Story The "Incomplete" (A W.I.P. progressively written mini-novel)

[Trevor B Harper]

Good morning, day or night to you, my fellow RpN visitor.

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You might have clicked on this thread for many reasons: You've been asked to, you were bored, you clicked on my signature, but one way or the other, this peeked your interest. Was it the whole idea that caught your eye? The name? Or the story it self?


Anyway, less about that, more about the goal. This thread's goal is but a simple one. I shall be writing a mini-novel based on the character I have created for one of my roleplays, and this mini novel's progress will be posted here, be it a 50 word paragraph or a 6.000 word long chapter, everything I write associated with it will be gathered here, and then when it's done - polished.


During the process you may also interfere with my work and give me advice on how to improve and polish my writing. Actually, not only you may, but you are asked to. This will both help improve my writing and roleplaying skills, as well as world creation, character development and other various aspects of creative button pressing. It is really a form of art, isn't it?


Anyhow, without further ado, I am proud to present to you:

"Encircled by a dense forest full of lanky trees rests a village, home of the few surviving Halflings in Springwyn. One of which is named Lycus. A once young and vigorous boy will now take on a life shaping adventure that will determine his future. This journey will prove to be the one what will shape his destiny and bend it to either side – good or bad. In a land full of magic and wonders he will face great dangers, learn many valuable lessons and make life or death decisions."


The very first update with some of the mini-novel will come soon, as soon as I write enough to make it public, so stay subscribed. ^^


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The peace around Flowstocke was heard to be broken by the sound of wood clashing. Lycus' friends were acting like complete toddlers, whacking each other with makeshift weapons. It was quite a show for the local blacksmith to see. They did look the bunch and were only about twice the age, only a tad bit less than him, but even for them this was quite low in his opinion. Their childish brawl sent Lycus into memory land where he was still but a child.


The sound of wood whacking reached his ears as he watched them brawl it out in a field of grass and flowers. A bunch of seven-to-nine year olds fighting with wooden swords and daggers to prove who learned the most from their classes at Yorn's lessons. Ever since they were little they were trying to prove that their kind is not “incomplete”, although many, many think so. Every other type of species around the entire globe except for their own brotherly kind think so. Even humans, those who had been in good terms with Halflings recently turned their backs, leaving them like outcasts in the world.


Picking any type of effective herb from the grass fields he tried to ignore the sound of wood whacking and breaking, the yells of children who's imaginations took them to a far away land plunged in war. In this land they are the warriors, and the grass field is their kingdom. In their eyes, the trees are giant monsters of all kinds that try to eat them And even though this threat had risen, they are still spitting at each other's faces, ready to claw their enemy's eyes out.


“Hey, flower boy! Going to bring those to your papa?” A grinning warrior said, wielding heavy iron armors in his own imagination. He was the 'modern day bully' of the group, always picking on those who did nothing to deserve it. This heartless Halfling always finds the weakest spot in one's childhood, the biggest scar, and opens it up again with his verbal blade. After the warrior's words, his friends and foes laughed at it, thinking of it as a joke.


“Get off my back, Randall!” This was the only thing stopping Lycus from being a charming young lad and sometimes turned him so gloomy he would stay inside the attic of his home for hours. The feeling he felt that day was either a feeling of shame because his father died from a bandit attack, or an emotional struggle to keep his father out of his thoughts, but the latter used to fail most of the time.


Wood whacking sounds quickly after echoed again through the still field of grass in an opening encircled with trees. A small area with a stump of a chopped down tree later the most favorite place for Lycus to hang out.


A pile of wooden logs rested atop of Lycus' shoulders and arms as he carried them back to his house – a small wooden shack with only a few rooms to live in. Even though it was barely enough for only two people, living in a huge castle and having breakfast brought to you into bed was not a dream Lycus pursued. He would trade all of the mentioned into some knowledge and studies. And a proper family with his father still alive. Sometimes a thought crosses Lycus' mind of his father not being an inter-city trader.


The logs rolled down from his arms onto the hard wooden floor by a cobblestone fireplace still smoldering from lunchmaking. A blue haired, wrinkly-faced woman not much higher than himself greeted him with a smile filled with excitement and joy. Lycus felt something of great importance happened or is about to happen, as his mother is not always that way.


“I've got good news for you, Lycus.” The woman approached Lycus with the same said smile and an envelope in her hand with a rose insignia on the seal. She handed Lycus the envelope with a slight giggle out of happiness.


“What is this, mother?” Lycus asked curiously as he ripped the seal off the crumbled paper envelope and opened it. A quite short letter could be seen inside. Lycus spread the paper and read it out loud.

“Greetings, fellow denizens of Springwyn.


In the name of the Wormingshire Academy President Ayla Sominger, I, her right hand, send this letter to all corners of the continent. The long awaited Wormingshire Academy of Arcane Arts is opening it's doors for the first time! This is a historical event for Springwyn and the entire world, so we are accepting applications from denizens all around the continent to join our ranks and learn the art of Magic in a community where it is taught the best. We will be awaiting your letters of interest for approval or denial. May the Gods be with you.


-Prontus Valmont, Right Hand of Wormingshire Academy President Ayla Sominger.”

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“Does this mean I can write a letter, mother?” He asked hoping for a positive answer. This was all he wanted from a very young age. Instead of whacking and pounding with wooden sticks or throwing pebbles at birds, he wanted to cast spells and practice arcane arts. This is his chance.


“Yes. Indeed it does.” She said and immediatelly got a strong hug from her son. A hug of gratitude, happiness and sadness all in one. Lycus immediatelly picked up a piece of paper and a feather off the table to start writing the letter to a woman named Ayla.

 

[Snek]

Your story's first sentence starts the story off rather abruptly, I'd suggest changing the sentence structure around. The mentioning of humans could use a little more "atmosphere" to it, to give maybe a disconnected feel or distance between the Halflings and the humans. The reader should be on the side of the protagonist, and therefore talk about humans should feel strange and different.


In any case, you are descriptive and vibrant in your writing, and I enjoy reading it. Good work.

 

[Trevor B Harper]

Thank you, Villain King. I will make sure to make the appropriate changes as your suggestions seem to make sense. I am glad to receive this kind of critique when it's not only "O hey, cool story brah" , but also insights on some negative aspects.

 

[Spirits N Souls]

I love the storylining and the opening I see no error since you worked on the previously selected changes i would love to see more writings! Of course remembering your story and how you fell in the narrations help with expressing the emotions carried ^^ *thumbs up*

 

[Trevor B Harper]

Thanks @Spirits N Souls for such a positive reply. Not a long wait, here's chapter 2:

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The crystal clear ever running water reflected Lycus' picture above the river life that was never sleeping there. Many fish-like creatures swam along the current, but all Lycus was focused on was his own image. A fine lad with light green eyes, slightly pale skin and purple-ish hair pointing upwards. It was the start of the second week as Lycus waited for a response from Wormingshire. Whether he will get in or not frustrated him the most. The burning fire of desire for magic knowledge was now as strong as ever.


Even since his young days, Lycus had a leaning towards magic rather than what other Halflings were into. Melee combat and sneakiness wasn't his thing. While others would be fighting and practicing the knowledge they acquired during Yorn's lessons, Lycus was usually collecting herbs for alchemy or trying to set things on fire with his mind. Latter of which did not work a single time.


However, his alchemy skills were not that great either. Being an experimental type of person, Lycus attempted experiments not advised by the village's dryad. Even if she was an old lady, she could name all the herbs found around their area, and what they do even if she were to be woken up in the middle of the night. Many times has she told Lycus to not play with potions, but he never listened. Not a single time out of the four he turned his friends into creatures of darkness. Angry few-headed wolves, fierce goblins or flying harpies – they were all not his friends at some point during their transformation. Their minds differed. When you change shape, you also change your mind.


An accident occurred once because of one of Lycus' experiments. The person he kept closest to himself turned into a fierce creature because of one of his potions and started rampaging through the town. A two headed wolf started attacking the villagers and destroyed some of the food and wine stocks before it could transform back to human shape with the help of Maeera and her magical liquids. No one blamed Jairy though for what he did whilst in that form. All the blame fell on Lycus as it should have. That was the last time he ever touched Alchemy.


Back from his thoughts Lycus sat there, concentrating at the river, silently watching the fish swim by. This was one of the few moments in his entire lifetime that he sat completely still. Nothing bothered him, not even the hot summer sun shining from the sky. Wormingshire was the only thing in his mind. He was already starting to lose hope that he got in as he would have gotten a reply by now. A notification of any sorts.


Lycus lifted his body off the ground after a sturdy hour of river watching, and turned back to the small portion of the forest after which comes the town. At a decently slow pace he shuffled back to town through the tall trees of the forest hoping that his mother had already prepared supper. The day was approaching it's end already.


Voices were heard over the last bunch of trees Lycus was maneuvering through. Caged deep inside him, hope that it was a message from Wormingshire was hitting the cell door. He was really hoping it was what he thought it was. Out of the trees of the forest Lycus emerged to a sight of a wooden wagon with two horses running it. A lady stood at the back of the wagon accompanied with two heavily equipped guards on both sides, talking to a few townsfolk. Their chatter could be heard as Lycus approached, but soon after he heard her shout:


“On the behalf of Wormingshire Academy of Arcane Arts, I, Melissa Frownfinger, announce the names of those who will be traveling with me to the Academy for a further interview and the chance to be a part of our community:


Jaire Blackintyre. Please proceed to the wagon with your luggage within the following hour.


Freya Pentrenetta. Please proceed to the wagon with your luggage within the following hour...”


Upon this moment Lycus felt the biggest frustration of his life. If his name is on there – he will be traveling, if not – his dreams are crushed. As soon as he was ready to turn back empty handed, he heard the woman speak again:


“... Lycus Woden. Please proceed tot he wagon with your luggage within the following hour.”


This was surely close to the happiest day in Lycus' life. Although surprised that he will have the company of his beloved friends, he still ran to the house as quickly as he could with a smile on his face to pack up the most necessary belongings.

 

[Spirits N Souls]

wonderful ^^You are very welcome im glad to help with confidence and motivation

 

[Trevor B Harper]

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The bumps on the gravel road hit Lycus' bottom as if someone were to kick him.The lanky, but dense trees blocked off most of the sunlight surrounding them from both sides. The adventures in Lycus' life had already begun. With a leather bag full of food and clothes at his feet he sat beside two armed guards facing his friend Jaire on the opposite side of the wagon. It was barely scapped together from old wood and nails and the wheels seemed to wobble along the path.


The carriage they were traveling in was full of people. Two muscular men carrying slim but shiny swords and wearing white steel armor, both had a piece of cloth on their shoulders with a sort of insignia. An insignia of a Rose. The woman who called them had blonde hair as straight as a wooden plank stretching down to the back side of her waist which was covered by a white robe with a vertical red stripe going down from her neck to the end. The earrings piercing her ears seemed to be somewhat glowing in the shade of the trees.


Our coachman seemed rather poor. With rags for clothes and scars all over he handled the whips, smacking horses and leading them to turn or go faster he sat in front of the carriage holding the whips tight. Getting lost was not an option here, so the coachman had to have some experience. At least Lycus trusted him with that, and the woman there, who seemed to have authority, did too.


His friends – Jaire and Freya were both sitting on the other side together with the fancy lady. One's a one year younger guy than Lycus with hair dark green. In darker lighting his hair seems to be as black as the night itself. His eyes, same as Lycus', are of bright green color. Although his facial structure differed from Lycus by a longshot. His face, unlike Lycus', was vertically longer than a round one, and quite a slim one too. And the other one – Freya, was a beautiful lady with red locks curling down her spine until her wingbones. A terrifically structured face with eyes as red as blood she sometimes gazed at Jaire with that look of sympathy. It was a year since Lycus noticed her affection towards Jaire, but decided to keep it a secret. 'Let the lovers handle their business.' He once thought after having the idea to help them.


The road got darker and darker with each sixth of an hour passing by. Soon after the torches stacked on the ground of the carriage were picked up by both guards and the coachman and lit up to guide the way. The horses slowed down significantly as the surroundings went dark. With each clunk of the horse's feet hitting the gravel path the Halflings got more and more nervous. The rule of 'back by sundown' did not apply to these conditions.


A dim light reminiscent of a torch was noticed in the distance by the coachman as he informed the fancy blonde woman of the sighting.


“We have light in the distance, miss Vanderloft. Should the carriage stop?” He asked of the lady as he slowed the horses even more. When they approached the light it was obvious that it was but a house. An inn standing in the woods for any travelers much like themselves.


“Yes, we need to sleep through the night.” She answered soon after with a formal voice, yet somehow charming in it's own way. The echo of breaking glass and hard surfaces colliding echoed to their ears quickly as the guards reacted to the loud ruckus. They rushed out of the carriage to see what was happening, the woman followed after them and of course left with no choice Lycus and his friends were forced to do the same.


A total wreckage was found by the guards. Tables were flipped upside down and broken, glass shards were scattered everywhere, paintings were torn down as well as any curtains and other types of decorations. The innkeeper, a fellow innocent lady, was being rammed against the wall with a sword at her throat by what seemed like a bandit. His chest was covered with a leather tunic and plate shoulderpads rested atop of his shoulders. Spiked bracelet covered his wrists as his sword was pointed right at the lady's neck. A bandana covered his face, although what was left visible of it resembled a green-ish color. A muscular body was also hiding behind those leather rags and plate pieces.


“What do you want, you halfwits?” He turned to them and spoke with a deep voice resembling growling. The only ones insulted by this were the three halflings as their faces went from surprised to annoyed emotions, however they did not say anything. It would have just made it worse.


“Let go of the woman.” The blonde lady said to the thug looking person threatening the lady. She signaled the guards to stay back as she wanted to take care of this peacefully.


“This old hag owes me money and she'll give it back one way or another.” The thug replied with an even angrier voice as he poked the old lady's neck with the tip of his sword. The blonde woman who was called miss Vanderloft lifted her hand up in a slow motion which was followed by a trace of black smoke, similar to that of a house fire.


“What in the world are you doing, you wench?!” The thug started to panic and pushed the old lady to the side. She caught her breath and fell down on her knees breathing heavily. Teardrops rolled down her cheeks as she looked up at the group of people as if silently thanking them. When miss Vanderloft's hand stopped directly in front of her, the smoke quickly gathered at her palm in the shape of a ball.The greenskinned thug began approaching miss Vanderloft out of panic with his sword ready to be swung. However, as he did so, the smoke inside Vanderloft's hand launched towards the thug in the shape of a bolt. Although a small impact, it knocked the Orcish creature a few meters back, just enough to hit the wall. He had been knocked out cold.