Help with the Black Razor by Snapshot

A week ago I submitted Chapter 1 - The Black Razor. I got one comment with the advice to revisit my grammar. Is there anyone out there who could help me with a few practical examples using my own material?

I have re-posted Chapter 1

The warm afternoon sun shone down between the trees that lined the road, the summer air grew thick and crackled as magic coalesced. There was a flash, the air hissed and rushed away as Sharael Maldeen appeared from the ether. Her long blond hair blew about her in the magical wind as she staggered trying to regain her senses from the teleportation. She wore dark, soft hide leggings, her shirt was a dull homespun cloth, her high dark boots were hardened and waxed, a short sword in a plain scabbard hung at her side.

Sharael trembled from the transformation of position she willingly underwent in order to preserve the White Circle from the events of three days past. Her trembling hand grasped the amulet that dangled around her neck by a long silver chain. It had been given to her by Porthalis, head of the Order of the Circle and Arch Magi of the White Circle (one of the eight circles that made up the Order). Sharael pulled lightly on the amulet and the chain tightened, still weak she found herself crouching to keep from falling, and after a few moments, she struggled to stand.

Sharael stood still clutching the amulet; she could feel it warm and stir beneath her touch. Knowing what she would witness, tears formed in her eyes as she opened her hand. The amulet, a silver adamantine twelve-pointed star had encrusted upon it a large red ruby that was glowing softly. A single facet on the gems impressive surface seemed to be a darker red than those around it. The twelve points began to writhe and shift in the palm of her hand as two creaked in the act of joining themselves together to form a single eleventh point.

Tears streaming down her face, the transformation did not surprise her, she knew what it meant, Arthessi of the White Circle, her dear old friend, was dead, his sentence imposed.

Sharael was jolted from her grief by the distant sound of metal, random beats, dull and sharp ringing over the land; she looked toward the trees where the sounds of battle raged. With grave resolution, she straightened and dropped the amulet to her chest, wiping her tears on her sleeve Sharael started toward the sounds of clashing metal, disappearing into the trees as quickly as her weakened state would allow.

Growing closer, Sharael could see broken images through the trees, sunlight reflecting the gleaming edges of steel highlighting the movement of battle. Arriving at the clearings edge, she could clearly see two men locked in combat. One, a dark tanned man; his armour worn, dented and battered; the second wore an armour that gleamed of gold in the sunlight. This man had a shield of dull silver in one hand, in the other, a great black sword, the sword Sharael was seeking, the sword known as the Black Razor!

As Sharael looked on, the dark tanned warrior swept his serviceable weapon through his opponent's neck and the gold warrior fell. The tanned victor dropped his worn blade to the ground and reached for his prize, the Black Razor. Prying it from defeated hands took effort; for even now the fingers gripped with defiant resolve. The victor held his treasure with great reverence and beamed with pride as he admired this most famous and sought after weapon of legend. He chuckled to himself, only a short time before he believed the Black Razor to be a myth, a story told in taverns, a tale told in bedrooms; but now there was no doubt, no doubt at all as he slowly ran his hand along the polished black blade.

What in the world is this made of, not steel or stone, glass perhaps? It didn't matter, ownership is what mattered and the Black Razor was his now, he swung the sword to get the feel of it, learning its strengths, learning his weakness. His connection with this blade was rapture, the feeling of union and invincibility flowed through his body. Suddenly fear lurched in his gut as his eyes fell upon a faint red glow at the edge of his vision. The glow from an amulet that hung on a chain around the neck of a very small figure, immediately the feeling of invincibility wavered with doubt.

Sharael Maldeen moved from the shelter of the woods to the green sunlit grass of the clearing. The warrior towered over her yet there was fear in his eyes. He knew who she was and why she had come; the glowing amulet hanging from her neck said everything, for it was the same as the one he had left in his partner's possession. Yes, he knew her, but to part with such a weapon, something he had worked so hard to possess, it was not a welcomed thought.

The warriors eyes locked with Sharael's as she held her hand out to stress her authority, but he could only shake his head in defiance. She took another step forward and motioned again for him to relinquish his prize. He began to quake with fear, sweat dripped from the pommel as he tightened his grip, but still all he could do was stare into her determined eyes. The feeling of invincibility was fading fast and his nerves were on fire, as an internal conflict raged. How hard would it be to crush her? He asked himself, what am I thinking, this is the White Circle!' He had never been so angry and frightened all at once, so much preparation wasted! A rage swept through his entire body, like that of a cornered beast, in a feeble fit he reared back with the Black Razor. The moment he set his resolve, he felt the Black Razor's connection fade away and the Razor's rejection commenced.

Sharael had been certain this confrontation would not come to a fight, certain her authority would be enough, that the amulet around her neck was all the influence she needed to obtain obedience. A shot of fear stabbed through her as the warrior reared back with aggression.

"Coss Mezza. Coss Messa Duo," but it was too late, she lost focus on the spell, realization of her predicament dawned and her mind began to race making time seem too slow. In a living nightmare, struggling against her clouded mind and her body's lack of control Sharael unsheathed her sword and swept it skyward to meet his powerful blow.

Her strength was no match to his, when the two weapons met the sword of black easily pushed through, hardly feeling the attempt to block. Sharael felt the burning pain as the tendons in her wrist tore from the force to the warrior's assault knocking the weapon from her grip. The clash of metal sent a droning ring through her head as the Razor's path remained unchanged, biting into her shoulder with a force that shattered bone and drove her painfully to her knees.

Sharael swayed as she looked at the Razor's glistening edge. She squinted as her eyes as she tried to focus on his hand, her gaze trailed down the Razor's glistening edge to her impaled shoulder. Her Exhaustion overtaking her, Sharael's head lulled backward to look up at his face. With fear in his veins he reluctantly met her gaze, her blood dappled his chest plate as tremors made his armour chatter.

"What have I done?" he spoke aloud. He broke her gaze and locked his eyes on the familiar and now blood covered amulet that hung over her chest. In the bright sunlight he could hardly tell it was still aglow. "The White Circle," he gasped, he was in disbelief. "He promised me they would not follow!" Terror in the form of tears pricked at his eyes. He looked down at his shaking hand, the hand that still gripped the Razor, his eyes followed it to her flesh. The unnatural weight of the Razor's rejection became sudden and great, it pulled at him though not at her. Becoming impossibly heavy he had to let go; the hilt fell to the ground with a heavy thud, the blade pivoting in her flesh. In shock, taking in the scene, he stepped back tripping over the golden clad warrior and stumbled out of Sharael's distorted view.

Sharael took a deep breath oblivious to what became of her attacker. Pain shot through her neck as she tried to lift her head and failed. Her right hand shaking with shock found the Razor's blade protruding from her breast, her left arm dangled nearly severed. Stunned she tried to move her damaged limb but the arm hung limp and useless, a burning pain that ripped through her body as the shock adjusted its form.

Her functional hand grasped the eleven-pointed amulet as a shriek of agony escaped her lips, desperately she searched her mind for words that eluded her. Paralyzed with pain she could do nothing as her body lost balance and she fell forward. The Black Razor, the sword of power, still deep within her pressed its pommel to the ground as her body tipped forward. Slowly the blade slid through her as she fell to the grass mumbling the words she so desperately sought, words she had spent hours practicing in hopes of never using them.

"Coss Mobi Emergo!" she finally yelled after her mumblings were ineffective. The trigger words of the emergency teleport thickened the air, hissing with magic, a flash of light and she was gone, leaving a small whirl of wind where she lay just moments before.

"Sharael..." Came the strained voice of Porthalis, Sharael opened her eyes peering into a deep blood red abyss. Her pain was gone, and she realized she was between realms, a haven for the Order of the Circle to retrieve her. Like raindrops suspended in air, droplets of her blood floated about, there was no weight to them, no weight to her, no weight to anything. Unable to move, the only sign of life was the voice speaking in her head. "We feel your plight," Porthalis continued. "But we cannot assist. All of our energy must be used to keep us from our destruction. The teleport cannot penetrate the barrier we have assembled, and we dare not lower it. The amulet must care for you now; it will divert the teleport to one sworn in service, Lork Aven. We will send a courier, the plan is in play, all is clear, have hope." The voice disappeared as quickly as it came.

The air thickened and crackled as magic coalesced in a yard a few strides from a small cabin. There was a flash of light and the air hissed as Sharael appeared from the ether. Bounding from the doorway was a huskily built man; around his neck was a softly glowing eleven pointed amulet. Sharael's brief asylum from pain had passed as a thud followed the Black Razor's descent to the ground. Sharael dropped to her knees in front of it. In a brief moment of clarity, she thought to herself as she looked at the blood soaked blade, "I did it."
In the moment before weakness consumed her she felt joy, but the successful retrieval of the weapon was quickly forgotten as throbbing pulses of blood pumped from her body soaking into her clothes. As she fell to all fours, her left shoulder collapsed from the weight, she fell to her side retching in dry waves of nausea. Lork ran to her, chanting a spell she knew she should recognize but did not. She looked up to the sky, the bright sun shining, everything fell out of focus and mercifully, her world went dark.

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Comments

louise

05 February 2010

Is this what you want? A full edit? I've done my best; you may not agree and that's up to you. My edits are in {brackets}.

The warm afternoon sun shone down {delete "down". It's redundant, because the sun can't shine "up"} between the trees that lined the road, the summer air grew thick and crackled as magic coalesced.

There was a flash, {change comma to a semicolon ; } the air hissed and rushed away as Sharael Maldeen appeared from the ether. Her long blond hair blew about her {delete "about her"} in the magical wind as she staggered{comma} trying to regain her senses from the teleportation.

She wore dark, soft hide leggings, her shirt was a dull homespun cloth, her high dark boots were hardened and waxed, a short sword in a plain scabbard hung at her side. {delete all of this description - do not TELL the reader what a character is reading. Have instead, "she wiped blood off her dark boots/she tripped over her sword/she had a hole in her soft hide leggings etc"}

Sharael trembled from the transformation of position she willingly underwent in order to preserve the White Circle from the events of three days past {I don't understand this. Has she changed form? Can you make it simpler?}. Her trembling {delete "trembling" here to avoid reptition} hand grasped the amulet that dangled around her neck by a long silver chain. It had been given to her by Porthalis, head of the Order of the Circle and Arch Magi of the White Circle (one of the eight circles that made up the Order){I understand you need to get this in, but it's too much information and the reader will skim it. Maybe a full stop after "Porthalis" and then feed his background in later on somehow?}

Sharael pulled lightly on the amulet and the chain tightened,{swap comma for a full stop} {S}till weak she found herself crouching to keep from falling, {using the "ing" words make weakens writing - Still weak, she crouched before she fell, and sat on her haunches for a moment to regain her composure} and after a few moments {to compose herself? Rest?}, she struggled to stand. Sharael stood still {we know she's standing. Have, "she clutched the amulet...}clutching the amulet; she could feel it{s} warm and{delete "and} stir beneath her touch. Knowing what she would witness, tears formed in her eyes as she opened her hand.

The amulet, a silver adamantine twelve-pointed star had encrusted upon it a large red ruby that was glowing softly {Not sure what you're trying to say here. A glowing ruby had appeared on the amulet?}. A single facet on the gems impressive surface seemed to be a darker red than those around it {the jewels around it?}.

The twelve points began to writhe and shift in the palm of her hand as two creaked in the act of joining themselves together to form a single eleventh point. Tears streaming down her face, the transformation did not surprise her, she knew what it meant, Arthessi of the White Circle, her dear old friend, was dead, his sentence imposed.

Sharael was jolted from her grief by the distant sound of metal, random beats, dull and sharp ringing over the land; she looked toward the trees where the sounds of battle raged. With grave resolution, she straightened and dropped the amulet to her chest, wiping her tears on her sleeve Sharael started toward the sounds of clashing metal, {disappearing into the trees - delete} as quickly as her weakened state would allow.

Growing closer, Sharael could see broken{fragmented?} images through the trees, sunlight reflecting the gleaming edges of steel highlighting the movement of battle. Arriving at the {clearings'} edge, she could {clearly - delete} see two men locked in combat. One, a dark tanned man; his armour worn, dented and battered; the second wore an armour that gleamed of gold in the sunlight. {Again, you can SHOW the reader what these men looked like without telling}This man had a shield of dull silver in one hand, in the other, a great black sword, the sword Sharael was seeking, the sword known as the Black Razor! {definitely have a new paragraph here}

{Ok, so now we're in another POV (point of view). You must have a scene break (double space or a new chapter) to give the reader a chance to realise something was changing.}Prying it from defeated hands took effort; for even now the fingers gripped with defiant resolve. The victor held his treasure with great reverence and beamed with pride as he admired this most famous and sought after weapon of legend. He chuckled to himself, only a short time before he believed the Black Razor to be a myth, a story told in taverns, a tale told in bedrooms; but now there was no doubt, no doubt at all as he slowly ran his hand along the polished black blade. What in the world is this made of, not steel or stone, glass perhaps? It didn't matter, ownership is what mattered and the Black Razor was his now, he swung the sword to get the feel of it, learning its strengths, learning his{its?} weakness. His connection with this blade was rapture, the feeling of union and invincibility flowed through his body.

Suddenly fear lurched in his gut as his eyes fell upon a faint red glow at the edge of his vision. The glow from an amulet that hung on a chain around the neck of a very small figure, immediately the feeling of invincibility wavered with doubt. Sharael Maldeen {we're in his POV so does he know her name? Maybe have, the "woman/girl" instead?}moved from the shelter of the woods to the green sunlit grass of the clearing. The warrior towered over her yet there was fear in his eyes. He knew who she was and why she had come; the glowing amulet hanging from her neck said everything, for it was the same as the one he had left in his partner's possession. Yes, he knew her, but to part with such a weapon, something he had worked so hard to possess, it was not a welcomed thought.

The warrior{'}s eyes locked with Sharael's as she held her hand out to stress her authority, but he could only shake his head in defiance.

She took another step forward and motioned again for him to relinquish his prize. He began to quake with fear, sweat dripped from the pommel as he tightened his grip, but still all he could do was stare into her determined eyes. The feeling of invincibility was fading fast and his nerves were on fire, as an internal conflict raged. How hard would it be to crush her? He asked himself, {Is he talking aloud? If so, then use speech marks. If he's thinking, then none are needed}what am I thinking, this is the White Circle!' He had never been so angry and frightened all at once{, semicolon} so much preparation wasted!

A rage swept through his entire body, like that of a cornered beast, in a feeble fit he reared back with the Black Razor. The moment he set his resolve, he felt the Black Razor's connection fade away and the Razor's rejection commenced{this word doesn't fit, somehow. It sounds like the Razor is rejecting the warrior?}

{Change of POV, so scene break - saying that if the warrior is a passing character it'd be easy to keep him in Sharael's POV. She could be watching him, seeing his fear/smelling his fear etc}Sharael had been certain this confrontation would not come to a fight, certain her authority would be enough, that the amulet around her neck was all the influence she needed to obtain obedience. A shot of fear stabbed through her as the warrior reared back with aggression. "Coss Mezza. Coss Messa Duo,{who's speaking?}" but it was too late, she lost focus on the spell, realization of her predicament dawned and her mind began to race making time seem too slow. In a living nightmare, struggling against her clouded mind and her body's lack of control Sharael unsheathed her sword and swept it skyward to meet his powerful blow.

Her strength was no match to his, {and}when the two weapons met{comma} the sword of black easily pushed through{pushed through what? When the two weapons met, Sharael was sent spinning backwards, as she fell she felt the burning pain as the tendons in her wrist tore.}, hardly feeling the attempt to block. Sharael felt the burning pain as the tendons in her wrist tore {from the force to the warrior's assault knocking the weapon from her grip - delete}. The clash of metal sent a droning ring through her head as the Razor's path remained unchanged, biting into her shoulder with a force that shattered bone and drove her painfully to her knees.

Sharael swayed as she looked at the Razor's glistening edge. She {squinted as her eyes as she - delete} tried to focus on his hand, her gaze trailed down the Razor's glistening edge {repetition} to her impaled shoulder. Her {E - lowercase}xhaustion overtaking her, Sharael's head lulled backward to look up at his face.

{change of POV}With fear in his veins he reluctantly met her gaze, her blood dappled his chest plate as tremors made his armour chatter.

"What have I done?" he spoke{said} aloud. He broke her gaze and locked his eyes on the familiar and now blood covered amulet that hung over her chest. In the bright sunlight he could hardly tell it was still aglow. "The White Circle," he gasped {in disbelief?}, he was in disbelief. "He promised me they would not follow!" Terror in the form of tears pricked at his eyes. He looked down at his shaking hand, the hand that still gripped the Razor, his eyes followed it to her flesh.

The unnatural weight of the Razor's rejection became sudden and great, it pulled at him though not at her {I'm not clear here what you mean}. Becoming impossibly heavy he had to let go; the hilt fell to the ground with a heavy thud, the blade pivoting in her flesh. In shock, taking in the scene, he stepped back tripping over the golden clad warrior and stumbled out of Sharael's distorted view.

Sharael took a deep breath oblivious to what became of her attacker. Pain shot through her neck as she tried to lift her head and failed. Her right hand shaking with shock found the Razor's blade protruding from her breast, her left arm dangled{comma} nearly severed{they'd be blood everywhere if this was the case}. Stunned{comma} she tried to move her damaged limb but the arm hung limp and useless, a burning pain {that - delete} ripped through her body as the shock {adjusted its form - what do you mean?}.

The Black Razor, the sword of power, still deep within her pressed its pommel to the ground as her body tipped forward. Slowly the blade slid through her as she fell to the grass mumbling the words she so desperately sought{, semicolon} words she had spent hours practicing in hope{s - delete} of never using {them - delete}.

"Coss Mobi Emergo!" she finally yelled after her mumblings were ineffective.

The trigger words of the emergency teleport thickened the air, hissing with magic, a flash of light and she was gone, leaving a small whirl of wind where she lay just moments before.

"We feel your plight," Porthalis continued. "But we cannot assist. All of our energy must be used to keep us from our destruction. The teleport cannot penetrate the barrier we have assembled, and we dare not lower it. The amulet must care for you now; it will divert the teleport to one sworn in service, Lork Aven. We will send a courier, the plan is in play, all is clear, have hope." The voice disappeared as quickly as it came {be aware of clichés} . The air thickened and crackled as magic coalesced in a yard a few strides from a small cabin. There was a flash of light and the air hissed as Sharael appeared from the ether {where is she? Where she started?}.

Bounding from the doorway was a huskily built man; around his neck was a softly glowing eleven pointed amulet. Sharael's brief asylum from pain had passed as a thud followed the Black Razor's descent to the ground. Sharael dropped to her knees in front of it. In a brief moment of clarity, she thought to herself{comma} as she looked at the blood soaked blade, "I did it."

In the moment before weakness consumed her she felt joy, but the successful retrieval of the weapon was quickly forgotten as throbbing pulses of blood pumped from her body soaking into her clothes. As she fell to all fours, her left shoulder collapsed from the weight, she fell to her side retching in dry waves of nausea. Lork {is Lork the huckily built man? Make this clearer if so} ran to her, chanting a spell she knew she should recognize but {did - change for could }not. She looked up to the sky, the bright sun shining, {then}everything fell out of focus and mercifully, her world went dark.

Well done. It's very dark and has a lot of feeling. I think you can afford to slow down though and weave the story in gently.

Is this what you want? A full edit? I've done my best; you may not agree and that's up to you.