I've actually been working on this since I was about 12 or 13. It's about a destined hero who turns his back on all the love in his life for the path of a villain. This is half of chapter one because I'm too lazy to type up the rest at the moment.

Before you guys say anything, I want to say that by Dragoon, I mean Dragon Warrior, not bitbeast. This has nothing to do with Beyblade. As a matter of fact, Dragoon references has been made many times outside of Beyblade in other franchises.

All that aside, tell me what you think! I'm not looking for "omg this is awesome!!!!" Please give me some constructive feedback or questions regarding content, not "character requests" or release times... because there will be no character requests.

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Chapter One

Spoiler (Click to View)

The yellow of the sun was my favourite part of the morning. I’d always smile as the burst of rays hit the sand-blasted stone buildings with a fresh hue. It was before the civilians flooded the streets that I would gaze at the painted city from the old bell tower. She was my keeper. The tower, I mean. We both had been abandoned. When they made the new, much higher tower as a part of the shrine to the Dragoon, this tower was left to waste. That was some years ago. We were both left behind at the same time – the right time.

Ever since, I’d wake up to invite the light into my home with the same stupid visage. By the time the city of Istallio was up and about, my cheeks had turned red from the sand captured in the air by the morning gusts. It stung, but I loved it anyway. Whatever grains in the wind that did not scamper away found their way into my teeth. Maybe nature knew of my hunger, although even I detest the salt and filth of the earth in my gums.

When the light in the sky had blanketed the city, the screeches of the merchant rats would fill the streets. Had I any guests, I’m sure they would argue that my stomach cries louder. It was my signal for food! I eased up from my stead with a roar of a yawn. I sucked my teeth, scratched my lower back gruffly, and caressed my middle.

In a daze, I swaggered around the bell and down the stairs I went – or what was left of them. Round I sailed, having to leap most the way. The decaying wooden platforms moaned in protest to my weight. Maybe one day the planks would shatter beneath me. Would I be harmed or bathed in splintered arbor? Half of the thrill is never knowing! There was always a creek or a snap unless there was a gap. Should the shouts of a collapsing limb ever reach my ears, I’d swiftly grasp anything that appeared in anyway firm to prevent another absent rung. It was a cumbersome journey downward that I’ll get around to fixing eventually.

I’m not the only resident to take refuge here. The people of Istallio are cruel to those less fortunate, but not I. I look out for my own. After all, you could mistake a cob web for one of those tattered curtains. People hate bugs, but I don’t mind them. I see the parallel between me and them – we’re both freeloaders. With each bound, I’d admire their threaded masterpieces draped across the rot of the building. I took great caution to not harm their art.

With every turn and every leap I made, I kept the upmost faith in my home. The tower was the only protector I had left and over the years she has become much like a motherly figure to me. She stays strong for me and listens to my struggles with neither a complaint nor argument.

Upon reaching the last step, I clutched the very start of the rail as if to hug it goodbye. I flew across two vacant steps and planted my feet in the soft dirt I had borrowed from the world outside. It served as a magnificent carpet on the frayed stone floor. Five steps forward and a twist to the right was the door to Istallio, the headache and the adventure of my life.

With the heel of my hand, I rubbed my eye to salute the climbing sun. The fingertips of my spare hand crept up my shirt to claw at my filthy belly. The smell of tantalizing baked goods filled my nostrils. It was a luxury meal forbidden to paupers like myself. Surely this is the city’s way of mocking my morning salutation.

So there I am, meandering the streets. I’ve been squishing that eye of mine with the end of my palm for quite some time now. You’d think I’d have settled the itch or ache that had been nested there. It wasn’t really an irritation, but more of a habit. I have some odd habits. Take this fruit vendor for example. Yeah, that pudgy guy that’s a few shops down in that rickety stall. Well, it was more like a cart with a canopy. It was so worn that I could never figure out if it actually moved. It was in the same condition he was. He had gaps in his bite, a short greasy mane, and tears in his tunic, which I might add, was so tiny that everyone had a simply delightful view of his bulging gut. I’m no prince, but he has a source of income so why not live like it? I suppose I do cut his profits down. See, that’s a habit of mine.

My hands were stuffed in my pockets, my eyes were far from the prize, and my beaten feet were making their way toward my victim. My trail halted at the terrain-chiseled frame of the cart. I rested my elbow on it and my back welcomed the merchant rat.

“You’ve gonna buy or what?” I heard through his snort.

“No, I’m just here to make a delivery.” I said nonchalantly.

“Delivery? I didn’t order no –“

I cut him off with a swing at the post holding up the tapestry above his stall. Well, it was more like a cart. It all came tumbling down and in his own confusion, he must have crushed the cart with his own dead weight. The carrier of such godly morsels was now lopsided and my breakfast was racing into the dirt. I tried to swallow my laughter and shock as I scooped up a few and stumbled away in a hurry. Profanity flooded the road only to be drowned in apathy.

I crammed the succulent treat into the large void between my lips, shredding its tender flesh. The sweet juices trickled down my jaw and neck as I gained unnecessary distance. Yum, peaches! I wonder if he’ll have apples tomorrow? I slipped the left overs into my pockets and tied the rope around my waist a little tighter to support the burden.

“That ought to do the trick!” There was that moronic grin again. I was so proud of myself. I managed to trick the same idiot nearly every morning. I must have thought I had some special talent. Granted, today I was more destructive than usual. Normally I prefer a stealthy swipe.

I slowed my pace in search of a place to relax. I wanted something new, something scenic. Why not a rooftop? Not new, but I’m normally too lazy to climb. I scanned the road. There were a few pedestrians and a man struggling to haul his cart. I didn’t want to cause too much commotion while scaling a wall so I took flight to a narrow passage. I entered through the unlocked door of a tall gate. Rubbish was scattered through-out the corridor and a stone wall marked the end. I proceeded to clamber up the wooden fence.

I rose up several body lengths using the holes as holds for my hands and feet. With such a fragile structure, I knew this was going to be dangerous. As I came to the peak of the fence, I felt it quake below. There was a plank branched between the two buildings that I used to hoist myself to the top. Thankfully, I avoided disaster.
From the rooftops of the slums, I watched its rodents scurry in the streets. They were not of much interest to me that moment. I lay on my back and fixated on something more calming.

For hours, I lost myself in the sky, my thoughts gallivanting away with the dashing clouds. The breeze rippled my locks and brought with it a clean scent, different from the putrid odor I’m accustomed to. I enjoyed soaking up the day’s warmth. At this height, I could be free with the world above, paying no mind to the ruckus of the life below. I spent my day here, gazing at the strands of white against the blue. For a desert town, we had many clouds and a moderate climate.

As the sun began to retire, I felt the need to as well. Just as I was making the effort to rise, crashing bounced through the alley beneath. They didn’t seem to let up either. With a groan of inconvenience, I rolled around to peer into the path from my perch.
I watched intently as a group of thugs trapped a girl at the end of the alley. Should I intervene? She was pretty cute – looked to be around my age with long, ash brown hair. I could be her hero and she could be the babe who totally falls for me. As an added bonus, I’m sure those vandals will be angered by their defeat. It’s a win-win situation: I get the girl and I can piss people off. What can possibly be better?

I left my sunny paradise with a jump. Where I landed was a fall of two stories so needless to say that tingle of pressure shot straight through my feet and up my legs, but I wasn’t about to let that show. I let my knees give a little to absorb the impact, but I still stumbled to catch my balance. After I regained my stance, I saw that I was between my foes and my soon-to-be love, all according to plan.

“Lay off my girl and I’ll spare ya,” I announced confidently through a cocky sneer. A few snickers danced off the stone around us. They reached behind their backs to reveal their trump cards – daggers. I whipped out my peaches. To my dismay, there were four men, but I only had three peaches. If I managed to knock out the first three, I could take the last guy. Their snickers evolved to laughter. I gritted my teeth. Better make the first shot count.

As I reached back to catapult my tender ammunition, an arrow soared from just behind my head and pierced one man’s arm. A barrage of more, one by one, showered among them as they scrambled away with yells of panic and agony.
I failed to hide my shaken expression when I turned to face this new heroine. I was suddenly staring down a raised and loaded bow. My peaches fell to the ground and I raised my hands to prove I was unarmed.

“Your girl? You wish. Don’t interfere.” She sternly warned.

“Hey, hey, I was just trying to help. Four guys and only one gi– “ she lowered her weapon.

“Oh really? By what means? A food fight?”

I relaxed my arms and dropped my glance to the ground to eye my dinner.

“But… they have pits inside…”

She grabbed my shoulder and forced be aside. I toppled to the ground and got up only to find her gone. The tail of her tunic was the only farewell I got.

A strange feeling swept over me, like I had to ask her something. There wasn’t any question in mind, but she had an answer. I stared off into the dark street. The wind licked my hair. As I started down the road home, I braced my arms from the wisps of night air teased my flesh.

With a feeling of regret and defeat, I sulked up the stairs to my lofty hammock which was strung halfway up. I watched the rusty bell that hung up the few flights of stairs. Biting into my leftover peach, I winced at the thought of being shown up by a girl. The peach would have tasted better after a rebound from a man’s head.

***

By the time the sun was just peaking over the horizon, I was already interrogating anyone who appeared to have an iota of general knowledge. The memory of that girl just kept eating away at me. She felt so familiar. Why do I have this irresistible desire to know about her and talk to her? I wouldn't even have a clue as to what I would say. All I know is I'm driven to learn more, which doesn't occur often.

I found myself fumbling over her description. I spoke of her cat like eyes that just seemed to dart at you, much like the words that she shot from the scowl on her smooth lips. Her face was long and slender to complement her figure. Of course, I hadn't been as vivid with those I queried. I threw out terms like "cat girl" and "pissy archer".

No one had an answer until I spoke of her tunic. A worshiper told me it was the uniform of those from the temple of the Dragoon wore. When the man I spoke with gestured west, I scampered off without so much as a "thank you".

I wasn't any less than sprinting toward my destination. Those who stood in my path were pushed aside and left with the dust of my wake. My heart was racing with anticipation, but why would I even care about meeting someone so much?

Finally, I rounded my last turn. The trail of lingering sand whipped around my abrupt halt. The palace lay before me. It's that place where all those stuck up rich people live. I took a quick look over my shoulder to make sure the shrine was still down the road. There is was, shimmering in the setting sun, although I still think the old one looked much more appealing. This one maintained that "perfect image" as if it was from some sort of fairy tale.

My focus shifted back to the huge. pompous edifice which I deeply resented. Why were there no guards? There was just this wall only about four times my size separating us both. Perhaps it was the back? Either way, I wanted to meet this house and see what amazing treasures it would grant me.

My vision covered the length of the wall in search for a way in. There! A barred gate note far down the road. Too preoccupied with my new scam, I shortly forgot about my mysterious beauty.

Dropping to my belly at the edge of the gate, I attempted to squeeze beneath. I was all skin and bone anyway so I should fit, right? I etched at the earth, digging my mitts into it in an effort to drag my body through. Past the dirt in my eyes, I could see boots journeying toward me. As a parting gift at the wearer's amusement, the shoe was planted on my head with enough force to drive me back to the world outside. A chorus of laughter erupted from behind the barrier. If that's what this fortress holds, I never want a part of it.

I picked myself off the dirt and proceeded to brush the earth from my clothes. How rude! You'd have thought those lavished in royalty could at least spare a "hello". Wealth is wasted on the ignorant.

Cramming my hands in my pockets, I kicked the road in frustration. My eyes wandered toward the rising moon. I heaved a sigh - well, more like a groan. The cool evening gusts kissed my tangled locks as the falling sun beckoned for my quest to retire. Just as the stars grew larger, so had my doubt of finding that girl that evening. Nobody ever roamed the streets after dark. I'll just have to wait until morning.

My arms grew cold in the brisk night. In an effort the compensate for my missing sleeves, I rubbed my bare limbs with my hands. At least my gloves kept my hands warm.

Instantly, time seemed to slow down. Every part of me jumped to attention. I lifted my gaze from the ground to the path ahead. Not a thought had crossed my mind, but I felt my legs venture after a hooded figure who had turned into a nearby ally. This moment was too euphoric to be real. Was I dreaming?

Once I rounded into the back street, I saw no sign of him. I scanned my surroundings to make sense of it all, but my body already knew. Beyond the litter decor, there was a small set of stairs leading downward to a rotted door. It hung by a sole hinge. The corner of the broken wood scraped against the rough, rocky floor as I forced it from my path. The stale air flooded my nostrils. I coughed for a minute while I adjusted to the stench of must and old man.

The cobwebs were everywhere, adorning the old bottles behind the counter and draping the small basement windows. Past the murky containers, I saw my warped reflection in the damaged mirror. I could make out my short, black curly hair and my ripped green shirt with its missing sleeves. Fortunately, the dust on the mirror hid the grease in my hair and the dirt on my shirt. Peering further into the reflection, I caught the shadowed man sitting among the shattered furniture in the corner of the room. Startled, I twisted my body to face him. There I stood, frozen, searching for words - a question, but he beat me to it.

"You're a little young to be in a pub."

At his words, my eyes purged the room. He was right; this place must have catered to many a drunk in its prime. His voice did not bellow like a grown man, either. Who was he to call me young?

"And who do you think you are anyway?" I remarked arrogantly.

"Wouldn't you rather know why you followed me?"

I couldn't think of a proper way to respond. I only gawked at him.

His hips formed a smirk. The field of tiny hairs on his sharp mug made him look all the more sinister. If only I could make out the face that hid in the darkness of his hood.

His hand clambered onto the table and metal twinkled from the edge of his sleeve. He was wearing armor. As he shifted his weight to the table to rise, I stood on guard. A mocking chuckle echoed through the bar.

He came three steps closer; I faltered half a step back. When he lifted his arm, I could only wince like a coward as his hand came at my neck. Instead of strangling me, he perched it on my shoulder. Now he leaned his head forward to my ear. Still, I could not make out who he was.

He whispered into my ear. As the words rolled off his tongue, my eyes grew wide. I trembled in anticipation, question, disbelief, hope and anger. How could he know so much? More over, just how little did I know this whole time? Everything around me seemed to spin. I could only contain myself with a grin. His plan was too interesting to pass up.

He drew back as he finished.

"Don't know who you are, but you have a way with words," I teased. I twirled around and swaggered to the exit. I paused at the door.

"I'll see you again, I'm sure," I looked back and glared at this unknown ally. "You're too weird to miss."

He hadn't moved, most likely for a lack of concern. I strolled out of the bar and back into the road.

It was still night. I inhaled. The darkness, the sand, hopes, fears, excitement, memories, all poured into me. I was ready to retire, but not to home, oh no. This was my resignation from the usual. No, I wasn't going back. A devious smile grew on my sullied face. Life just got too interesting for that.

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Chapter Two

You'd think a place with so many valuables would bother to lock their front door. I guess the clergy of The Dragoon's temple have either a very forgetful caretaker or way too much faith in people.

After creeping in through the towering doorway, I meandered about the hall. The zenith of the pillars were shrouded in what remained of the night's black haze. From wwhat I could make out, the architecture was immaculate. The light of dawn began to shoot through the colored glass windows. Streams of red, blue, and green trickled over tge glossy, mahogany pews. The gem lined ceiling captured the light, revealing a fierce dragon, masked by images of storm clouds, blazing fire, lush earth, and raging seas.

Step by step, I wandered toward the alter. This was definitely an improvement over my home. I certainly didn't have red velvet walls or an azure stone terrace! The filth that coated my feet fled to the soft carpet that led to the alter. My vision did not remain forward, but instead dodged about the artwork of stone that I had entered. I pet each of the finished wood seats as I passed them. The cool stone steps of the center piece sent a chill through my body.

Before me stood a statue of a man with a serpant-like dragon weaved around his limbs. He was adorned in scaled armor that mimicked the accompanying creature's traits. His grin was confident and his hair was long and fringed. In his hand he held a sword, firmly planted to the ground. Unlike he and his slithering companion, this sword was not of stone; it was genuine.

As hard as I tried, I could not get a glipse of the letters encrested on its handle. The warrior's hands were clutching it tightly. The only solution was to break them off. That weapon was to be mine, regardless of the barbaric measures I must take to claim it.

I scanned the temple for a long, blunt object to smash the man's hold. Not too far off, I discovered a golden fountain. It was just more than waist high with a narrow pit at its peek which contained a small pool of liquid. As I came to it, I peered into the bowl to study my reflection. The grease of my black, unkept hair shown brightly against my sullied profile. I cupped my hands together and lifted the fluid to my face, running my moist fingers over my eyebrows which were thickened with sand. As the ripples faded, I saw my jaded green eyes. What has become of me?

Maybe I was fixating too much on my stunning good looks so I opted to press on. I lifted the fountain, twisted my body in a rapid motion, and hurled the sparkling treasure toward the warrior behind me. Liquid showered over us both as it clashed, but it did not free the sword. I dashed toward my tool, picked it up, and plummeted his grip relentlessly. It wasn't very long before it showed wear. With a rotation of my weapon, I slammed the edge of the fountain against a nearly formed crack in my foe's grip. His hand shattered and his fingertips clattered as they hit the ground.

The sword was still wedged in the azure stone. I kneeled to study the handle. Red velvet strands were wound about it like twin snakes choking their prey. In the gold letters against the velvet was a name that was all too familiar, just as the hooded man said it would be, but what struck me most was the blade. It was made entirely of a queer cyan crystal.

"What are you doing?" a feminine voice echoed about the hall. Swiftly, I rose to my feet and shifted toward the entrance to see the girl from yesterday pacing toward me, bow drawn and hand already making its way to the quiver. At this moment, I studied her to ensure that her appearance never escaped me again. She wore a plain light leather tabard with dark leather trim. It complemented her long, ash brown hair. Her bangs came just before her cold, but sharp amber eyes, which continued to glare at me as if inviting death upon me.

"You're a guardian?" I asked. I wasn't going to let her take control of the situation this time.

"And your end, thief," she added. I grew angered by her accusations.

"I'm not a thief!" Juicy, succulent peaches flashed through my mind. "Alright, alright, but it's not what it looks like."

"Oh really? Because it looks like breaking, entering, and stealing The Dragoon's sword to me."

"If it's really his sword, then why does it have my name on it?" I yanked the sword out of the floor and tossed it onto the carpet of the isle before her. She stopped it with her leather hide boot. I smirked at the shocked expression on her face which was formally stern. She looked up from the sword to my smug mug as if I owed her some kind of an explanation.

"How did you lift that?"

"What do you mean? I mean, I don't know how weak this second guy is, but that was cake." I chuckled. My stomach churned.

She shot me a puzzled look for a moment. I could only assume she was trying to figure me out.

"Second? What are you talking about?" She asked at me as if I was a complete idiot.

The sound of rolling thunder flooded the distant corridors of the shrine. No way! Thunder couldn't be indoors. As it grew louder, shouts jeered with it. It was not the crying of the skies, but the sound of hurried footsteps. This girl was not my persuer. I wanted to hear what she had to say, but this was neither the time nor the place. I snatched the hilt of the sword with my left hand and held tightly to the girl's wrist with my right. If I wanted answers, I'd have to take them both with me.

"Let go, knave!" She exclaimed, struggling to break free, but to no avail.

"Come on," I started. "I know a way out." I dragged her to the far right of the room and pressed my body against an enormous painting of a floating castle that hung on the wall. The painting gave into my weight and gifted us an escape down a dreary path. Once we climbed in, I closed the secret decorated door behind us to cover our tracks. The girl still attempted to resist my grip.

"You idiot, I don't want to escape. I'll have you know the Velar do not take kindly to thievary and kidnapping." She protested. I pulled her closer and interrigated her very seriously.

"How did they know I was here?"

"Why should I tell you?" A sneer sprouted on her face. Not that I cared. I threw her hand out of my hold, lifted one of the torches that lit the path from its place, and ventured a few steps into the darkness.

"Back out now if you want," I looked back at her from over my shoulder with a smile, "but good luck taking me down if you do."

Hmm... this is a very well-written story. However, there were a few things that were unclear to me. The first is I thought the main character was a girl until the confrontation with the thugs. Perhaps you could be a bit more defining in the beginning, but that was only my perception. The second is that you don't have any real indication of how old your protagonist is. My guess is somewhere between 18 and 22.

That said, you have what I believe to be a promising main character. The story is compelling as well. Now, looking at it from a business standpoint, I believe it would sell well.

Just my thoughts on the first part of the first chapter. I truly look forward to seeing more.

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Otaku Space | Signature by Medz | YouTube

I am a genius with powers from out of this world.

This... is great! The tone and pace of the writing is just right for that brief synopsis you gave. The idea is just great, and if this ever gets to print, I would most certainly buy it (and not just because it is by Deikailo). My only critiques would be what Odin said. Keep Writing!

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Do you live in Washington? Come check this thread out:
http://worldbeyblade.org/Thread-Washington-USA

there is an amazing description of just about everything in this story, but I caught a few typos. read it over again

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Member of Team Gravity Warriors, Terra Blazer

Hmm... this is a very well-written story. However, there were a few things that were unclear to me. The first is I thought the main character was a girl until the confrontation with the thugs. Perhaps you could be a bit more defining in the beginning, but that was only my perception. The second is that you don't have any real indication of how old your protagonist is. My guess is somewhere between 18 and 22.

That said, you have what I believe to be a promising main character. The story is compelling as well. Now, looking at it from a business standpoint, I believe it would sell well.

Just my thoughts on the first part of the first chapter. I truly look forward to seeing more.

It's only half of the first chapter. I haven't had a chance to go into how he's a part of a different race in a different world so he really cannot have a specific age, but he is in his late youth, yes. Because it's in the first person perspective, I can't exactly have him declare his name and gender because nobody does that without introduction, haha.

there is an amazing description of just about everything in this story, but I caught a few typos. read it over again

I was actually just typing it up from my journal. It's still a rough copy. I want to write up a few more chapters before I go back and correct anything.

I really appreciate how you guys went straight to the mentality that I wanted to mass produce this. That's possibly the biggest complement that you can give me!

This is an amazing story. I have not read a piece of fiction this good in a long time. I don't have any suggestions, mainly because I'm not a very good writer. I look forward to reading the next part of the chapter.

Carpin' long chapter

I'm really exited to see you write a story, Dekailo. You're always leaving great critism on my stories, and you seemed to know what you're doing. This proves it!

But I digress, on to the review:
*I'm glad to see someone using actual description in their story. Having said that, too much can also be detrimental to your story. Try to chop it up, or even use a little less. A good example would be the very first sentence of your story. I liked how you started off with that description, but it may have been a little too heavy. I'd suggest only describing the sun, rather than trying to write about the citizens too. However, it's really good that you didn't carry it on over multiple sentences. A good rule of thumb for any writer is that a description for anything that has little or no importance to the plot should only be one sentence.

*I find it interesting that your main character in this story contradicts himself- or rather corrects himself like I just did. After reading the description about how he changes paths, I believe him doing this could be considered sort of a foreshadow. Was that what you were aiming for?

*Occasionally, but not often, your writing is choppy. I probably don't need to say this to you, as you have been doing so, but try to use sentences as transitions to new scenes.

*The character development of...whoever this guy is, is coming along well. He seems to be teetering along a few different personalities, which will play into his transformation later in the story.

You have a very nice set up here, and I would like to see how this plays out. Your writing style is very different than mine, but is much better . If you want to mass produce this-I'm being as honest as possible here- I don't think you'd be the next J.K. Rowling (I don't expect myself to be- or anyone here for that matter) but I definitely see this becoming popular.

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"Life isn't about how hard you can hit;
it's about how hard you can get hit, and keep moving forward"
{[YT]} [|BEYBLOG|] (â—ŠSoG-My Bookâ—Š)/<DA>\

The description serves as more than just the setting; it shows a lot about his character. When he talks about the noise everyone makes and refers to vendors as "merchant rats", you can see his disdain for them. Most people would immediately think he's bitter, but if observe his affinity for buildings and land, he's not cold hearted at all. My aim in this chapter is to show the reader that he has a strong sense of abandonment and instead of withdrawing, he develops a sense of arrogance and love for everything that is not human to compensate.

Because it's written in first person, I only try to write it not through his eyes, but through his own thought with little explanation because let's face it, we don't have to explain ourselves in our head, only justify. He changes his decisions very quickly because he does not have an agenda. As you can see, he is more of a eat, sleep, annoy kind of guy. His lack of commitment also reflects his faith in himself, others, and fate in general. "Why bother because it will surely not be worth my time, but I have all the time in the world anyway."

Personally, I don't want to be the next J.K. Rowling because she sold out - she never intended to write more than one book. Reading the fifth book was so painful for me because it was so slow. The characters are also very lame with the exception of the Weasley twins.

Where was the contradiction/correction?

She was my keeper. The tower, I mean.

It stung, but I loved it anyway.

In a daze, I swaggered around the bell and down the stairs I went – or what was left of them.

Yeah, that pudgy guy that’s a few shops down in that rickety stall. Well, it was more like a cart with a canopy.

I cut him off with a swing at the post holding up the tapestry above his stall. Well, it was more like a cart.

A strange feeling swept over me, like I had to ask her something. There wasn’t any question in mind, but she had an answer.

The last one wasn't so much of a self correction, and I'm not saying they're bad things. I'm just telling you what I say. If it's what you wanted, fantastic. If not, now you know where they are and you can do whatever with them. But I understand all of your points, and they are all valid.

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"Life isn't about how hard you can hit;
it's about how hard you can get hit, and keep moving forward"
{[YT]} [|BEYBLOG|] (â—ŠSoG-My Bookâ—Š)/<DA>\

The correction between the stall and the cart was kind of a joke. He was jesting at the state of the man's possession.

I do have to ask you this: when are we ever definitive in thought?

The correction between the stall and the cart was kind of a joke. He was jesting at the state of the man's possession.

I do have to ask you this: when are we ever definitive in thought?

No, no! I didn't mean to criticize you. I only meant to point out something I saw. I wasn't saying if it was good or bad, I was simply stating an observation. I'm sorry if that came out the wrong way.

But yes, good point. I just found it interesting because that isn't something I've seen a lot of writers do. Or at least, not that often.

---

"Life isn't about how hard you can hit;
it's about how hard you can get hit, and keep moving forward"
{[YT]} [|BEYBLOG|] (â—ŠSoG-My Bookâ—Š)/<DA>\

The correction between the stall and the cart was kind of a joke. He was jesting at the state of the man's possession.

I do have to ask you this: when are we ever definitive in thought?

No, no! I didn't mean to criticize you. I only meant to point out something I saw. I wasn't saying if it was good or bad, I was simply stating an observation. I'm sorry if that came out the wrong way.

But yes, good point. I just found it interesting because that isn't something I've seen a lot of writers do. Or at least, not that often.

I asked for criticism in the OP so if you didn't mean to, it's a blow to my ego. I was looking forward to your comments in particular because I knew you would challenge me. That is something I like.

From my understanding, most books are about the plot with the characters as a means of delivering it. My goal here is to use the plot as a means of showing the main character's evolution. In the OP, I mentioned it was about a destined hero choosing the path of a villain. I didn't mention that this story took place in another world where space and time don't always coincide, there are no lifespans, and destiny is a restraint, not a choice.

I asked for criticism in the OP so if you didn't mean to, it's a blow to my ego. I was looking forward to your comments in particular because I knew you would challenge me. That is something I like.

From my understanding, most books are about the plot with the characters as a means of delivering it. My goal here is to use the plot as a means of showing the main character's evolution. In the OP, I mentioned it was about a destined hero choosing the path of a villain. I didn't mention that this story took place in another world where space and time don't always coincide, there are no lifespans, and destiny is a restraint, not a choice.

Haha, thank you . I feel special that you were looking forwards to my comments.

Yes, that's true. Most books are about plot lines and characters that tell the story (either in 1st, 2nd, or 3rd person limited omniscient). However, there are several exceptions, your story being one. Some stories can have no plot, and just be random. Others, Sherlock Holmes for example, can be a series of smaller plots or adventures that have no direct correlation with each other. As for the time space bit, if you plan to distribute this then you should somehow incorporate this information into some chapters. Readers won't just automatically know that time and space have no relevance in this world. Fuze it in with the plot, make it interesting .

EDIT: Speaking of fuze, if the verb of fusion is 'to fuze', then what is the verb form of fission, as in nuclear fission? Sorry for being off topic.

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"Life isn't about how hard you can hit;
it's about how hard you can get hit, and keep moving forward"
{[YT]} [|BEYBLOG|] (â—ŠSoG-My Bookâ—Š)/<DA>\

I asked for criticism in the OP so if you didn't mean to, it's a blow to my ego. I was looking forward to your comments in particular because I knew you would challenge me. That is something I like.

From my understanding, most books are about the plot with the characters as a means of delivering it. My goal here is to use the plot as a means of showing the main character's evolution. In the OP, I mentioned it was about a destined hero choosing the path of a villain. I didn't mention that this story took place in another world where space and time don't always coincide, there are no lifespans, and destiny is a restraint, not a choice.

Haha, thank you . I feel special that you were looking forwards to my comments.

Yes, that's true. Most books are about plot lines and characters that tell the story (either in 1st, 2nd, or 3rd person limited omniscient). However, there are several exceptions, your story being one. Some stories can have no plot, and just be random. Others, Sherlock Holmes for example, can be a series of smaller plots or adventures that have no direct correlation with each other. As for the time space bit, if you plan to distribute this then you should somehow incorporate this information into some chapters. Readers won't just automatically know that time and space have no relevance in this world. Fuze it in with the plot, make it interesting .

EDIT: Speaking of fuze, if the verb of fusion is 'to fuze', then what is the verb form of fission, as in nuclear fission? Sorry for being off topic.

Well, yeah, things are going to be explained as the story goes along, like the main character's name and appearance. The way this world works is different, of course, and I would never dream of leaving holes in the explanation. I will have to develop a way to have the main character explain each phenomena in thought...

I do plan on this to be a series in which there will be a second main character.

Just checking, isn't the verb 'fuse', Sparta? And the verb form is just, 'to fission'.

EDIT: Second main character? Is it someone in this story, or a completely new character that you're keeping away from us?

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"In many ways, the work of a critic is easy. We risk very little, yet enjoy a position over those who offer up their work and their selves to our judgment. We thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to write and to read. But the bitter truth we critics must face, is that in the grand scheme of things, the average piece of junk is probably more meaningful than our criticism designating it so. But there are times when a critic truly risks something, and that is in the discovery and defense of the new. The world is often unkind to new talent, new creations. The new needs friends. Last night, I experienced something new: an extraordinary meal from a singularly unexpected source. To say that both the meal and its maker have challenged my preconceptions about fine cooking is a gross understatement. They have rocked me to my core. In the past, I have made no secret of my disdain for Chef Gusteau's famous motto, "Anyone can cook." But I realize, only now do I truly understand what he meant. Not everyone can become a great artist; but a great artist can come from anywhere."

-Anton Ego/Peter O'Toole (1932-2013)

Completely new character. I think I'm going to finish up typing chapter one tonight and post it.

Basically, the main character is a character who is born into tragedy and misfortune, was given the opportunity to exist among friends and love, but grew to detest them and threw it away for destruction. In the second part of the series, he is granted a chance at redemption by living an alternate life at the same time (yin and yang, if you will). The second main character (yang) will be a born "villain" and in order for the main character to be whole again, has to choose the path of the hero, having to overcome a life of misfortune, anger and self misery.

I updated the OP with the rest of chapter one. Hope you guys enjoy it!

Once again, I like it, but there are a few more typos. Like "huge. pompous edifice." Nothing major, and I know that you'll fix them when you get the time, but it still sticks out.

Besides that, the main character seems to enjoy possessing things. It seems like it's pretty prominent. Especially in the way that he refers to the girl as "my" or "mine".

One more thing: the paragraphs in the second half of the chapter are kind of short, I think. They could use a little more fleshing out, maybe. But then again, I suck at that kind of thing, so I'm not really one to talk.

Also, I just checked, and in Microsoft Word 2010, your story, in 10-point Tahoma font, is six-and-a-half pages. The story is going strong, in my opinion.

Spoiler (Click to View)

If/when I hold a tournament, if you come, and if this book is published, I'll be able to say, "I knew her before she wrote this!" And that is completely off this topic, haha.

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Otaku Space | Signature by Medz | YouTube

I am a genius with powers from out of this world.

The typos are there mostly because I have speed fingers. This is just my rough draft, too. Once I complete the story, I'm going to have to go over it with a fine tooth comb.

That's actually what I was going for. He objectifies everything because he never interacts with others. It's also a part of his arrogance.

The second paragraphs are much shorter because I'm leaving out detail, which was already emphasized in the first section, but you're right, I didn't actually notice that. It's something to consider. Thanks!

Sorry I didn't write a review earlier-I'm still on vacation, and we cruised over to the town for Ben and Jerry's (Yummy!)

1. I have to stick with some of my earlier comments, one of which being the amount of description. I'm not exactly sure what it is now, but something about your descriptions feels off. I wish I could be more detailed than that, but I'm not sure myself. It's most likely too much, but I'm just going out on a limb.

2. You've done really well with paragraphs and indenting. The story looks really clear-cut, and it's not just a wall of text. Kudos for that.

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"Life isn't about how hard you can hit;
it's about how hard you can get hit, and keep moving forward"
{[YT]} [|BEYBLOG|] (â—ŠSoG-My Bookâ—Š)/<DA>\

I kind of feel you on the description part, and I'm the same as you; I don't know how to describe it either. My goal is to make the description more opinion based that factual since this story isn't about the plot, but rather the main character's change of heart.

Thanks! Since I'm dyslexic, paragraphing and indenting is important to me. I have trouble reading things otherwise.

This is easily one of the best, if not the best story I've read so far. It's the desciptive writing that remindsme why Harry Potter was such a great book. Keep it up and send me a copy once it's published.

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Do you live in SoCal near LA? Click here to find out if there is a LA Tournament near you soon!
Credits go to Mitsu for making these awesome avatar and signature!

Same. Though, I have to say, the grammar is impeccable, spelling is flawless, and the flow, well THAT is near-perfect. I do have a question. In the fifth chapter, you say "I'm not the only person to take refuse here." Did you mean "refuge"? Just a question. You also say "It was so worm that I could never figure out if it actually moved." Do you mean "worn"? Again, not attacking the book, you're WAY better than me. I'm just asking. Ah, you DID say you'd go back and edit anyway. Ah, well. (I SO wish I had this type of attention span. Seven or eight years on a story? Geez, I can barely pull two out of my head.)
Wait...You're dyslexic? I think I remember saying this about that yusei fudon guy's writing, but I must have forgotten. That makes this so much more amazing.

Yes, I did mean refuge and worn, haha. Thanks for pointing that out; I'll go and correct it.

I rarely read books because of my dyslexia. I could probably count every book I've ever read, as a matter of fact. Most of this is just from analyzing speech and looking up words on online dictionaries and then reading synonyms.

Bleh, my brain is usually fried after a while, so I don't read as much as I write anymore, sadly. Recently, I have literally no idea what's going on, as I've lost interest in a bunch of books I've loved for years. I can't even force myself to read Animal Farm anymore, and that was one of my favorites for YEARS. But seeing as you can do this, even with dyslexia, I'm again inspired! In a more non-whiny type of way of speech, you are an inspiration, Deikailo!