanted was to break down in front of Chessit. He'd take her off the active duty roster and give this mission to someone else.
"Yes, sir," she said. "I know Captain Rawlins well."
"He took the X-12 out three weeks ago," Chessit said. "Set course for Proxima Centauri and engaged his phase drive. We never heard from him again."
Lola swallowed hard. "Do you have any idea what might have happened to him, sir?" She was amazed her voice didn't tremble.
"I do not. The X-12 carried an emergency communications torpedo capable of exiting the force field bubble and phasing back into positive space. We've had every remote station between Luna and Jupiter listening for its signal. So far, nothing. There's no reason to think Rawlins' Hoffmann phase drive might have malfunctioned—it's been proven reliable and safe. Robot ships have entered negative space, traveled vast relative distances, and returned to positive space without mishap."
"Pardon my frankness, sir, but what makes you think this ship is going to fare any better?"
Chessit gave a curt nod. "Good question. I'm glad to say I have an answer. Two answers, in fact. Firstly, the X-13 carries offensive weaponry of a type never before released. In a few minutes you'll meet the scientists who designed these weapons. They will appraise you fully of their capability and operation. Secondly, your crew is somewhat special."
"Special, Admiral?" Lola was still struggling with the concept of the need for weapons. What did Chessit think was out there?§ Mine. Determined heroine braves numerous deep space dangers to find her lost lover! Take me, my stegosaurus! -DP§ This one raised a lot of questions (of the good kind): what happened to her lover? Why the weapons? What's special about her crew? What happened to the other ships? Good introduction of potential conflict and danger. Some telling going on in the dialogue, or at least the appearance of it. Here: <<The X-12 carried an emergency communications torpedo capable of exiting the force field bubble and phasing back into positive space.>> Surely her ship is fitted the same way and she would know this already? Also some credibility problems—a lieutenant being given a command? And why didn't she know about the disappearing ships before now? A toss of the coin between this entry and another one for second place. This one wins, mostly because I really do want to read on. - Beth§ The naming convention for experimental ships reminds me of efforts in the 50's (and long since abandoned). I'm having a little trouble with the idea of sending a 13th identical ship after its 12 predecessors all failed to return. Adding weapons and an odd crew seems like guesswork—it's just as likely the previous ships downshifted their transgalactic transmissions and smacked into a planet or something. Third. —Josh§ Usual disclaimer. All comments are subjective, IMHO and I don't do spelling or grammar checks.§ Major Nit-pick and stumbling block. X-13. X numbers, by this reader, anyway, are associated with the American high-altitude and Space programs. In the film, 'Armageddon' the experimental shuttle craft was X-70 something following chronological convention. Maybe combining the 'X' and a project name would be a work-around? Main impression of the opening was the military desire to keep loading fresh fodder into the cannon and lighting the blue touch paper. One wonders at what number they would admit defeat and stop sacrificing the cream of their commands. One section immediately labelled 'purple prose' and intentional or not found to tickle this reader's funny bone. 'He'd touched...him so.' - Kevin§ This space-operatic offering evoked some smiles, but in the end I found myself stifling a yawn. Maybe it was just the time of day. <shrug> Second Place. WA§ I wanted to like this, but couldn't, because of a number of reasons. One, the conversation came across too obviously as an info-dump. I would have liked the two characters to have been doing something while this was taking place, rather than just standing there. I was waiting for something to happen, and the talk left me impatient. Second, Lola's dialogue is very predictable, and didn't draw me in to the story or into her character at all. The writing was smooth, and I liked the setting as far as it was shown; the problem, basically, was that the whole thing came across as rather shallow. - Admin.
Pretty Super - Josh Langston
Clutching her application, resume, and 8-by-10 color glossies, Mary Madeline Maye pressed herself into a corner of the waiting room sofa. As usual, no one noticed her. If not for her analyst, she wouldn't have been there at all, and it required a supreme effort of will not to run from the room once she'd seen the other applicants: all gorgeous, physically fit, and supremely confident—larger than life—the quintessential requisite for a superhero.
After a 90-minute wait, someone called Maddy's name. Though startled, she managed to cloak herself in a facade of self-assurance. Papers in hand, she followed a gaunt, gray-haired matron down a featureless hallway and into a paneled, windowless room jammed to bursting with a desk and two chairs. A signed and framed photo of president Rodham glared down from the wall behind the desk. Maddy took a seat, surrendered her papers, and began yet another wait.
A nameplate wedged between overflowing In and Out baskets read: Harriet Dornagan, Deputy Assistant Liaison, Office of Cultural Affairs, Bureau of Enhanced Citizens, Department of Commerce.
"So," Ms. Dornagan said at last, "you want to be a super hero."
Maddy nodded, but the woman didn't seem to notice. "Yes. I would."
"Why?"
"To help people. Isn't that what super heroes do?"
Her face unreadable, Dornagan scribbled a note in the margin of Maddy's application. "I see you haven't listed any ethnic affiliation."
"I'm of Scandinavian descent," Maddy said brightly. "My dad says our ancestors were Vikings."
Dornagan snorted. "The Vikings were a white male-dominated culture, intent on rape, pillage and slavery. Do you feel such an ancestral affiliation entitles you to some special status?"
"Well, no. I—"
"But you're embarrassed by it. That's why you left it out, right?"
Maddy sat erect. "I didn't think it was important."
Dornagan hmpfed and read through the balance of the file. Eventually she came to the photographs and held each one up for examination. Maddy's stomach aped the Gordian Knot.
"Of course you know the Bureau doesn't approve of revealing costumes."
Maddy blinked. "Oh? Actually, I didn't."
Dornagan dropped the photo of Maddy dressed in a bodystocking and effecting a fighting pose onto her desk. Maddy reached for it. "Don't," the woman said. "It's government property now."
Maddy withdrew her hand.
"Are you interested in urban, suburban or rural work?" Dornagan asked.
"I'm mostly a city girl," Maddy said, "but anywhere—"
Dornagan shook her head. "We've got all the urban heroines we need," she said. "And we have champions and role models for women of virtually all backgrounds, ethnicities, and socio-physical challenges." "I thought—"
"You thought we'd just fit you with some sort of strength-enhancing implement and send you off to battle evil, right?"
Maddy swallowed. "I figured there'd be some training involved." Dornagan exhaled wearily, and Maddy responded automatically by shrinking into her chair. But suddenly, she'd had enough. Hoping to make her analyst proud, she stood. "I have to go. I apologize for wasting your time."
Dornagan's glare pinned her feet to the floor. "Sit," she said. Maddy sat.
"We might actually have something for someone with your... attributes."
"I know I'm a wallflower, Ms. Dornagan," Maddy said. "You can say it without offending me."
"Exactly."§ Likeable would-be heroine, and delivered with just the right amount of tongue-in-cheek official pomposity. FIRST. -DP§ The dialogue between these two is sharp and has just the right amount of tension. I like the premise and am wondering what Dornagan has in mind for her. The only problem I found was this: <<Dornagan exhaled wearily, and Maddy responded automatically by shrinking into her chair. But suddenly, she'd had enough.>> Too abrupt a transition. Show what made her change. All in all, very intriguing and it promises to be fun. I want to read more. First place. - Beth§ Pretty sad. Au should report immediately for electroshock therapy and thorough re-education. - Josh§ Usual disclaimer. All comments are subjective, IMHO and I don't do spelling or grammar checks.
What saves this is the author's obvious intention of portraying the main character as a neurotic, inhibited, hapless sap. The promise of salvation at the end of the piece is what would keep me reading on, hoping for a complete transformation and not to have to of read situations controlling the character and others having to bail the 'heroine' out, instead of the character taking charge of their own destiny.2nd place - Kevin
§ Dialogue attribution got a little fuzzy in here:
<begin excerpt>
Dornagan shook her head. "We've got all the urban heroines we need," she said. "And we have champions and role models for women of virtually all backgrounds, ethnicities, and socio-physical challenges." "I thought?"
"You thought we'd just fit you with some sort of strength-enhancing implement and send you off to battle evil, right?"
Maddy swallowed. "I figured there'd be some training involved." Dornagan exhaled wearily, and Maddy responded automatically by shrinking into her chair.
<end excerpt>
I think it could be cleared up by starting new paragraphs after "challenges" and "involved."
Otherwise, not bad. First Place. WA§ Loved this. Drew me in completely and I was sorry when it ended. The most appealing opening I've read in a long time <S>. - Admin
In the Time of the Ebony Moon - Bill Allan
The Porsche ran out of gas about twenty-six miles north of the small town of Acheron, Ohio.
April hadn't gotten far. Not near far enough. Headlights pierced the darkness two miles behind her like predatory shining eyes. If it was them, she had only minutes to get away from her car and find a place to hide.
She could smell the river, dank and feral, across the left lane and down a steep bank. And to her right, thick brush would make passage difficult into the woods beyond, so she jogged forward along the berm, her warm breath blowing white plumes and her heart racing.
Fifty yards from the car, she came to a crossroad. The two-lane state highway continued north, following the river. The dirt and gravel side road veered off past a sign that read Mount Hope Cemetery.
She thought she could hear the motor of the pursuing vehicle and didn't hesitate long.
A stitch ached in her ribs as she ran up to the cemetery gates. She definitely heard the motor now, but it sounded wrong, almost like it was idling. She turned and crouched down, breathing hard, and a white car crawled past on the highway, going at best five miles an hour. Then, before she could rise, it backed into view, stopped, and pulled forward onto the cemetery road.
The gates were too high to climb, but the adjoining fence was an obstacle she could negotiate. Once on the cemetery grounds, she hunkered down behind a tree.
The headlights pulled up outside the gate. Car doors slammed.
April peered through the dark behind her. The grounds, cleared out of the surrounding woods, were rolling hills covered with gravestones and small mausoleums.
A half moon hung low in the sky, and heavy black wisps of cloud moved across it. Even as she watched, the cloud cover became thicker. That was in her favor.
"April, we know you're in there. Your father's asked us to bring you home." Her step-father's assistants, or hitmen as Granny had called them, must have discovered her absence almost immediately. "You don't want to miss the funeral tomorrow, do you? . . . Your grandmother would be disappointed, wouldn't she?"
Bastards. Rotten bastards. Did they really think they could use Granny's death to make her give up?
A different voice, snide and snarling, cut through the night—Peterson, the head hitman.
"Come out, April, right now, or we'll come in and get you. And it won't be nice, understand?"
So the charade was over. At seventeen, one year shy of legal age, she was to become a prisoner in her own home.
She stood to sneak farther away from the fence and heard the dogs. The vicious barking came from the graveyard behind her before it stopped abruptly.
Though the moon was black, soon April could see the dogs, two of them, the size of wolfhounds, sauntering down the paved cemetery lane toward the headlights, their nails clicking eerily on the asphalt. Stranger still, a tall long-haired woman in dark clothing followed them, walking quickly, her face concealed by shadow.
Seconds later, glass exploded and the headlights blinked out. The men screamed, screamed like they were being torn apart. Then silence.
April waited, trembling in the night.§ There's no way the woman and her dogs are going to kill our heroine, so tension levels dropped slightly rather than rose when the screams began, but it's still a nicely done opening... despite its oddball title. SECOND. -DP§ Plenty of tension here and good use of sensory details. (Though I had trouble with "feral" being used as a description of odor. Rethink that one, please.) Good questions raised: who is she? why is she running away? and of course, who is the mysterious lady? However, this felt rushed, possibly because the author was trying to make it fit into the word limit. I hope that in the real story, the writer will take time to draw out the suspense longer and feed us a little more information about the protagonist at the same time. Third place. - Beth§ The writing is smooth and polished. My only problem is that I don't see the POVC's dilemma. She seems like a rich kid who doesn't want to toe Daddy's line. Calling his agents "hitmen" doesn't make them real hitmen, and we aren't given any real reason to believe otherwise. The issue isn't resolved by the introduction of the mysterious Dog Lady. Finishes second on the basis of the micro-writing. —Josh§ Usual disclaimer. All comments are subjective, IMHO and I don't do spelling or grammar checks.
Either lose 'near' in 'Not near far enough' or change to, 'nearly' for smoother read. Unhappy with, '...screamed like they were being torn apart.' Implies character already knows what someone being torn apart sounds like. Would prefer character to describe damage done when viewing aftermath. Runaway recovery not compelling enough to be interesting. If the character had blown up something or shot her way out of the place that might have spiced it up a bit more. I wonder about describing the river as 'feral'. Doesn't sit right, as though one is expecting the river to suddenly leap at her and engulf her in a tidal wave of ravening hunger.3rd place. - Kevin
§ Well-written opening. Unfortunately, I didn't feel any tension in this piece; there was a lot of description of April's surroundings, but the choice of language used, although smooth, was just a bit bland. When the hitmen called out to April, I wasn't sure if they were actually speaking, or it was a conversation she was recalling in her head. - Admin
Well met by Moonlight - Deb Dunkerton
Keth never knew what woke her, some noise, hiss of breath, whispered command, something. She lay in the dark for a moment and listened, trying to separate familiar night noises from what had roused her.
She tucked the blanket tighter around the nearest baby then wriggled under the tent flap without opening the ties. Standing up slowly in the inky darkness she glanced around the campsite. The night was bitterly cold and she tucked her cloak more tightly around her thin body, familiar smells tickled her nose, wood smoke and horses. Nearby a night bird called, and further off it's mate answered.
Stepping carefully, to avoid sharp rocks and sleeping dogs, Keth made her way to the makeshift privy to relieve herself. Screened by thick bushes she was starting to unlace her doeskin britches when she heard the noise again, a voice, sharply commanding in a muffled whisper. She froze in place, peering through the interwoven branches trying to make out the intruder.
Suddenly the moon appeared from behind a cloud bathing the campsite in a soft blue light. Keth's breath caught in her throat. There, standing in the middle of the campsite, surrounded by still sleeping guard dogs, was a man. Despite the bright moonlight the man was bathed in darkness, Keth couldn't make out any feature except his long dark cloak and the unsheathed shining sword that he held in his hand.
Turning slowly in a circle he pointed the sword at each tent and paused for a moment before moving on to the next. He had almost come full circle when he paused before the tent Keth shared with the babies, he stepped forward and, with the point of the sword, he slowly and deliberately sliced open the side of the tent.
The babies! Keth stifled a sob and crept further back into the bushes. Behind her were the lake, a small boat and three miles of open water to deep forest on the other side. As quietly as she could, she crept backwards through the bushes and down to the small pier that jutted out into the lake. Climbing down under the pier she frantically began to undo the tight knot tethering the boat.
Suddenly she heard footsteps on the pier, shrinking back against the slippery shale bank she pulled her up around her face and willed the stranger not to sense her. He paused for a moment then dropped something heavy into the icy water; with the tip of his sword he pushed the rag wrapped bundle under the water until it sank. Keth held her breath as his footsteps receded back up the pier and disappeared into the night.
When she was sure he was gone Keth waded forward into the icy water and fumbled around till her fingers brushed the bundle he had dropped. Dragging it ashore she hastily unwrapped it. A sob caught in her throat, it was one of the babies. Little Betha, born only a few days ago, lay blue and unbreathing in her arms. Tears trickling down her face Keth clutched the tiny child to her body and began to reflexively rub her back. Without warning the child coughed and struggled then began to wail softly, shivering in the frigid air.§ I'm guessing female author, since male authors tend to shy away from pushing babies below the surface of icy rivers for the story's sake. Whatever, Keth comes across as anything but heroic (her fight or flight reaction seems geared toward the latter option), and the mystery swordsman needs some more description to bolster his menacing image, IMHO. -DP§ A nicely tense opening, but too many credibility problems. I'm asking the wrong questions, like why on earth she didn't raise the alarm but instead ran away and left those defenseless babies to be murdered. This does not make me like her. It also didn't make sense to me that the man would take the trouble to dump the baby in the lake; why not just leave it in the tent? There were also punctuation problems, like here: <<Suddenly she heard footsteps on the pier, shrinking back against the slippery shale bank she pulled her up around her face and willed the stranger not to sense her.>> There needs to be a period after "pier," and a comma after "bank." - Beth§ Untitled—Au should not write another word until he/she has purchased a copy of Strunk and White's Elements of Style. Further, au should read and absorb the unit on semi-colons, then follow S&W's advice on using them (or coordinating conjunctions and commas) to avoid run-on sentences and comma splices. The grammatical gaffs were so glaring I almost couldn't get into the story. The only thing which really stood out is the POVC's complete cowardice. She couldn't even heave a rock to wake the guard dogs! And then, rather than attempt to intervene and save the babies, she bails. Not a very endearing trait. Sorry. No vote. - Josh§ Usual disclaimer. All comments are subjective, IMHO and I don't do spelling or grammar checks.
If the main character was able to slip so easily under the closed flaps of the tent it makes one wonder what shelter or protection it could give as the rest of it would be so slack and sagging.
'Inky darkness' and Keth's clarity of vision jar. No mention of other source of illumination, campfire, stars, etc. If the dark figure's details cannot be made out why does Keth assume he's a man?
Why is Keth abandoning the babies? Or is she going for help? Number of babies and are they all Keth's? Why go to all the time and trouble of placing baby in sack and dropping it in water when a sword thrust would be easier and quicker and leave the intruder less open to detection? Presumption of his waving it about unsheathed is because it is going to used for offence/defence, anyway.
'Shining sword' Self illuminating or lit by the moon?
Listed as novel opening. From third graf onwards could notch up the tension by character thinking of possible dangers while making her way to toilet area, and showing her emotional state. The title is at odds with the opening, but possibly it's just a working one. Some words can be safely discarded. 'Suddenly' 'Muffled' 'Frantically'
Missing word, ' ...her up around her face...' - Kevin§ Not badly written, but a fundamental problem. Keth didn't necessarily have to rush to the babies defense when she realized that's where the intruder was headed (though we'd have liked her a lot more if she had), but she could have at least raised an alarm, woke the guard dogs, whatever. Instead, she slinks away. WA§ I liked the setting, and the description of the moonlight. The man in the cloak is more interesting than Keth at the moment, which is not a good trait in your main POVC. I'm unsure about where this could go. I'd read on a little to find out, but it doesn't promise much so far I'm afraid. Very bleak atmosphere, which could work well if maintained and a story woven into it, but there is no hint that the POVC has any power over anything. - Admin
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