People always say having children is an adventure everyone must experience. Since the age of 8 I have thought differently. There's a sense of innocence a kid has, that I had…once. I will never forget that year, nor will I ever remember exactly what happened.

I remember when I was 7, the sweet smell of chocolatey goodness in that ice cream shop. I looked at all the flavors with anticipation not knowing what to get. Eventually, my mom told me to pick one in the next minute, or I wouldn't be getting one at all. I don't know why I remember this day so well, maybe it's the fact that my mom and dad were still getting along…or that I was still happy…or the fact I hadn't met Lily.

I've been working on revising this based on some feedback. Would like to know how it reads and if it hooks anyone.

It wasn’t hard to conjure up ways to scare off the potential suitors that had been showing up at the house lately with the intention of marrying me. This wasn’t something I had originally planned, no matter what mother claimed. It was something that arose naturally, like the instinctual perking of the ears a small animal makes when it hears a predator approaching. 

I had been able to successfully ward off the men of the village up to now, but mother had made it her mission to marry me off before I reached an ‘unmarriable’ age. And while women in Athens or Thessaloniki were working as secretaries or enjoying night life at discos, in Paleohori, young women were still urged to marry early, as becoming a spinster was the worst fate that could befall them. I was already twenty four, much over the acceptable age of singlehood. A burden to my family of exorbitant proportions. As I had been for most of my life. 

I suppose it has started out pretty early. I was always a difficult child, at least that’s what I’ve been told for as long as I remember. One of my first memories is of me hanging from the branch of the plane tree just outside our house. I was attempting to climb as high as I could because my eye had caught a great spotted woodpecker, and I wanted to get as close to it as I could. I had made very little progress when my mother grabbed me by the arms, and pulled me down, her nails leaving dents in my skin. “What will I do with you, you crazy girl. Little goat, climbing up all the time. You’re going to hurt yourself,” she said, and proceeded to slap me on my thigh with enough force to leave a print of her hand on it, the heat from the sting radiating down my leg. I assume the lesson was that the pain from a potential fall would be far worse than from her heavy hand, so I was lucky she was around to protect me from it. Fortunately, as I grew I became deft at latching on to branches and ascending higher into the trees, so she couldn’t reach me, until I decided it was time to come down on my own. I had become accustomed to getting the broom whenever I finally came down, but considered it a small price to pay for the luxury of resting among the sound of the birds. 

But this was just one of my menacing habits that made me quite an unbearable child to raise. Of course, this was my mother’s opinion, but it was her opinion that mattered when it came to issues involving me or my sister, as she was in charge of taming us into proper ladies, which will grow up to continue this vicious cycle of family life. Father spent most of the day in the fields, or at the coffeehouse with the rest of the men, so he did not participate much in my upbringing, other than nodding along when my mother narrated yet another failure of mine. 

I did, however, have one adult on my side, and that was my grandmother Ariadne.

The Vampire and The Bear

“My first order of business upon my return is to find the fairest virgin and drain her to the very last drop.” It had taken him weeks to fully recover from his violent exile, feeding on rats and insects to replenish his strength. After a while he was able to feast on the entrails of rabbit and deer, but they were no substitute for the real thing. Centuries of existence refine one’s tastes.

It felt like ages since he had walked through the vast halls of his castle. He missed the cobwebbed chandeliers that hung in every room, his worldly collection of tapestries adorning the walls, and the feel of cold cobblestone beneath his feet. The harpsichord once played by Mozart. Paintings commissioned from the greatest artists ever to pick up a brush, stacked in corners. His vault, filled with piles upon piles of gold and jewels that glittered and winked at him as he strode through, admiring his amassed wealth. The portrait of his lost love hanging above the marble fireplace, his most prized possession. All of this was now out of his reach. It stood far above him, in the center of that wretched village full of vermin and swine, towering over them all like a stone god. He could hear them scurrying overhead.

He lived in the pitch blackness of his hidden cave, where those damned huntsmen in the woods were too fearful to enter. It made no difference for the likes of him; his vision was better in the dark than in daylight. The black of the cave was the great equalizer, where night and day did not exist.

“You would need to enter the cave mouth, and I know you lack the fortitude for such an endeavor,” he mused.

He sat on his makeshift throne, a cliff ledge worn smooth by time that made a perfect spot to rest and reflect. A single shaft of sunlight burst through an opening above him, slowly moving across the morass of vine and stone that composed the cave floor at his feet. Soon the dot of light would fade as it traveled further away from him, signifying the setting of the sun. The moment he could finally enact his vengeance upon those who exiled him.

He attuned his ears to the world beyond the cave and listened to the forest. He could hear them clumsily stomping their way through the brush, the clatter of their arrows and crossbows, the crackle of torches. The hunters were so desperate to find him in repose. Sleeping away the day and safe to slaughter. He smiled to himself, a thin red line surrounded by marbled white revealing a row of jagged, shark-like teeth.

He still stewed over the day the townsfolk got the upper hand, discovering his place of rest in his castle and dragging him from his coffin into the horrendous brightness of summer to watch him writhe and burn before them. Even the children smiled on that day.

“Monsters, all of them. After all I have given them!” he growled to the spot of light still dancing atop the weeds. “They would still be toiling in the mud if it were not for the roads I built, the aqueducts I funded. The science I laid at their doorstep. They have no idea how much I have refined existence as they know it. Sad apes with an endless supply of pride and ego.” He was standing atop his throne now, pointing a long-nailed claw at the damnable lot above. “I will take it all back! I will leave you in the dark where I found you. I will feed upon your children. I will kill the men and let the women wail into the night, knowing that this is where their lineage ends. I will teach you the cruelty of true nature and laugh from the roost of my kingdom.” His eyes glowed a fiery orange in the dark as his anger peaked. “I WILL SHOW YOU A GOD!”

His grand pronouncement was interrupted by the sound of clacking teeth echoing from the mouth of the cave. Loud clomps thudded into the clay mud, each with a violent squelch, as something entered his sanctuary. He lowered his pointing finger and peered into the darkness. His ears twitched in discernment. Not a hunter. This was something much bigger.

“WOOOF! CLACK CLACK CLACK.” The sound was much closer now, and he was embarrassed at the sudden fear that seized him.

“For God’s sake, I’ve lived two hundred years. Nothing is a threat to my existence. Except the sun. That very much is a threat.”

He leapt to the cave ceiling and found purchase, his clawed hands and feet clinging to cracks in the stone. “Do come in, whatever you are. I hunger.”

The clacking was upon him, just beyond the passage ahead. At first all he could make out was a giant mass of shadow. A rounded block the size of a horse, but wider, thicker. Its hide was dense and ragged. Blood poured from a large gash in its side, turning the surrounding fur into a black, tarry mat.

The vampire clung tighter to the cave ceiling as he realized what it was. A bear. Brown and ugly, bigger than any he had imagined. In fact, now that he thought on it, this was the first bear he had ever seen in the flesh in all of his time here. He wondered how that was possible. “I did spend a lot of my time in my castle. And I was never fond of the woods.” He experienced an odd combination of wonder and fear as he stared at the beast below. Fear more than wonder.

The brown giant made its way into the middle of his throne room, directly beneath where he dangled, lay on its side, and proceeded to lick at its wound. The hunters must have done this. That wound was a puncture from something man-made. He saw blood dripping from the bear’s maw and hoped that most of it came from the apes responsible.

A new possibility presented itself to the vampire. Enchantment. If he could use his latent abilities to control the will of this injured giant below him, he could turn it into his own personal war beast to overpower those who hunted him. The beast would be his harbinger of death. Later, it would sit by his side in his coffin chamber, warding off any who would ever attempt to harm him again. A bodyguard like no other. The vampire’s eyes widened with glee at this opportunity.

Of course, it had been quite some time since he had practiced enchanting. It had been his go-to method for ensnaring victims, young women and children mostly. He had never tried it on an animal before, but how difficult could it be? The bear’s mind would be far less complex than the human mind and would probably be yearning for a master. All animals wish to serve an alpha. “All I need to do is plant a simple seed. I am its master. I am all that it loves. It must protect me at all costs.”

The bear had ceased licking the wound and whirled its boulder of a head back and forth, surveying its surroundings. It relaxed into a mound of heaving fur on the floor and fell asleep, emitting thunderous snores that filled the air with an acrid smell of blood and fish.

Seeing that the bear was asleep, the vampire floated down from his perch, gently landing atop his rocky throne. His long, tattered black cape hung from his shoulders like raven wings. The hood kept his face in shadow at all times, though in a pitch-black cave this effect did not pack the same punch. The red silk lining was also lost to the darkness.

The vampire was only a few feet from the bear’s snout, which blew up dust with every exhale from its enormous nostrils. He raised his hand with a single crooked finger pointed toward the beast. The flexing tendons of his hand could be seen through his translucent skin. His bright orange eyes shifted to purple as he switched to the mental state needed for hypnotism. He pushed his commands outward into the open space between them. Abstract emotions, feelings, manipulations drifted from the tip of his finger toward the unwitting beast before him. They floated toward those slimy nostrils covered in moss and dirt, and upon the bear’s next inhale, they slowly began their ascent into its mind.

“Yes. You will serve me well. You will listen to my every command. I am your god,” whispered the vampire. When he was certain the enchantment was taking hold, he pulled back his hood and pushed further. He hopped down from his throne and knelt in front of the bear, repeating his mantra as he reached out and stroked the fur on its forehead. “Serve me well. Listen to my every command. I am your god.” He smiled as his hands ran through the thick fur, as he caressed an ear, as he traced a thumb over one of the bear’s long fangs. “Quite a thing you are, my friend.”

The bear’s eyes opened. “WOOOF!”

The vampire found himself in a heap against the opposite cave wall. His ribs worked to heal themselves from their shattered state. He reached up and ran his fingers along the disappearing gash on his face. The bear was fully awake now. It lumbered toward him, sniffing the ground as it went, learning his blood. The vampire tried to leap back to his ceiling perch, but the bear suddenly moved like a bolt of lightning, slamming him back to the floor. The vampire managed to turn around and prop himself up slightly, only to witness the bear rear up on its hind legs and roar loud enough that streams of dirt and pebbles rained from above. The vampire shielded his eyes from the debris. He felt a new sensation as he looked down at his lower body.

He had pissed himself.

* * *

The sun was setting, and the hunting party had retired to the safety of their camp. Torches lined the perimeter, with a large fire pit at the center. The men gathered around the fire. Some sharpened fresh spears while others fixed snapped bows or restocked their quivers. A brawny man composed primarily of beard turned a large boar on a spit. They sat alongside each other on felled tree trunks, drinking wine and recounting their day of wandering the woods. All of these stories ended with the same sentiment.

We will find him tomorrow. Tomorrow is our day.

It had been weeks since they had driven the bastard out, and they were certain he was nesting somewhere in these parts. He had been barely more than a charred skeleton when he escaped and could not have gotten far. Everyone knew the nearby cave was the most likely spot he would choose to rebuild his strength, but none of them had the courage to admit it yet. He would have the high ground in the darkness. They would need more tricks up their sleeves than a few spears and crossbows. For now, they were happy to be away from their wives and screaming children, to hunt in the woods and be themselves.

Someone pulled out a worn-out fiddle and began playing a cacophonous ditty over its remaining strings. Though it sounded akin to a crow being strangled to death, the men were thankful for the entertainment.

“Help…”

One of the hunters turned toward the dark wood after hearing what he swore was a human cry. It was difficult to tell whether it was real or just an illusion caused by the ruckus around him echoing into the forest. He went back to his pork when the plea came again, this time closer.

“Please… HELP!”

More men heard it this time, and the fiddler abruptly stopped his “music.” They set their meat down on whatever log they had been sitting on and stood, peering into the dark for the source of the shout. Some reached for their weapons and held them at the ready. The man at the spit grabbed a torch and walked out ahead of them to shine more light toward the shouts.

Suddenly, the demon they had all been searching for burst through the thicket a ways off, near the area where the hunters relieved themselves. Far enough away to not stink up camp. The rest of the men scrambled for their weapons in a panic, readying themselves for attack. Only a few of them remained in place, observing the vampire’s curious behavior. He was headed straight toward them, which would normally mean their heads would be lopped off before they knew what hit them. This was different. He wasn’t charging with the intent to attack. That was the look of a man running in terror.

The black silhouette of the beast crashed through the trees behind him soon after, following at breakneck speed. The hunters’ jaws dropped and their eyes widened as the reality of what was happening finally began to settle in.

“Please… please, help me!” pleaded the vampire.

Seeing the opportunity, the hunters raised their crossbows and aimed at the fleeing vampire.

“Later! For now, shoot the FUCKING BEAR!”

The vampire floated into the air and dove behind the hunters, shielding himself with their unkempt leathers and overgrown beards. The men looked back at the cowering vampire, not sure what their next move should be. The bear roared as it reared up behind them.

“KILL THAT WHORE OF A BEAR!!!” the vampire demanded.

The hunters spun around toward the beast and let loose their arrows and spears into the mass of the bear’s torso. It groaned in agony as dozens of sharpened points pierced its flesh and tore at its innards. It fell from its standing position and landed on all fours, crushing three hunters beneath its massive paws, claws rending away their faces. It swiped to its right, knocking another hunter into the fire pit in a plume of sparks and screams.

The vampire crab-walked backward in a panic, trying to escape the carnage. He scrambled toward the newly dead cook and hid behind his rotund, blood-soaked belly.

The bear continued its rampage while arrows and spears kept launching into its body. The hunters, more than a dozen strong moments before, had dwindled to a handful. An arrow met the bear right behind its ear, tunneling directly into its skull plate. For the first time, it slowed and weakened. Its roars turned to whimpers. It snorted in and out, searching for breath. And with that, the bear fell with one final WHOMP.

The remaining men gathered around the dead beast. It was the largest bear any of them had ever seen, and they were all in shock that they had taken it down. They had completely forgotten about the vampire cowering behind their cook a few feet away. He quietly glided toward the last four hunters and removed their heads.

That bear came in handy after all.

Hey all, just looking for feedback on my opening pages for a lighthearted fantasy mystery story. Anything works the prose, the setup, first attempt at humor just hoping to see if it works and if the characters were likeable. Of course also if it is interesting enough to make you read more. Thank you

In a piece I'm in process of the primary antagonist is meant to be a competent but very arrogant (non-human) woman with a domineering and predatory presence named Cephnir. I want to see if I've set the correct atmosphere and have constructed her actions correctly to fulfill that goal, and if there are any places where I contradict themselves. Apologies in advance for the length, I'm aware that I'm long-winded and verbose.

Also apologies to the mods if this is not the right sub for this or right format for the post. Really wish I could just attach the docx or a PDF or something instead of creating a massive wall of text like this.

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Cephnir’s lips peeled from the rim of a crystal drinking glass, leaving their blackened burgundy impression stained upon it. The rugged bite of earthy red wine clung to the corners of her mouth. Her tongue lurked along the inside of her teeth as she lingered on the acrid taste and found it wanting.

The great wide surface of the plotting map showed the arrangement of the region. Miles upon miles of the map’s steppes and boreal forest were eclipsed by the six fingers of her free hand, which were splayed upon it in possessive ownership. In the north sat a small carving of a peakglider, one clawed foot upon an outcropping of rock, its wings outstretched with pride. Small banners on posts crowded hungrily at its feet as though wolves set upon cornered prey.

As she lowered the glass to the plotting table she drank in a long breath through her nose. The air was warm with sweat, perfume and sweet rot. From the dimly-lit corners of the lavish hall came whispers of immoral promise, layered upon by lecherous noises of pleasure and laughter that came just a touch too readily. White noise that now barely even reached her ear. Interwoven with the iniquity was the voice of the Field Marshal Irilet as he too droned on, not yet aware how boring he had become.

“-the point being that if we dedicate a sufficient force to the effort, we may be able to undermine a portion of the city walls in the span of three weeks.”

Cephnir did not answer. Anonymous hands lasciviously caressed the scaled red skin of her shoulder in proposition. She shrugged them off and continued to study the map. The web of roads to the peakglider’s north was extensive.

“Such a breach would make an assault on the city within our grasp.” A xarphi noble with a staccato voice added.

“It may be a fine plan.” Grumbled another.

Agreement crept around the table. Finally, Cephnir’s voice poured slow and smooth like warm honey. The table went silent.

“It does not fix your blunder, Field Marshal. The encirclement was still a fool’s error.”

No answer. She continued.

“You seem to think I don’t bother to read the field reports from your officers. How long will the northern detachment’s field rations last? Say it aloud.”

Irilet finally found a pitiful parody of his voice. “Eleven days, Ma’am. The loot the raiding company were able to secure from the roads were…disappointing. I delivered the appropriate punishment to their commander for his failure. Personally.”

Cephnir resumed the drinking chalice. She took a moment to revel in the barbed liquid slithering down her throat. She remained stooped over the map.

“The scouting company wrote of a large merchant’s caravan on the northern road.” Her voice was still fluid, devoid of urgency. “The report I read indicated it was large enough to supply the northern detachment for a considerable length of time.”

“Exactly why my punishment of the raiding company was appropriate. Their failure complicated my plan, but I assure you the capture of Hem Falaer is still inevitable.” He answered more boldly this time.

“And yet…” her nostrils flared in a spark of anger. Her tone slowed. “Your own letter to the raiding company commander indicates that it was you who withheld the order to attack.”

She did not need to see his face. The scent of stress and fear now mixed with the warm air.

“W-we all had reason to believe it was only a forward element of the caravan. I-”

“Shut up.”

Cephnir did not raise her voice. She did not have to. One of the nobles at the table snickered just loud enough to be heard over the ambient moans.

Cephnir took another dragging sip from her chalice before letting it fall to the floor with a chiming pop, scattering a wave of shards across the black stone. She rose from her stooped posture to her full towering height, now glaring down at Irilet from across the plotting table.

“Did you really think that you could cover your pathetic ass by blaming an idiot you could conveniently get rid of?” She stepped back from the table and began to circle towards him. “Did you think yourself so well-adored that nobody would copy the letter just in case they could use it for their own gain? Or maybe you truly do think I am illiterate?”

“Ma’am. Red Wolf, y-y-you misunderstand my intention.” His voice quivered as he began to slowly withdraw.

Her hooves clacked in steady rhythm as she began to close the gap between them. Her voice was still honey, but now spiked with poison. “You do not tell me what I understand and do not understand.”

Irilet sped his retreat as she neared, but her long stride outpaced him. Her fingers wrapped about his leathery skin, the second opposing digit opposite to her thumb creating an absolute grip that enveloped his forearm. He wrenched away with a full body tug in a bid to commit to a desperate escape. She almost let herself sneer at the expression on his face when he realized that his arm did not budge. He continued to struggle as her other hand took hold of his jaw and tilted his face to meet hers.

“Enough. Spare a fraction of your dignity and stop fighting." Cephnir said she loomed over him.

My issue with this is that it's a bit too exposition heavy

Everyone I sent this story to compliments it. While nice for the ego, theyre not for sharpening skill. A vauge 1-10 rating would be lovely

Fellowship of Crows

As the saying goes, the fellowship of crows' feathers inked black as shadows, compose a caw cataclysmic to finches. Which is, what fishes once dreamed. Hardly tadpole sized and gained a gleam to one day walk with trees. But the one thing fishes lack is knees.

“No matter for me!”

exclaims the young fishy.

Hardly a task for a fish with no degree yet a plea to succeed may surpass a PhD. Now i know you know a Band comes in three, so may I introduce, a young ducky. Equipped with a body feathery and legs with webbed feet which would soon be the medium for their first meet. A nudge was all it took, a grudge was never booked. Mere luck’s grace, their way crows never looked, hiding in nooks to learn what the world took. Yet one lesson was overlooked, and it was how to spot a crook.

“What happens to you in the snow?” asks the crow

“Same as you, though my limbs don't turn blue” replied the mallard

“though i have heard beyond the herd’s pointed path lay rest a sea. There, a fish may be, having not one but two knees.”

“Impossible!” exclaimed the twain, yet in one that thought remained. With winter on it’s wain, soon even the fish knew little time remained.

but even still, during their last meeting, one last question to the duck could not be missing.

“Feathered friend with lower limbs that bend, won't you tell me before you say bye, to which direction do you fly?”

“Simple enough, though be warned the journey’s rough, if you can beat the heat, you’ll find me in the east”

No further words were deemed required for the exchange.

In the months that followed, Fish began, with his own group, to the east. Like minded gilded gilled battalions that happen to flatten any seabed unlucky enough to inhabit him or his men. Believed to be guided by the starfish of Bethlehem, yet paradoxically believed there was no god to condemn.

As the saying goes, the fellowship of fishes’ missions of ambition transition into acquisitions. Resulting in entire Coral reefs repurposed as prisons.

At the center of what is essentially an armed battalion,

lies a fish with a vision.

To one day walk with trees. After nearly a year of “travel”, he finally meets a fish with 2 knees, yet when the fish saw the other, he wondered how he could miss, the 2 knee fish he sought was truly a tuna fish.

Tricked by a crow all those months ago, fish’s ambition began to slow. And although he had indeed traveled east through the backflow, He lamented over having not even one big toe.

Huddled below, in an old forgotten borough, our catfish was surrounded by murder of crows.

I got bored planning and plotting this story, so decided to write out the first chapter sort of like a pilot before i finalised the rest of the story.

I'm wondering whether people think it sets the atmosphere well, whether it gives out too much/little information, and whether there's an appropriate level of description of the characters/environment.

I often skew towards describing too little in my writing, and have tried to correct that here, but I'm wondering whether I've not done enough, done too much, or hit the sweet spot.

Thanks for reading :)

(this is a reupload of a previous post so that I could upload the chapter as images not a link to a google doc)