Thanks Chrispenycate.
Repetition is something I noticed myself guilty of a little later on and stopped doing but I guess I should have looked right back to the beginning.
I think I am getting a bit better at punctuation; having looked at your comments and briefly looked into how commas and semi-colons are used; I think that at the moment I am going to have to write first and punctuate later.
I am sure I will get better with time.
I just want to ask for clarification on your last comment; Doran Quaile is supposed to be an elitist and detestable individual, a "love to hate" kind of character.
Are you saying that the style of writing conveys this or that the reader already gets the point so "enough already!"?
Thanks Saolta Oiche.
Your suggestion gave me some indication of how to reword that part, I want to keep the knuckle cracking part in though (Doran is a character who uses physical intimidation as part of his repetoire).
...“You should have tried harder!” Gripping the arms of the chair he levered himself up. Not old yet but getting lazier by the day; Doran Quaile, the Headmaster of the Calarmis Institute stretched his arms above his head, locking his fingers as his hands met; he turned them over and cracked his knuckles brushing the ceiling as he did so; no small feat for any man, but Quaile was a large man standing well over six feet. His secretary winced...
Also, I know 1000 words is probably not enough to really chew on.
I would like to know how stimulating the story is and if the desire to want to read more is good enough.
How much should I post? I wanted to post about another 2,500 words (3,500 in total) but thought it might be a bit much.
After consideration I take the viewpoint that if it is good, people will read it and comment.
so here is the following 2,700 or so words.
He gritted his teeth as the cold bit into his toes crawling up his ankles and into his legs, he curled up into a ball, letting out a moan he clenched his fists feeling the pain in his palms where the material had burned as it was ripped from his grasp, daring to open his eyes, Corelle squinted and shrunk into an even smaller ball as the sunlight glared into his eyes, the sea of red which was the inside of his eyelids dimmed to a cool purple as a shadow moved in front of him.
“I remember a time when uncovering just one of your toes would wake you up……”
“Ggggghh……”
“Not only does lifting the sheets off your entire lower half no longer work, I have to pull the blasted sheet from you……”
“………uuuggghhh……”
“Well at least you’re getting a bit stronger, I had to tug quite a bit before you let go this morning, I can’t understand how though, you’re a scrawny wretch and hardly eat a thing, which reminds me, besides getting up late you haven’t eaten any breakfast for the last week and a half, what’s up?”
“……Piss off Bismark! I’m sleeping!”
“Come on, you can tell me, if you can’t tell your brother, who can you tell?”
“Nothing’s wrong, I just don’t feel hungry, is that a crime, going to call a prefect are you?” Corelle swung his legs around and onto the floor, still squinting the dreams from his eyes, he searched for his slippers with his feet, finding them he slipped his feet in and stood up to face his brother Bismark.
At fourteen, Corelle still had the time, room and hope to grow into something along the lines of his brother but it wasn’t going to be easy, Corelle, at five feet four inches and weighing in at just under forty five kilos was staring up into the six feet two inch lean 95 kilos of Bismark Fortue. His older brother by four years was in his final year at the institute; in keeping with his position as head boy; his grades were impeccable, his abilities unsurpassed and his manner sickeningly perfect. Corelle had never considered the trials Bismark had endured because of it, but he did acknowledge that his brother had been his surrogate parent since they had come to the institute; he knew that they had arrived together at the institute. Bismark aged seven, had wandered through the gates by the Western quarter carrying his baby brother behind him in a makeshift harness, malnourished and sickly they were placed in a hostel where they stayed until Bismark reached age twelve when he was able to request private lodgings for himself and Corelle. He had never questioned Bismark about the time before they had arrived at Calarmis, he had never dwelt on the matter and it had never seemed important enough for him to pursue.
With an all too familiar reluctance Corelle made his way to the bathroom to get cleaned up for the day ahead. Gripping the cool edges of the basin he waited for the pipes to run fresh water, although inside the house it was ice cold (thanks to Bismark!), the day was hot and the water in the pipes was luke warm and washing his face in tepid water would not wake him up, he reached up to scratch his earlobe and caught himself as he saw what looked like some sort of feral goblin standing right in front of him, realizing it was his own reflection he admitted to himself that he should start eating his breakfast again, “you’ll wither away into nothing at all…” is what his mother would say……if he had one. The tune of the water had changed, testing it with his fingertips he nodded as the fresh water was now running cold enough to shock him awake, cupping his hands under the tap for a few seconds, he started to shiver in anticipation, of the cold water he was about to splash onto his face as well as the day he faced.
Sitting on the edge of his bed, bent over tying his shoe laces he looked up at the sound of the door handle turning, Bismark’s head appeared near the top of the doorway, “I can’t wait any longer Corelle, I’ll be late…” Seeing the look on Corelle’s face, he stepped into the room, it had been a long time since he had seen Bismark in formal dress, he looked regal, intimidating and formidable. “You look sick, are you sure there’s nothing wrong?” Corelle dropped his eyes to the floor to stare at Bismark’s feet. Battle Gear is what it used to be called, although now without the protective armour it was now called formal dress. Heavy black boots which laced up to the calf, with matt polished steel plates ringing the lower legs starting from just above the ankle to just below the knee, into which were tucked the shimmering black trousers which seemed awfully delicate for battle dress, must be one of the changes he thought, the top of the outfit consisted of a long coat which only dropped down to just below the hip on the left side to expose a vertical belt of black metal plates hanging from the waist, marked with various glyphs that were supposed to represent the elements, he could only recognise a few, the circle representing fire, the triangle for earth and the cross for air, he could only make out a few more of the shapes as the colour of the plates made them hard to make out but he could see what looked like a figure eight lying on its side, with pointed instead of rounded ends and a circle joining the points of the cross at the centre, he couldn’t remember if he had seen this one before but concluded he would not have remembered it even if he had because he no idea whatsoever of what it represented. The final part of the outfit was the shoulder guards, Corelle knew that these varied in shape and size but was not sure why, Bismark wore a black and red guard rimmed with mirror polished steel which flared out horizontally to protrude about six inches from his shoulders, heavy red chains were attached to the outer rim and draped across his back and chest. Linking the two shoulders and chains in the middle was a mirror polished steel plate bearing the insignia of the institute, a red burst within a blood red ring with five vertical bars of the same colour laying over the burst. He was sure there was some sort of symbolism with the formal dress and insignia but he couldn’t figure it out and besides, if it was important, they would hammer it into you every day, wouldn’t they?
He met Bismark’s eye, concern and desire to protect was clear in his look but after seeing his older brother in his formal dress his confidence was given a boost, what did he have to fear with Bismark on his side? With newfound courage he swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’ll be fine, go on, I’ll see you after the parade.”
“………OK……see you later.” Bismark turned, his long coat brushing the sides of the hallway as he walked away, the clothing was excessive considering the heat of the day outside but he would be able to keep the air around him cool, a rare ability which seemed to personify the young man.
After Bismark left, Corelle waited until he heard the front door close before finishing his shoe laces and standing up. He walked out into the hallway to stand in front of the mirror, looking himself up and down he tried hard to picture himself in the formal wear, standing with his head up and shoulders back…… he could not hold the image, his shoulders slumped, his chin dropping to his chest, he was far from being part of the parade, the shortlist was made up of the strongest weavers and from those, the most athletic and best looking were selected, if he were stronger he might get onto the shortlist in a few years but if he didn’t get any bigger he would probably have to try and pass himself off as a girl. That is if there was another parade while he remained at Calarmis.
The parade was held at the beginning of the week of events known as the Lorimer Trials, it was an invitation event where students from institutes around the World came to compete in a series of events which would push them to their limits of strength and endurance, culminating in the final event which would be a knockout event in which the strongest representatives of each institute would face each other in one on one combat, the Lorimer Trials were reserved until a time it was deemed there were students worth watching, especially for the final event, this thought brought him back to cold reality, the fiercest battle of the last event was the final battle of the two strongest weavers, so fierce, it had in the past resulted in the death of one of the combatants, among the students it was morbidly referred to as the death match. What sickened Corelle was the knowledge that his brother was almost certain to be one of the two fighters in the death match.
He held onto the handle of the front door for a moment as he listened to the people outside, making their way towards the Eastern Quarter where the parade would take place, he listened to the voices, calling out to friends, family, employees, “……at have you been up t………, ………an’t we do it tommo………, ……I’ll be there in abo……” He could feel the heat through the door handle, he hadn’t stepped out into the heat yet but he reached up and wiped a bead of sweat from his temple, taking a deep breath he turned the handle, opened the door and stepped out into the fire.
* * * *
Looking down into the sea of bodies that was the Northway he scanned the faces for the two missing members of his team, there were only a few minutes left until they would have to leave to make their way to the Eastern Quarter where the rest of the team were already preparing for the parade; the start of which was only two hours away. He turned at the sound of footsteps coming from one of the corridors off the third floor gallery where he stood, as he came around she was emerging from the corridor to his right, with her coat slung over her right shoulder, he felt his eyes drawn to the snugly fit leather bodice that wrapped around her torso leaving an eye catching band of her stomach exposed, highly toned abdominal muscles a subtle reminder that the lithe figure before him was no mere vision but a powerful force to be treated with respect and the look in her eyes suggested a ounce of caution would not go amiss either.
“Don’t stare Michael!” she said in a mildly chastising tone.
“Sorry Silon, have you seen him? We have to leave in a few minutes if we are going to be on time.” Silon walked past him to the balustrade, he followed her returning to his original post to look once more into the thousands of faces passing below. He waited for an answer but none came, “You look nervous, are you okay?”
“It’s not like him to be late……” She squinted as though trying to look harder into the crowd below to see if she could pick him out any easier but she raised her head to look up to the upper levels eventually clenching her eyes closed, grunting in frustration she span around to face the ancient stone wall of the Northway rising up before her, with another grunt she slammed her palms down on the balustrade and leant back onto it, her chin dropping to her chest, she was silent for a few moments as she regained control of herself, Michael looked on in stunned silence. After a few seconds she bent to pick up her coat, which had fallen to the floor.
“Are you two ready?” Silon’s head snapped up at the male voice, Michael spun round in surprise to see a dark shape leaning against the wall of the corridor to his left, enveloped in shadow it was hard to see him clearly but he could make out the relaxed posture as the figure held his arms folded across his chest with his legs crossed slightly at the ankles and as his vision adjusted to the darkness, he could make out a wry grin slowly forming across the face of the newcomer, as he gauged the height of the figure it became apparent that this was the third member of their team.
* * * *
He was curious to know what had upset Silon so much, he had watched her come in and exchange words with Michael and she had seemed perfectly normal, she had been looking into the crowd below, looking around in a fairly non-committal way for anyone or anything in particular but then her eye was caught by someone or something causing her to squint in concentration, by the change in the set of her jaw it seemed that she had confirmed something which evidently caused her frustration as she then had her little tirade. He would have to wait a while to satisfy his curiosity, it was time to leave.
“Are you two ready?” He watched in amusement as it dawned upon his friends that he had been standing there for quite a while, Michael’s face showed anger at first changing into embarrassment at this realisation, he allowed a grin to spread across his face, which was matched by Michael as he stepped from the shadows. Silon was clearly upset by whatever she had seen. “Aren’t you pleased to see me?” She looked up at him as she pulled on her coat.
“……sorry, it’s……I thought you might have been late……” The look of anger had gone from her eyes to be replaced with one of resignation. He concluded that whatever was wrong was complicated and now was not the time.
“Come on, Michael, Silon, we have to go now.” He turned and started toward the stairway which would lead them down to the next floor and eventually to the ground and into the Northway.
“Bismark…”
“Silon?”
“Can we go another way?” He saw the look of resignation now had a hint of fear, she was reluctant to go down to the Northway, whatever she had seen, she wanted to stay away from, he leant over the banister to look down but could see nothing significant or worthy of attention, Michael did the same and could see nothing either.
“…OK……we’ll have to move faster, we should not be late, we’ll discuss the Foritan Triad Weave on the way.” Bismark led them back along the gallery and down the corridor he had been waiting in.
* * * *
Benco the tea maker screwed up his face in annoyance as he turned to berate those behind him jostling him onward faster than the crowd was moving. Even the newcomers should realise that when they were in the Northway, they could not fight the tide, they had to wait. When he turned, he opened his mouth but nothing came out, his well practiced look of condescension slackened and was slowly replaced with one of awe and finally fear as his eyes settled on the cause of the mini stampede behind him. Three figures were approaching; wearing the Grey and Crimson of Galkato Officers, there were no bands of rank on the cuffs of the leader indicating his rank; something he had not seen before, the few times in his life he had seen Galkato Officers he had never seen an officer without any rank bandings, what he did know was that this man was leading the other two and that could not be a good sign. He turned about and immediately began prodding and jostling those in front of him to get out of the way as he fled.
