The Quest for Legersem, PG

I am new to this site and I just wanted to get anyone's opinion of my storyline before I begin posting the story. It is about a 12-year-old boy named Damon, who, although he doesn't know it yet, has contained within him the powers of the Elemental Magisters: Fire, Water, Thunder, Earth, Wind, Light, and Dark. He had known about his powers but had locked it all away within his mind when they got out of control at a very young age. Now, the magic and the memories that had been sealed away for almost ten years are beginning to seep through and Damon is left without answers to the many questions spinning through his head. He and his best friend, Vince, travel to the Elven city of Balor before Damon realizes that he has been thrown into the world of his destiny that will determine the future of Alcerain and the world.
So, what do you think? Please, someone tell me what you think about this. I want to post my chapters but I need to seriously re-write the chapters to avoid "cliche" writing, something that I really want to avoid.

I thank those of you that at least looked at my story, which at least shows some interest (I hope). Although it may be abit lengthy, here is Part 1 of the Prologue chapter. Hope you like it!

Prologue

On the morning of the attack, there was a dwarf of no particular importance patrolling the perimeter of Stregicam, the stronghold of all magic within Alcerain and headquarters of the Magisters. Situated in the Ornyx Points, a range of lethal mountains situated in the northeast point of Alcerain, the castle was cut into a mountaintop with its highest tower situated at the peak. A large, thunderous waterfall cascaded down the side of a nearby mountain and its waters fell an interminable depth before dropping into Lake Lorcid. Stregicam was, by no means, the only magic stronghold in Alcerain, but it was by far the most powerful. Stregicam had existed for thousands of years and seemed to be as old as the world itself. It had been there even when the elves found it all those years ago and had been inhabited ever since. Stregicam only became the headquarters of the Magisters when something attracted the magic-users to the castle; perhaps it was the simple concept that they could practice their magic far from the eyes of others or it may have been that the castle held an air of mystery and magic about it and simply felt right. Whatever the reason, the Magisters soon obtained Stregicam from the elves without strife.
Unfortunately, the Magisters were not very numerous, and, as time passed, the elder Magisters made the decision to open Stregicam as a school to teach chosen Alceranians their secrets and magic. In order to gain admittance to Stregicam, the prospective students would be found and tested by the Magisters before being brought to the castle to undergo another series of tests, this time carefully observed by the Head Magister, who was the deciding voice in the castle and provided order. When the students would finish their numerous and strenuous trials, there would be several days of consultation between the Magisters before the choices were made between those that were accepted and those who were not.
Of one particular year, a young boy presented himself before the Magisters and passed his tests, though barely. The Head Magister, who, at the time, was a man of great power named Sigma, saw great potential in this boy and allowed him to stay at the school. Sigma watched as the boy grew and flourished as he was eager to learn and spent nearly all of his time within the library, reading all there was to know. All knowledge of magic in Alcerain, and perhaps the world, was recorded in the Scripts and these were open to anyone within the school. Unfortunately, the Magisters did not foresee the problems that this would cause because all magic included Dark magic, the evil arts. The boy found the Dark Scrolls buried in the back of the library and was soon corrupted by their power. Dark Magic is not to be trifled with and the boy was soon overwhelmed by the immense power and temptation that Dark Magic offered. The boy was easily corrupted, his previous life and mind discarded by the magic that now dwelt within him. The boy was made to leave the castle by the Magisters to prevent the other students from harm. He soon came to be known as Goliaz, which translates from an ancient language long since forgotten as “soulless”.
Goliaz returned to Stregicam once, under the cover of darkness. His goal was to find and escape with the Dark Scrolls to create followers with the secrets hidden within them. Sigma intervened and, though Goliaz was aided by the power of the dark magic, Goliaz was defeated and he fled from the castle uttering dire threats in his wake.
Goliaz’s threats were discarded by most as the ravings of a lunatic, yet Sigma was no fool. The threats of Goliaz still in the back of his mind, he tightened security on the castle, including the amount of Magisters on watch and the magical web of protection surrounding Stregicam. All passages into and out of the castle were watched or blocked off. Sigma himself taught the elder Magisters complex defensive spells along with the Light Magic, to combat the darkness of Goliaz. Those who had learned to a proficient level would be sent out to patrol the paths leading into the castle from the mountains.
One of these patrollers was the dwarf.
This particular dwarf was not entirely stupid; in fact, he was quite skilled in magic. He was, however, not entirely prioritized. His studies went to waste mostly as he continuously forgot to practice and hone his skills. Time and again, he had had to review certain magics repeatedly to correct them. He had sworn to Sigma, though, that he had known the Magic of Light and that he would stand up to the dark forces if they so tried to enter Stregicam and he would be brave and so on and so forth until Sigma decided to give him a chance.
“One night,” Sigma said, annoyed, “and you will be tested during that night. If you are caught off guard or are defeated by the simplest of spells, you will be thrown out of the school. I have been told time and time again of your lack of self-discipline and this is your last chance. Do you understand?”
The dwarf had agreed vigorously and was out patrolling with a bow in one hand and a quiver of arrows slung over one shoulder. The quiver was merely for show, as the dwarf liked to uphold his image, for the bow was, in reality, a Lightshaft. Lightshafts had been created long ago by the Magisters and were used to fire off beams of concentrated light on the foe. Lightshafts were only given to the patrollers nowadays, since they were so rare and difficult to create.
The dwarf was strolling along the outside of the circular wall that had been erected recently as another means of protection. There were woods circling the entire perimeter of the castle and the dwarf was heading into them. It was a misty day in the Ornyx Points as clouds had formed on the mountain and the dwarf could not see more than five feet in front of his long, large nose. His thick goatee gathered dew as he walked down the steep slope into the woods. As he reached the relative safety of the trees, for it was not so misty there, he threw back his hood and shook out his tangled mane of black hair before backing against a tree and surveying the castle, but being careful to keep an eye out on the surrounding landscape. It was a foreboding morning, that much was certain. The woods were eerily silent and still; nary a breeze disturbed the treetops. The dwarf’s eyes narrowed to slits as he took in a deep breath and focused his magic into his fingertips. He lifted his Lightshaft and traced his fingers horizontally through the middle of the bow as if showing where the arrow would go. Where his fingers traced, a single beam of strong light came into being in the shape of an arrow. As the arrow was being created, the dwarf’s face contorted in concentration and sweat started to form on his forehead; he had never finished an arrow before. As his fingers reached the place where the string would have been on a normal bow, the arrow’s clarity seemed to shimmer. The dwarf gasped with the effort of keeping the arrow there but it winked out and was gone.
The dwarf cried out in fury and quickly tried again, only to have the arrow disappear even quicker than before. The dwarf was, by now, panting heavily and nearly screaming with frustration as arrow after arrow continued to disappear faster and faster until he could not even start anymore. The dwarf took several deep breaths before realizing his reason for not being able to produce a sufficient arrow was his lack of focus. He calmed himself down and sat still, with his eyes closed tight, collecting his thoughts and clearing his mind. As he sat there, the silent morning continued to press in around him. If anyone had found the dwarf at this time, they would have thought he was meditating.
The dwarf opened his eyes and lifted his Lightshaft from his lap, where he had placed it before calming himself. He brought his fingertips to the shaft and began to trace backwards, leaving an arrow that shined brighter than the ones he usually produced. His joy over creating such an arrow threatened to break his concentration and, for a brief second, the arrow seemed to flicker. The dwarf paused and focused again, and the arrow came back into focus. He brought the arrow all the way back to where the string would have been and finally completed his first, and what would soon become his only, light arrow.
At this point, the dwarf was so happy upon completing his first arrow that he shouted for joy before firing his arrow. Upon separating his index and middle fingers, the arrow sped off into the mist and struck the outer wall of Stregicam, where it stayed for a moment, visible even to the dwarf through the thick mist, before winking out. The dwarf crossed the distance, which was about forty feet altogether, and found a scorched mark on the wall, the mark his arrow had made. Upon thinking this, the dwarf swelled with pride. He closed his eyes and turned around humming happily to himself.
He then heard a sound, and thought that for a split second that it was the test that Sigma had had warned him of. He groped for his Lightshaft before realizing that in his haste and joy, he had left it lying by the tree he had been sitting against. When he looked out into the woods, all the breath seemed to leave his body, and all his happy thoughts were replaced by a cold, and very rational, fear. The woods were swarming with Barls; strong, quick, cunning, and smart, the demons stared up at the dwarf, trembling against the castle’s outer wall. However, it was not the number of Barls that frightened the dwarf, nor the fact that he could easily be killed by them; he was petrified by the sight of the man standing at the head of the Barls. The dwarf beheld Goliaz with a look in his eyes that would make sane men mad and in his hands was the dwarf’s Lightshaft.
The first blood was spilled just beyond Stregicam’s outer wall, and Sigma knew nothing of it. Nor would he ever know of the frightened dwarf that had become the first Magister to die in the ensuing battle. For that had been what it had become, but not only a battle. This was a fight to determine the future of Alcerain itself, and Sigma and Goliaz both knew it. All paths leading into and out of Stregicam were soon blocked off by Goliaz’s forces and the outer wall and all of the magical defenses were dismantled by the raw power of Goliaz.
Goliaz alone made his way to the tower at the top of the mountain, where he knew Sigma would be. Sigma knew exactly how strong Goliaz had become and had prepared for it for he had opened the Forbidden Vault, with all of its magic that was not Dark Magic, but magic that had no right to be used in the world. This magic was strong and dangerous to the user but completely deadly to the target. Sigma found and learned only one spell in the Vault, but it was the only one he needed.
Goliaz made it to the tower and the following battle between the two was much fiercer than their previous encounter. At the end of the battle, the roof of the tower had been ripped off and had fallen down to the bottom of Lake Lorcid, where it rests to this day. Sigma was not able to use the magic obtained from the Vault, as Goliaz’s power was too strong to be contained. Sigma fled Stregicam, along with the only few remaining survivors of the battle, to return another day.
Sigma traveled throughout Alcerain, secretly searching for a way to defeat Goliaz. All of the remaining Magisters had dispersed on that fateful day, giving up their magic to lead a peaceful life under the dictatorship of Goliaz.
Fools, all of them, Sigma thought bitterly to himself as he watched them all depart.
He set out and left the country. The neighboring country of Tyserium offered hospitality to Sigma and was safe from harm. Goliaz seemed content to stay in Alcerain for the time being; for everything that Goliaz needed, or wanted, was within the small, vastly rural country of Alcerain. In Tyserium, Sigma learned much and traveled far. The spread-out tribes of Tyserium were various and different, with many styles of fighting and magic. As he was roving the country, the magic he had obtained from the Vault continued to haunt his thoughts as he sought a way to use it. In the northernmost reaches of Tyserium, he found his answer in the form of an old hermit, named Wulte.
Wulte lived far from society, and most said that she had been around since the beginning of time itself. She knew everything, they said. Sigma knew of Wulte and also knew that she did, in fact, not know everything, but she did know what Sigma wanted. High up in the mountains, the snow close to four feet deep and still falling in a deadly blizzard, Sigma came upon Wulte’s cottage, a shelter in the storm. It was a modest cottage made of stone, with a chimney curling smoke out of the top. Glass windows with wooden sills emitted a light from within, but nothing could be seen of the interior as the windows were fogged over from the warmth inside. Sigma could also smell food, and knew, at once, Wulte knew he was coming.
Sigma knocked on the door set into an alcove to shelter from the frequent storms and Wulte opened the door. She was an old woman, but not ugly. She took care of herself in a way that no other could. Taking walks in the morning, living at very high altitudes with bitter winters, and subsisting only off what she could catch made Wulte strong. She had but one child, found one morning, nearly buried in the snow. Wulte decided to take the poor thing in, knowing she would never have children of her own, preferring to keep her distance from society, and also knowing that her own mortality would catch up to her eventually, and she needed someone to continue her work. The little one was asleep when Sigma arrived, curled up in his cradle by the fire. He did not stir as a gust of cold air came into the cottage, making the fire nearly go out. Sigma quickly held his hand towards the fire, fingers together, palm facing the flames, and the fire sprung back into life as Wulte closed the door. Her red hair was tied up in a bun on her head, so as to keep the hair out of her eyes while cooking. There was a hot pot of fresh vegetable soup upon the scrubbed wooden table sitting next to a fogged window, through which Sigma could hear the wind howling in the night. Carrots, potatoes, and wild mushrooms were cut upon the table and a knife lay beside them.
“Oh, Sigma,” Wulte chuckled as she saw the fire, “You always did know your magic tricks.”
“Tricks they may as well be, Wulte,” Sigma sighed, exhausted from his long trek through the mountains. “There is trouble in Alcerain.”
“So I have heard,” Wulte nodded grimly, “But…you have come to me. Why is that, I wonder?”
This was followed by a long pause, during which Wulte crossed to her cutting board and chopped some more vegetables with her knife and tossed them into all the pot with the ones she had already cut. Wulte sighed as she stirred the ingredients into the soup. She lifted the pot up with a grunt and hefted it over to the fire, where she put it on a long metal pole extending over the fire to cook.
“Shouldn’t take long, I should wonder,” Wulte said happily, “Let’s take the time to catch up, Sigma?”
Sigma agreed gladly and they began to talk. The blizzard increased its intensity outside as Sigma told the long story of how he had become the Head Magister and then continued on to tell the tale of Goliaz and how he had conquered the castle and he, ashamedly, had fled for his life. Wulte listened to all of this with rapt attention, her gaze never leaving Sigma’s eyes. Wulte then recounted how she had come across the boy and how she had no idea who he was before saying that nothing had really changed outside of that. By this time, the candles was very low in their brackets within the chandelier above their heads at the table and Wulte carefully replaced them with new ones when Sigma snapped his fingers and flames sprang into life on the wicks.
“I had matches,” Wulte sniffed.
She then bustled over to the soup, deemed it was ready and then lifted it to the table, where she poured two steaming bowls and took out a loaf of bread and cut a few sizeable slices before serving Sigma his food.
“Garden doing well then, Wulte?” Sigma said, astonished at amount of soup left in the pot.
“Doing quite well. Harvested early this year, and not a moment too soon, I might add. The snow fell early this year, as well, but all the vegetables were saved. I knew you would be coming, Sigma, and I felt like making the vegetable soup you liked so much. Hope it’s just like you remember.” Wulte winked at him.
Sigma smiled before digging in to his warm meal. There was no talking during the meal, each occupied with their own thoughts.
Sigma and Wulte met long, long ago when Sigma was still a young headstrong man, trying to cope with his magic as it matured with his age. He had come upon Wulte, who knew all about his troubles. He spent several months with her in this same cottage before leaving to master his skills at the prestigious school of magic: Stregicam. He had had a tearful farewell with Wulte that day and she had been sad, too, knowing that she could never give him what he truly wanted, not possessing the knowledge to do so; so she had let him go, intuitively knowing that he would come back one day.
Some might call Wulte’s power that of a seer, but it was nothing of the sort. Wulte had come from across the sea to Alcerain, from a land that no longer existed. She had simply been born with the ability to sense what was going to happen, sometimes long before or very close to the time when the event actually occurred. Wulte would get a strong feeling to do something, and she would trust her judgment. These same strong feelings, such as that Sigma would eventually come back, gave her occasional glimpses into the future, but she could not tell anyone their own futures, only her own feelings.
Sigma broke the silence first, “I don’t know whether or not you might know the answer to my problem, and you may already know what my question is, but I will still ask you. Have you ever heard of the Eternity Seal?”
Wulte did not answer right away, but sat in shocked silence. Her rosy complexion had turned white and her hands tightened into clenched fists. She blinked a few times and took a deep breath before answering, “Yes, I have. And I also know how it works. I can tell you, but I will also warn you that it is extremely dangerous and also deadly. There is no chance of death; the certainty of dying is absolute. Once you use the Eternity Seal, you will be gone, Sigma.”
“I know,” and there was a tired look in Sigma’s eyes as he said it, “but it is the only way to free Alcerain from Goliaz…and it must be done. I am the only one who can manage to do it. But I need a clear shot without interference from Goliaz and it takes time to prepare it. I need your help with two matters, Wulte, and the first is what I can do to prevent Goliaz from interfering before using the spell on him.”
“Well, that’s a simple matter. Get some accomplices! I should have thought you would have known that.”
“All the other Magisters are either killed, have given up their magic forever, or have been aldurized. None can help me. That is the second matter, though I thought you could give me some other suggestions for the first.”
“Hmm…” Wulte sighed and sat back in her wooden chair and simply looked at Sigma, a far-off glaze in her eyes. She sat there for quite some time and Sigma was beginning to think that she had fallen asleep when she blinked and fell forward toward the table and with a clunk, the front chair legs set back on the floor. She looked up at Sigma with a look of sorrow.
“I see much pain in your future and I have a feeling that I will be experiencing some of that pain as a result, and that is without my intuition. I don’t yet know my part in this or what I can do to assist you any more than providing you with information, but I also know I must help you in any way that I can.
“The weapon that you need must be infused with all of the Elements of Fire, Earth, Wind, Water, Lightning, Light, and Dark. For it is a weapon that you need: one of immense power. From what I have heard from you and others, Goliaz is essentially immune to all other traditional forms of magic, so it makes sense to use an impractical one: that of the Elements. These separate are indeed powerful, but combined they wield a strength unparalleled by any other. Fortunately for you, one of the old tomes resides within my home, instructing on the use of these Elements, but I warn you that the cost, as I said, will be hard.
“I see that you know this, but let me say one thing more. The spell, the Eternity Seal, cannot be avoided. The Elements are merely a way to detract Goliaz from his main target: you. The Elements can be infused within the weapon and passed on to others, thus allowing them to use said magics. Since there are seven Elements, there can be up to seven of these people. Based on your predicament, I would have these seven, since seven is the strongest number magically. There is a word for this combination of the elements and it is: legersem.”
“Then I shall use this legersem to vanquish Goliaz, no matter the cost upon myself. It shall be a sword through which the elements shall flow for a sword I have not found a stronger weapon in all my years. Legersem is the word describing the sword, and so the sword shall be called. I know that the sword will need to be made under the most extreme of circumstances, but I will do it.”
At this, Wulte and Sigma slept, rather unsoundly, knowing that their roles in the greater events of destiny were to be played out very soon. A few months later, Sigma departed Wulte’s for what was to be the last time. While she did not speak to Sigma of this matter, Wulte knew deep within her heart that it would be so.
Sigma traveled for days until he reached a remote volcano and forged the sword, Legersem, and used the magic learned from Wulte to infuse the Elements within it. He then found five men and two women willing to assist Sigma in his quest to bring Goliaz down. Into the man Embreg, Sigma gave Fire; into the man Ployos, Earth; the man Gresh, Lightning; the woman Rya, Water; the woman Vera, Wind; the man Trilex, Light; and the man Risto, Dark. With these seven, he was able to reach the tower where Goliaz resided and attacked him with the Elemental Magisters and the sword Legersem.
Goliaz seemed smug in his confidence and had one thing to say before attacking them: “A sword, Sigma? How cliché!” And then, the fight was on.
While the seven attacked Goliaz with their combined powers, Sigma prepared his final spell, the Eternity Seal. Sigma knew, as he did when he sought the spell in the Forbidden Vault, that Goliaz was too powerful to be killed or destroyed, he could only be locked away to rot for eternity within the Seal. He uttered the final incantation but as Goliaz was being locked away, he used a spell of his own to create a crack in the Seal, which could be opened in time. He disappeared, and with him, his demons and Sigma’s life.
The other Magisters dispersed and Stregicam was left empty, a derelict monument of a fallen age. Due to this, no new Magisters came into existence. The Seven continued to live for many years due to the magic flowing through their veins and many settled down to lead unremarkable lives devoid of magic.
Embreg, the Magister of Fire, made his way to the cottage of Wulte in Tyserium several years later, curious about her role in the downfall of Goliaz. At the behest of Wulte, Embreg traveled to Sayr, a wealthy city on the southern coast of Alcerain which no longer exists, and deposited the package Wulte had entrusted him with before returning home.
About ten years later, a boy named Jace living on Trident Isle began to have haunted dreams and nightmares concerning a dark presence and the stirrings of evil in the east…

All right, here is the second part of the Prologue, but I won't be posting the first chapter for quite some time, so please, someone, anyone, please tell me what you think. I am under the impression that something can only be perfect if multiple hands went into it, so the more opinions, the better!

The dwarf cried out in fury and quickly tried again, only to have the arrow disappear even quicker than before. The dwarf was, by now, panting heavily and nearly screaming with frustration as arrow after arrow continued to disappear faster and faster until he could not even start the arrow anymore. The dwarf took several deep breaths before realizing his reason for not being able to produce a sufficient arrow was simply that he was not focused. He calmed himself down and sat still, with his eye closed tight, collecting his thoughts and clearing his mind. As he sat there, the silent morning continued to press in around him and if anyone had found the dwarf at this time, they would have though he was meditating.
The dwarf opened his eye and took lifted his Lightshaft from his lap, where he had placed it before calming himself. He brought his fingertips to the actual shaft and began to trace backwards, leaving an arrow that shined brighter than the usual ones he produced. His joy over creating such an arrow threatened to break his concentration and, for a brief second, the arrow seemed to flicker. The dwarf paused and focused again, and the arrow came back into focus. He brought the arrow all the way back to where the string would have been and finally completed his first, and what would soon become his only, arrow.
At this point, the dwarf was so happy upon completing his first arrow that he shouted for joy before firing his arrow by simply separating his two joined fingers he had used to trace, which had remained attached to the end of the arrow. Upon separating his index and middle fingers, the arrow sped off into the mist and struck the outer wall of Stregicam, where it stayed for a moment, visible even to the dwarf through the thick mist, before winking out. The dwarf crossed the distance, which was about forty feet altogether, and found a scorched mark on the wall, the mark his arrow had made. Upon thinking this, the dwarf swelled with pride. He closed his eyes and turned around humming happily to himself.
He then heard a sound, and thought that for a split second that it was the test that Sigma had told him would be imposed to determine the dwarf’s legitimacy with magic. He groped for his Lightshaft before realizing that in his haste and joy, he had left it lying by the tree he had been sitting against. When he opened his eyes upon turning around, all the breath seemed to leave his body, and all his happy thoughts were replaced by a cold, and very rational, fear. The entire woods of which he had just been sitting on the fringe were swarming with Barls. Demons from another realm that had practically no will besides that of their summoning master, they were the perfect foot soldiers. Strong, quick, cunning, and smart, the Barls stared up at the dwarf, trembling against the castle’s outer wall. For it was not the number of Barls that frightened him, nor the fact that he could easily be killed by them, and very quickly, too; for Goliaz was standing in the front of assembled Barls, with a look in his eyes that would make sane men mad. In his hands was the dwarf’s Lightshaft.

* * * * * * *
The first blood was spilled just beyond Stregicam’s outer wall, and Sigma knew nothing of it. Nor would he ever know of the frightened dwarf that had become the first Magister to die in the ensuing battle. For that had been what it had become, but not only a battle. This was a fight to determine the future of Alcerain itself, and Sigma and Goliaz both knew it. All paths leading into and out of Stregicam were soon blocked off by Goliaz’s forces and the outer wall and all of the magical defenses were soon dismantled by the raw power of Goliaz.
Goliaz alone made his way for the tower at the top of the mountain, where he knew Sigma would be waiting. Sigma knew he was coming and prepared for Goliaz’s arrival by calming his mind and preparing for the oncoming magical trial that he would endure. Sigma was no fool: he knew exactly how strong Goliaz had become and had prepared for it. Sigma had opened the Forbidden Vault, with all of its magics that had not been used for quite some time. But these were not dark magics: they were magics that had no right to be used in the world. Magics that were strong and lethal to the user but completely deadly to the target. Sigma found only one spell in the Vault, and it was the only one he needed.
Goliaz made it to the tower and the following battle between the two was much fiercer than the one happened between the various demons of Goliaz and the Magisters of Sigma. At the end of the battle, the roof of the tower had been ripped off and had fallen all the way down to the bottom of Lake Lorcid, where it rests to this day. Sigma was not able to use the magic obtained from the Vault, as Goliaz’s power was too strong to be contained. Sigma fled Stregicam, along with the only few remaining survivors of the battle, to return another day.
Return he did, which leads us into the real story. A story containing a boy, a sword, and a vast world of magic of which he knew nothing about. This particular boy was named Damon, with a dark past locked away from him. Memories, however, have a funny way of asserting themselves to the forefront of our minds when we least expect them to, as is the case with young Damon, whose journey into Alcerain is about to begin…

OK, I haven't been on in a while and, apparently, no one else has either. I really encourage anyone to respond to my story with helpful comments and/or suggestions. I revamped the prologue and I am also done with Chapter 1. Please, please, please tell me if you are interested in readin my story, I would really like to get other people's opinions besides my friends.

okay, so the plot is interesting enough, but the problem is, it's not exceptional, which fantasy stories need to be in order to...well... stand out.

you need to SHOW not tell, describe don't just blatantly tell the reader what's going on.

post more, although it would be better not to make it too lengthy.

P.S. Sorry for not feedbacking earlier, I thought you were just another post-then-run-away people lol

OK, well what do you mean by that? Like, what would you change to make it more original? I really am trying to make it as original as possible while still sticking to the fantasy world. Would you like to see the changes to the Prologue as well as Chapter 1? I was going to post it but there don't seem to be that many replies, so maybe no one likes it... :(

okay, i see how making it more original would be hard, but then i dont have much experience writing fantasy, though i love reading it.

i think maybe it'll be better than what i've seen so far, because usually i hate prologues :) lol.

i think you should just go ahead and post chapter one because frankly, people will read it, but most people don't bother feedbacking. lazyness of forums these days...

i'm here though, still.

also three or four members will be around, so keep writing. this forum lacks life, is all.

also, it would be appreciated if you feedbacked other people's work, higher chance of getting replies.

All right, now I am more prone to put my chapters in here. I have been working on my story for a long time but it just got more and more cheesy (in my opinion) so I scraped the whole thing and started over, the above prologue and the next chapters are all brand-new and I really am trying to make it more original. Thanks to you gossipgirl. I hope you and the rest of the forum visitors like the rest of my story. Here is Chapter 1! :D

In a small village, people were screaming, running in terror away from a small figure in the middle of the village. This small figure was a boy who had jets of black energy flying from both opened hands. The buildings in this town were being obliterated left and right, some with people still in them. There was death and destruction everywhere and the boy was responsible for it all. He continued to destroy using the magic on everything in sight until there was nothing more to wreck; everything and everyone who had been in the village a mere hour ago was gone, either destroyed, killed, or fled. A man approached the boy with sword raised and the boy turned around with a hiss, hands raised as he –
Jace awoke with a gasp. He had been having these strange dreams for nearly a month. He was in his bed on Trident Isle, in the southern town of Morna. His house was hollowed out of a humongous tree with added rooms of brick on the first floor for the kitchen, dining room, and his parents’ bedroom. Jace’s room was the only thing on the second floor, and the only room made entirely out of wood as it was in the center of the old banyan tree that had grown there so long ago. His bedroom was simple, with a mirror attached to one wall, a dresser standing opposite it, and his bed situated somewhere in between. There were several shells along the walls, most of them ones that Jace himself had found on the beach south of town. There were three circular windows, one over his bed, one to the left of the mirror, and one directly across from the second. Moonlight poured into Jace’s room through these windows as he got up and stumbled across his room to his mirror.
His face was pale and his long, brown hair disheveled but nothing more was to be seen; his problems were internal. He pressed his forehead against the cool glass and sighed, his breath fogging the mirror. He couldn’t ever remember being so troubled about something as trivial as a dream before. Dreams didn’t mean anything more than wild fantasies, or so his father always said. Dreams were dreams and nothing more. The problem was that Jace absolutely never had the same dream or nightmare more than once. These dreams continued to come back night after night, involving death, chaos, and terror. Jace feared that as the dream completely revealed itself, he wouldn’t be able to escape the Child of Death, or so he called the boy when telling his troubles to his best friend Vale.
Vale had the best of both worlds, being both smart and handsome. His parents were very fond of him and completely trusted his judgment, even though he was only thirteen. Vale was already developing quite a bit of muscle and he had grown a few feet in the past few months, as Vale continuously reminded everyone within hearing, after he had shown off the little facial hair that he had amounted over the years. It was this “maturity” that attracted his female entourage.
Vale and Jace were practically polar opposites of each other and yet they were the best of friends. Vale enjoyed sports, such as Foljit, and was continuously around other people and, more often than not, girls. Jace, on the other hand, was rarely seen outside of his home except by himself or with Vale. He enjoyed being by himself, though, and often found things that other people would never have done, such as a cave mad entirely out of crystal just a few miles outside of Morna.
Jace and Vale had met in children’s school, where kids aged five to ten were taught skills that the adults thought essential to life on Trident Isle, including fishing, canoeing, hunting, and reading. Some who wanted were able to take writing classes as well. Jace was particularly skilled in fishing, his father being the town’s principle supplier of fish. This prompted Vale into friendly competition with Jace, thus starting a rivalry that, after a few days of competing with one another, turned into a childhood friendship. Even though they had grown and changed since, Jace and Vale always found time for the other and hung out nearly every day when they would usually explore the jungles of Trident Isle. For other than the area taken up by the southern town of Morna, where Jace and Vale lived, and the northern port of Torsit, there was only jungle and mountains on the island. They never ventured far from the path, however, because there were creatures known as garaces and feeras out in the jungle, both very quiet and very deadly. They had encountered one garace a few months ago and barely escaped with their lives. Even though that had not dissuaded them from continuing to explore, they did travel with small hunting knives now.
Jace had confessed his concerns about his dreams while walking home on night and Vale thought long and hard before answering. Jace could see the wheels and cogs spinning inside of Vale’s head as time went on. Finally Vale said that there really was nothing to worry about unless the dreams kept coming. Vale even joked that Jace may be becoming a seer and punched him in the arm. Jace laughed it off, but did not mention his continuous dreams again.
But none of this passed through Jace’s mind as he stood there looking at himself in the mirror that night. He stumbled over to his bed in the weak light (the moon had been covered by a cloud) and pulled his nightshirt over his scrawny chest. Jace rubbed his blue eyes and yawned loudly as he shuffled across his room and out onto the balcony. There, he lit a candle, illuminating the stairwell to the first floor. He carefully picked his way down the stairs, not wanting to fall and wake his parents. The bottom of the stairs ended on the front hallway at the end of which the front door was locked for the night. Doorways led off to either side: one to the kitchen and dining room and the other to the study and sitting room. Jace went through the one on his left into the kitchen and took an apple off an open windowsill. He polished it on his sleeve before taking a big, juicy bite. He chewed thoughtfully while looking out at the full moon through the window. A wisp of clouds passed over the moon as Jace finished his apple, turned around and went back to a very troubled and uncomfortable sleep.
* * * * * * *
Far away, clear across the country from Trident Isle, the same moon that shone upon Jace’s home cast its light upon Stregicam, the once-proud building that the Magisters called home. The walkways were eerily silent and dark and the wind moaning through the cracks in the stone added a sense of foreboding about the building. The castle had become weathered with age and parts of it had fallen away and left their crumbled ruins in a collapsed heap on the valley floor; other parts had joined the roof of the tallest tower at the bottom of Lake Lorcid, which had been reclaimed by nature as it was now murky and covered with scum. The valley was also silent, as if it was waiting for something, something that was coming soon. Clouds drifted across the moon, soon blanketing the valley in darkness. All of the windows were dark, except for one which provided the only source of light for the entire valley.
The light was coming from a candle held by a man wearing a black robe. The robe was hooded and the hood was pulled up, masking the person’s face. The man walked silently up the deserted corridors and was headed toward the tallest tower. The man was one of the Elemental Magisters from Sigma’s time. He had been in the tower for several years, studying the texts that still resided there and continued his studies into the Forbidden Vault. He was eager to learn, knowing of the trials and tribulations that were to come. He learned that it was to be the night of the Break. The Eternity Seal was not completely finished when Sigma had placed it upon Goliaz and, while other, less powerful Magisters may have not been able to break the Seal, Goliaz was more than capable of doing so and the man knew it. This man had plans to join sides with Goliaz as he was drawn to power and seduced to its allure.
The man reached the top of the last spiral staircase and arrived at a trapdoor with a hand imprinted upon the wood. The man placed his hand inside the imprint and muttered the incantation to unlock the door, “Etrolinga”. His hand glowed blue for a second before the color went out of his hand and into the lock. When this happened, the man pushed the trapdoor and it swung open to the tower. The missing roof opened the top of the tower to the elements. At the moment, a thunderstorm was raging around the tallest tower of Stregicam and the man was met with the sound and force of wind, rain, and thunder. Lightning streaked all around the castle and the rain was pouring down in stinging drops pushed by the roaring wind. The wind tore at the man’s cloak but he simply held onto the hood and pushed against the wind until he stood at the center of the exposed tower. When he reached this spot, the man prostrated himself and bowed his head.
Within seconds, there was a great crash and an aurora suddenly appeared in the sky, the clouds and the storm instantly dispersing. Purples, pinks, and blues flickered in the sky, throwing strange lights upon Stregicam’s roof. The man stayed prostrated throughout its appearance but when nothing happened, he looked up in time to see the aurora streak off to the south. Within seconds, it was lost to view. The man was stunned until he realized where it had gone.
“Of course…” he whispered to himself. He quickly stood up and went back into the castle. He was soon flying after the aurora on a roc bound to his servitude. This giant bird was one that had lived up in the mountains surrounding Stregicam for a short time before being captured by the man. The roc hated the man but could not escape due to the magical connection between them that the man had instilled. Now it was being pushed to the limit, flying faster and farther than it ever had before.
The aurora was visible again after an hour of flying in the cold night sky and the roc was completely exhausted, almost to the point of death. The man urged it on faster and they were soon flying over the Mevit Swamp, an awful place whose stench rose to the heights of the flying bird and its rider. The moon gleamed on the swamp’s fetid waters that were undisturbed: its inhabitants were slumbering in the murky depths. A small, lone mountain stood at the western-most point of Mevit Swamp and at the western-most point of Alcerain itself. The place that the aurora hovered over now was known to all as the Pit of the Dead. It was said that the spirits of people who had died sometimes appeared there, making it an ideal place for Goliaz to come back to the world.
The man urged the roc downwards and it collapsed at the mouth of the Pit, into which dark tendrils entered. The roc gave a final, strangling gasp and died, his master having pushed it to death. The man turned away from the dead bird in disgust after pushing its carcass into a nearby pool slimed over with filth. The roc would make a nice snack for whatever found it, he reasoned. He now made his way into the Pit, treading carefully on the floor of the cavern which was littered with bones and skulls. He followed the dark tendrils into the place where they were thickest, marking the place of Emergence. The tendrils concentrated on a place in the middle of the deepest cave of the Pit and formed an oval-shaped hole. The man once again prostrated himself and waited.
There followed an immense gust of wind, sucking into the darkness, opening the world to the Void of the Eternity Seal. The man had to dig his fingers into the loose soil to prevent himself from being pulled in. Six things came out of the Void into the living world. Five of these were known as the Mortal Fears of the World. Death, Time, the Unknown, Darkness, and Fear itself stepped out onto the stone floor of the cave. Death held in its hands a bythe, a double-bladed scythe that it used as its silent and deadly weapon. Its face was a blank skull set into the hood of its black cloak and its hands were those of skeletons. The Unknown was simply a creature cloaked in black with a hood hiding its face. No body parts or distinguishing features showed themselves to make any headway on what was beneath the cloak. Time was an old man with a horse-like mouth that was always open. He held forth in his right hand an hourglass that showed the beholder how much time was left in their life; the white hand protruded from a long black cloak that swept around Time’s frail figure. His white hair streamed around him as he surveyed the circular stone chamber through his completely white eyes. Darkness was hidden in a cloud of impenetrable black it emitted from its body that no light could dispel. No one knew what Fear’s true form as it assumed the shape of what the person closest feared most. The man did not look on any of these, though he could feel their eyes, visible or not, upon the back of his head. He could also hear the rasp of scales as Fear transformed.
However, all of the Fears knelt before the sixth entity that stepped through the opening into the Void. Little was distinguishable about his body as he was merely a cloud of black fog with burning red eyes near the top, but Goliaz knew that his body would return in time. He looked around the room with satisfaction, knowing that all he had worked for in the past ten years had finally been realized. He had met the Fears in the Void and had welcomed them, drawing from their dark magic and using it as his own. The Eternity Seal began to wear away and he eventually broke it, although it had ripped away his physical body.
Goliaz was slightly confused as to who the man was but when he revealed his identity, Goliaz chuckled and said, “So. Now that you know who the real power in the world is, you wish to join me?”
He waited for the other’s nod before saying, “What makes you think that you can help me? Why would I want you when I have these five powerful figures with me here?”
“Because I know where to find those that can defeat you,” the man replied. “It has been a short time since your demise, Goliaz. Not long enough for them to lose their power. And, if you permit me to say, although you may still be strong, your powers have not all returned and they would be easily able to defeat you again…this time for good.”
“This is true…” Goliaz mused. “Very well, you may join me for the time being. As we travel to Stregicam you will tell me where the rest of the Magisters are and I shall send one of my hunters to…Yes? What is it?” Goliaz said, slightly annoyed because the man showed signs of wanting to interrupt.
“Two things, um…Master. One, I have already opened the Door in the basement of Stregicam and…there is another who can defeat you. He has the ability to use all of the Elements and he may even be able to wield the sword Legersem to defeat you. However…I know how I can get close to him.”
Goliaz began to laugh. An evil sound that would make skin crawl filled the cavern and the Pit as Goliaz brought the man into his servitude. He ordered that the Five Fears stay and guard the Pit in case any would come and use the opening into the Void for their own purposes. He then carried the man back to Stregicam as he flew and began to plan.

Here is Chapter 2! Keep reading and please respond so I can improve. All criticism is positive here!

The next morning, it was raining heavily on Trident Isle. The rain pounded on the palms outside and caused the ocean to be rough and choppy. A gust of wind blew rain into Jace’s room through his windows, catching him in the face and waking him with a jolt. A bolt of lightning illuminated his room with its glaring light before darkening again.
Jace quickly stumbled out of bed and hastened to the windows. He secured them by taking leather strings attached to pieces of vellum and drawing them tight across the open holes. He then walked over to his bedside table and lit the candle standing there to offer some light. It was then that he first noticed that he was drenched with, not rain, but sweat. He collapsed on his bed and stared up at the wooden ceiling and the hundreds of tree-rings; their house was a very old tree.
After several minutes of silent contemplation, Jace sighed, sat up and dried himself off with a hand towel before getting dressed. His wardrobe did not contain a variety of clothes since his family did not have enough money for more than the basic necessities. There were many tunics of the same light brown color with some pants made out of a light material. He quickly threw something on and fastened the waist with a piece of old rope before running out of his room and downstairs.
He turned into the kitchen to see his mother, Drea, peeling potatoes into a pail and his father, Lyro, trying to open the shell of a hard-boiled egg so he could eat breakfast.
“Good morning!” Jace called out cheerfully, causing his father to drop the egg. It smashed on the ground, the shell falling off in small pieces, yet the edible part was perfectly unscathed.
His father chuckled, “Well, that’s one way to do it…good morning, Jace. Sleep well?”
“Uh…yeah,” Jace replied quickly; he hadn’t told his parents about the dreams because he didn’t want them to worry.
“Good, that’s good,” his father mused as he bent down and picked up the egg. He bit into it and finished it in two bites. By then, Drea had bustled over to where the shell fragments still lay and was scooping them into a bucket. Lyro stood up, brushed himself off, and walked out into the front hall.
“Well, I’m heading off to the docks. Those fish need to be prepared for the market,” he said, reaching for his rain cloak.
“Do you think they will make you work in weather like this?” Drea asked worriedly. As if to illustrate her point, a bolt of lightning followed by a tremendous crash of thunder came in from outside.
“Of course! If they let us off for days like this, the work would never get done! I’ll see you around noon,” Lyro said, “Maybe,” he added as an afterthought. “Have a good day, son.” He winked at Jace and then stepped out into the pounding rain before pulling the door shut behind him.
“Oh, I hope the rain doesn’t continue like this. If it does, there won’t be a Foljit match today and everyone’s been so looking forward to the match,” his mother said.
Jace, who was rubbing his eyes, looked up suddenly. He had forgotten all about the Foljit match, all of his thought bent upon figuring out the mystery of the dreams. It was the annual match between the two towns of Trident Isle: Morna and Torsit. Between the two towns, there existed a peaceful rivalry when it came to the Foljit match, but otherwise, the separate towns had a symbiotic relationship as each profited from the other; Morna from the trade provided by Torsit and Torsit from the ample supply of goods and raw materials constantly heading north. Morna was small in comparison to Torsit, and would not have been necessary if not for the abundant supply of fish in the area. Trident Isle, as a whole, was nearly completely separated from the rest of Alcerain and would have been isolated entirely if not for the ferry running supplies and people back and forth from Torsit to Enjex, the biggest port city in Alcerain.
Jace often listened to travelers who came to Morna, eager to hear tales of Alcerain and the dealings of the “Mainlanders”. More times than not, he was disappointed. However, there were times when a traveler would come who had been throughout the world beyond the small country of Alcerain. There were tales of great battles, awesome magics, and unheard-of creatures that Jace never tired of hearing about. As long as Jace could remember, he had lived on Trident Isle and had never left. It filled him with wonder and a sense of inferiority to hear these tales.
As Lyro rushed out into the rain, Jace sat down to a breakfast of fresh fruit and cold mush. Jace looked at the slop in the bowl apprehensively and poked it a few times before scooping up a bit and smelling it. Drea rolled her eyes and sighed at her son’s behavior and bustled over.
“It’s porridge. Eat it now or you get nothing else until dinner,” Drea said coldly.
Jace started to protest but his mother said “No, no, no. You know the rules. How long have they been in effect? I believe since you were only one; so that means nearly eleven years!”
Jace grumbled before carefully placing the mush in his mouth. He started to gag and his mother ignored him but when Jace began to cough and sputter, Drea turned with a worried expression on her face.
“Jace. Jace! JACE!” she screamed and run over to Jace and began pounding him on the back. He went limp and collapsed on the floor. Drea numbly turned Jace over on his back to find him laughing at the top of his lungs. Drea sat in shock for a second before realizing what he had done.
“Jace! How could you do that? I nearly had a heart attack! Do you hear me?!? A heart attack! I said…” but it was no use. Jace’s laughter was extremely contagious and within seconds, he had his mother laughing right alongside him.
“Right,” she chuckled, “You just go to your room and…think about what you’ve done.” Jace tried to conceal his smile as he marched upstairs as Drea added, “For lack of a better punishment.”
* * * * *
As Jace ran out into the pounding rain hours later, his mother shouted after him, “And tell your father that if he doesn’t get home soon, he won’t get any of the fabulous dinner I prepared!”
“Of course, Mom!” Jace called back as he continued on into the rain. It had been pounding all day and showed no hint of breaking anytime soon. As Jace left the house, a huge bolt of lightning spider-webbed across the darkened sky, illuminating the pathway in front of him. Jace jumped in fright but continued on, determined to get out of the rain before he was soaked through to the bone. He began to run faster on the muddy path as the rain increased in intensity. It took a while to get into town as the paths had gathered huge puddles that could have been considered small lakes. The rain and the quarter-mile trek from his house left Jace in a foul mood as he approached the town, where the cobblestone road began. Since only Jace and his family lived out of town, the road was not given much expense and even had to be cleared by Jace’s family, with the help of several other willing families, such as Vale’s.
All of the buildings were boarded up against the weather. The normally bustling streets were empty save for the few souls traveling between houses. He turned left towards the docks when he reached the town square, the very center of Morna. All of the roads led off from the square to various parts of the small town; the main road continued on to the Foljit stadium and beyond to Torsit. He soon heard the shouts of the men at the docks as the boats pitched and heaved against the moorings. From what Jace could hear, one of the boats had just made it in when the ocean got rough.
It was hard work locating his father amidst the cloaked men all wearing the same uniform, but he managed. His father was scaling fish under a small tarp along with two other men; they could barely all fit. His father grinned upon seeing Jace and called out, “Is the wife calling me home already? But I was beginning to get comfy!” His friends chuckled and moved over quickly once Lyro was gone to take advantage of the increased space.
“Jace! I’ll go home but I want you to go to Vale’s and ask his parents if they would like to join us for dinner tomorrow night after the match: I heard it got postponed due to the weather. Can you believe it? There isn’t even a cloud in the sky!” Jace smiled and nodded, but on the inside, he was seething. Not only did he have to stay in the rain even longer, but his dinner would probably be cold by the time he got to it. Jace set off without another word. He realized with a pang that Vale lived all the way on the other side of town. He gritted his teeth and set off.
He ran with his father back to town square before they split: Lyro taking the south road back to home while Jace took the west road to go further into town. He traveled along the twisting streets and by the time he reached Vale’s home, Jace was panting and soaked, which only worsened his mood. Vale’s home was set in between two bigger ones, making it look small in comparison. However, the house was bigger than Jace’s and even had glass windows. There were candles burning in the sills and smoke curling from the chimney, drawing Jace to the warmth. He took a deep breath and put on a good face before knocking on the door.
Vale’s father, Trez, answered the door. “Hello, Jace!” he exclaimed. “So nice of you to come over on this nice day!” Jace rolled his eyes; their fathers’ sense of humor was one of the reasons why they were such good friends. In fact, each respective member of the family was the other’s best friend, so that the two mothers were good friends as well as the boys and the fathers.
Vale’s mother, Irona, called out, “Who is it, dear?”
“It’s Jace!” he hollered before beckoning Jace in. “Vale isn’t here right now, otherwise I’m sure you two would love to catch up. It seems like you’ve both been too busy to see each other recently. Right now, he’s up in Torsit buying some tools for our house. You know the drill, leaky roof, creaky floor, stuff like that. Anywho, what brings you here?”
Jace relayed his father’s message and Trez confirmed that they would be coming. “Now, would you like to dry off before you go?”
“No, thanks,” Jace said, “besides, I’d just be wet when I got home anyway.”
“Of course, of course,” Trey said before opening the door.
They said their good-byes and Jace set off once again. He seemed to be going a lot faster on his return trip as the prospect of a hot meal and shelter from the elements became more promising with each step. He blasted across town square and got on the road leading out of town. After weaving his way between a couple of puddles, which were now considerably larger, Jace got impatient and he began to sprint, knowing he was close to home. Not paying attention to where he was going, Jace slipped and twisted his ankle, sprawling on the ground and getting covered in mud.
Jace cursed and tried to stand up while supporting his weight against a tree, but his legs were wobbly and he had to catch his breath as his head spun. He stood there for a few moments, attempting to regain his balance and walk the rest of the way home when he saw a dark figure dart out of the jungle somewhere along the path in front of him. The figure turned his way and began walking towards him. Jace began to panic but then saw that the person, whoever it was, was carrying a torch that was barely holding its flame.
The figure approached and Jace saw an old man bent into his cloak with old, tanned hands holding onto a birch cane, which supported the man’s weight. He came closer to Jace with a hungry expression on his face and asked, “Young man, do you have some spare money to support this humble beggar? I’m afraid I was robbed of everything I owned in Torsit and can’t get back to Alcerain without money. Can you help?”
Jace looked at the man incredulously before answering slowly, “No, I can’t help you. I’m not really in a situation where I can help you, even if I wanted to.”
“Oh, that’s too bad. However, I’m sure you’ve got some food on you. Haven’t you, boy?”
The hairs on the back of Jace’s neck stood on end and he sensed that something was not quite right. He grimaced as he adjusted his weight against the tree and said, “No, I don’t have anything on me. If you could maybe help me home, I could give you something to eat.”
“No, I know you are lying to me. Every person has food on them in some form or another. If you don’t have regular food, I know that flesh and bone would taste just fine.” The man growled at Jace and removed his cloak, revealing the garace beneath.
Garaces existed solely on Trident Isle and preyed on innocent travelers on the roads leading to the towns. They commanded feeras, huge jungle cats which helped them with their prey. The garace before Jace stood seven feet tall and had yellow-brown skin with black blotches here and there. The face and the hands were the only vaguely human parts, which they used constantly in their disguises. Its fingers sprouted long, sharp nails suddenly and the garace leapt towards Jace with a snarl.
Jace yelled out and drew his hunting knife from its sheath. He swung it around to stab the garace, but it was too late. The garace swept the blade away and it landed with a squelch in a muddy puddle a few feet away. Jace knew there was no way to get to the knife to fend off the garace as he was barely able to walk. The garace began to laugh as he drew closer to Jace, who was using his hands and good foot to push himself away from his attacker. Jace closed his eyes and waited for the end when he suddenly felt as if a dam had been released inside his head. The warmth seeped through his brain and traveled along his body to his ankle. The pain miraculously disappeared and when Jace opened his eyes, he could see the garace staring in shock at his leg, which had begun to glow. When the light dispersed, his leg felt as if he had never been hurt.
“I don’t know how you did that, boy, but it won’t matter once you’re dead!” the garace snarled as it leapt once more at Jace. Jace reacted quickly and dived out of the way to retrieve his knife from the puddle. The garace ran at Jace, feinting to his left. Jace was prepared and swung his knife to the right as it plunged into the garace’s left eye,. The garace shrieked in pain and clawed at its eye as blood seeped out onto the ground to mix with the mud. It shrieked again and run off into the jungle, leaving its cloak behind.
Jace stared in wonder at his leg and at the blood running off his knife before walking slowly home in the rain, which had lightened slightly, thinking about what had happened.

well, it's not very gripping/engaging yet, and fantasy books need to have your interest from the start so.. yeah.

also, your sentences are a bit... choppy? you need to have more of a flow.

Well, what would you suggest? It makes it a bit easier when someone else tells you what is wrong (I am under the impression that it is nearly impossible to critique your own work).
Also, what would you say would be a better attention-seeker since you seem to think that it still isn't an eye-catcher. As a matter of fact, wait until I write the next chapter to answer that quesiton because I have a feeling that you will like the next chapter, it will definately add an air of mystery to the whole thing.

quite honestly, i really have no idea what to suggest, because I normally do not attempt to write this genre. i would help if i could, but i've gt nothing.

although, fragmented sentences do enhance reading, but as it's not your style i don't expect you to follow that.

if you really would like a very detailed critique which i'm kind of unable to give you, frankly i recommend writingforums.com, as professional writers often give advice there.

good luck with this and keep posting! you can definitely write and you have good imagination just to be able to attempt this, because i truly would be beside myself lol

All righty, sorry it took so long to write this chapter but I thank all the people on this site who will continue to read my story. Here is Chapter 3: A dark Revelation.

Jace stumbled into his house, still staring in wonder at his now-healed leg. His knife had been sheathed after the rain had washed off the garace’s blood. Jace closed the door behind him and rushed upstairs to change, knowing his mom would yell at him if he left giant puddles everywhere. On his way, he passed his parents conversing in an undertone in the kitchen. He got into his room and tore off the soaking clothes, leaving them in a sodden mess by the door. He put on new clothes and went downstairs; he was starving. Jace walked into the kitchen and caught his father saying, “…tell him tomorrow, he doesn’t need to know today.”
“Know what?” Jace asked innocently. Lyro and Drea jumped: they hadn’t heard Jace come home.
“Nothing at all. Were you eavesdropping?” Lyro asked with a roughish grin.
“Of course not,” Jace scoffed. “Why would I want to listen on a couple of oldies like you anyway?” Jace grabbed another apple off of the windowsill and ran upstairs laughing. The laugher died on his face when he entered his room and remembered the healing light. He pulled out his knife and inspected it. As he ran his fingers along the blade, he felt a slight snag and a drop of blood came out of a small scratch and ran along the knife. Jace gasped in surprise as the scratch started to glow and then was no more. All that remained of his injury was the blood drop working its way along the blade edge that he wiped off with his sleeve. He ate the apple slowly, pondering the day’s events.
Can I use magic? he thought to himself, And if I can, why haven’t I been able to before now?
Jace fell asleep looking at the ceiling with many troubled thoughts and throughout the night was once again visited by the demon boy. He grimaced each time the child laughed as it filled his head with the evil sound, threatening to make him go mad before each time wakening to find he was safe on Trident Isle.
* * * * *
In the tower of Stregicam, Goliaz was reveling in his new-found freedom from the Void. The man was bowed in front of his new master, awaiting orders silently. Goliaz gazed at his new servant, contemplating all he had said and told the dark wizard.
After a time, Goliaz spoke, “I am amazed that you would give yourself up to me after you helped bring about my downfall. However, it is not altogether surprising considering your…weaknesses. That is not a problem. I will make sure that you have everything you need; power is easy to obtain. I need you to go to the Elven city of Balor and wait for the boy. He will be sure to come when the time is right. I will make sure that the other Magisters are dealt with.”
The man bowed his head and left the tower, clanging the trapdoor shut behind him. Goliaz watched as, far below, the man left the castle and was soon lost down the winding path, his form disappearing into the mist. Sensing the open Demon’s Door, Goliaz began making his way towards it, using his ghostly body to float through the trapdoor to get deeper into the castle. Down hallways and curving stairways Goliaz traveled, always heading downwards. He finally came to a hallway deep beneath the castle that held several brackets with burning torches in them: the only hall in the castle to have light at all.
Goliaz went to the end of the hallway and observed the door set into the wall. It was a door made of wood with no handle or keyhole. The only lock the door offered was a hand set into the door in metal with various symbols and runes set around it in a circular fashion. Goliaz snorted and attempted to phase through it but something stopped him as if he were solid. He grunted and then silently berated himself for forgetting. The door was sealed with magic and only the right person could open with the right spell and identity. He concentrated for a few moments before a segment of his foggy exterior resembled an arm and he extended it forward into the hand plate. He closed his eyes and said, “Pesfora alstium Goliaz”. The plate glowed with a purple light and a yellow tendril of energy extended along Goliaz’s “arm” to his body before being absorbed. The spell complete, Goliaz’s misty arm floated back into the mass that was his body and the door swung open silently, spilling a cold, blue light into the dim hall.
Goliaz went inside and the door swung closed. Inside the room was a vast cave with stalactites and stalagmites springing up everywhere except in the center of the room, which was filled with a large oval hole in the ground from which the blue light was emanating. Inside the hole, shrieks and wails could be heard and ghostly figures drifted around near the bottom. Goliaz came up to the edge of the hole and began to chant:
Bones and blood and death abound,
Lifeless corpses all around.
There is one who has caused this:
The Hellmyrg, hunter of the abyss!
The wailing reached a frenzy while Goliaz spoke and then it abruptly stopped. From far off, Goliaz could see a white light coming out of the hole and suddenly, the cave was shaking violently as an earthquake ripped through the chamber. The white light quickly exploded out of the hole with a tremendous force before disappearing. However, it was not the light show that had Goliaz interested; it was the figure that he had summoned.
Crouched before him was a demon known as the Hellmyrg, a deadly hunter with lightning-fast reflexes and a killer instinct that could not be suppressed. The Hellmyrg, customary to most demons, was hidden within the confines of a black cloak. From one of the sleeves protruded a long, slender curved knife that had a black liquid dripping off it.
The hood of the cloak lifted until it was looking straight into Goliaz’s eyes. “I was hunting something,” it said in a menacing voice, “you interrupted me.”
Goliaz’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed his summoned demon, “You do not speak to your master that way if you know what’s good for you!” He lashed out with his magic and threw the Hellmyrg against the wall. But the Hellmyrg was prepared and he rolled in midair so that his feet met the wall and he launched himself towards Goliaz. The knife extended and he sliced right through the fog with no effect on Goliaz whatsoever. The Hellmyrg landed on the other side with a grunt and a hiss of surprise when he saw Goliaz perfectly intact, the fog roiling to fill the hole left by the Hellmyrg’s assault.
“I will follow your instructions for now…Master,” he forced out, gritting his teeth, “but I will leave when I finish your task…or until I can kill you.”
“We shall see who dies first, demon. You are to go to track down the remaining Magisters who still reside within Alcerain and kill those who would oppose me. When you complete this task, you will go to Trident Isle and find a boy by the name of Jace. You are then to bring him here…alive. You can kill anyone who gets in the way. Be careful, you should know he has powers that I am not sure of and he may be stronger than I know.”
“I doubt there is much that you do know…but you should know that a lot of people get in my way…when I’m hunting.” And with that, the Hellmyrg spun around and left the room, slamming the door behind it.
“Always a pleasure, demons,” Goliaz said with a chuckle as he, too, left the room.
* * * * *
Jace awoke with a start as someone was banging loudly on Jace’s bedroom door.
“Jace!” his father called, “Wake up! It’s almost noon and the game is going to start in half an hour!”
A burst of adrenaline coursed through Jace’s body as he leapt out of bed and hastily dressed, throwing on the rumpled clothes lying in a heap near a window, long since dried. He burst out of his room and slammed into his father, who had raised his hand to knock again. They went sprawling against the wall with a solid thump against the hard wood. His father started to laugh and stood up, bringing Jace with him.
“Be careful next time, you klutz!” he chuckled. Jace smiled and then ran down the stairs to see his mother standing in the doorway, looking out into a beautiful sunlit morning.
“Come on, let’s go already!” she joked.
As they stepped outside, Jace felt the humidity in the air from the previous night’s rain and as the sunlight hit his face, a searing jolt of pain cut across his forehead, jarring his thoughts. Jace cried out in pain and pressed his palm to his forehead and willed the pain to stop. He was aware of his parents calling out to him and asking if he was all right, but he was unable to answer, so consumed he was with his pain. He dropped to his knees with a squelch in the mud and panted, the pain slowly subsiding. He knelt there for a little while and soon felt his parents helping him up and guiding him into the house. They took him into a sitting room filled with potted plants Drea constantly tended to. There were rush mats made out of reeds on the floor where Jace and his parents sat. Cautiously, Jace took his hand off his forehead and opened his eyes to see his parents worried faces looking back at him.
“Jace, what happened?” Lyro asked him quietly.
“Are you alright?” demanded Drea, the concern radiating from her voice.
“I’m…fine.” Jace replied hesitantly. Should I tell them about my using magic? Will they believe me? “I’m still a little tired from last night, I guess. I dunno, the sun must have given me that headache. I’ll…uh…just go lie down and join you later.”
“No you won’t, Jace. You are ill and you will stay here and not go to the match. Ah!” Lyro exclaimed, as Jace showed every sign of interrupting, “No! You will stay here. We know you were looking forward to the match, Jace, but you are sick and you will stay here. We don’t need you going to the match and getting other people sick. It may even make it worse to be around all those other people. You’ve seen what the stadium looks like during the Foljit match, Jace; it gets packed! Besides, if you’re not feeling well, you need to be focused on getting better, not getting all riled up in the stadium.”
Jace consented grudgingly and flopped back on the mats so that he was looking at the ceiling. He heard his parents stand up and head for the door. As they were leaving, he heard his mother whisper, “You know he’s keeping something from us…don’t you?”
“Yes…but we’re hardly the ones to talk about keeping secrets right now. We need to let Jace be for a while and then talk to him when we get home.” Lyro responded encouragingly. Jace heard the door shut and his parents squelching off through the mud and then there was silence.
How long Jace lay there in his thoughts, he never knew. He was not angry, having passed the stage of premature temper tantrums years ago when he didn’t get his way; he was simply thinking. He thought long and hard about the magic dilemma now lurking at the back of his mind. The problem, he reasoned, is that I don’t know if it is magic. If I did, it would explain a lot right about now. If it is magic, then where did it come from? And did it cause such a painful headache as that? I need to know!
To keep from going insane, Jace turned his thoughts to that of the Foljit match and the rules. He carefully examined the rules within his head, the rules that were engrained into all Trident Isle children at a very young age, due to the popularity of the sport. The game Foljit was played on a grass field riding prangs (purple horse-like creatures with 3 pairs of legs). Every player has a long pole to use to attempt to knock an opposing player off of their prang. If a player is knocked from his or her prang while in possession of the ball, the ball immediately goes to the opposing team. Each player has a prang except for the goal protector, known as a folb. Both team’s objective is to get the ball and throw it into one of two holes set close to the ground on either end of the stadium while the folbs try to prevent that from happening. Each goal is one point and the first team to score 20 points wins the match.
What snapped him out of his thoughtful silence was a distant roar from the stadium. He sat up suddenly and a wave of nausea hit him. Jace ran to a window and threw up outside. The taste of bile was still sour in his mouth as he left the house for the stadium. Sick or not, Jace was not going to let himself miss the game of the year. His head had cleared slightly since he threw up but now a pain deep in his chest was working its way slowly up his body, towards his heart.
Wanting to avoid town, Jace took the path that curved around Morna on the western side and, conveniently, ended at the stadium. Jace stopped at a tree trunk and sat down, breathing heavily. The pain had increased in intensity now and was pulsing in his head. He had begun to sweat profusely and he hastily wiped his hand across his forehead to prevent the sweat from going into his eyes. He stood on shaking legs and forced himself onwards. Another cheer from the stadium urged Jace on; past the huge plumeria trees which were in bloom on either side of the path along with the tall palms leading to the beaches.
Within a few minutes, Jace broke out into the clearing surrounding the stadium and worked his way slowly to the entrance. The stadium was an impressive sight, completely made of brown stone. It had been created as a perfect circle with slits set near the top. There were archways that pointed north, south, east, and west that served as the entrances. Jace went in unhindered but when he slowed to a stop, another wave of nausea hit him and it took nearly all his willpower to keep from throwing up again. He climbed a few flights of stairs and he finally came out in the middle of the rising stands. The stadium had stands rising all the way to the top while the field was set into an oval-shaped bowl in the center. From the sound of things, it seemed as though Morna was winning this year’s game.
The sun beat down on his head and, combined with the humidity, made his headache come back with a renewed vigor. Tears leaked at the corners of his eyes as he wondered why he had come and not taken his parents advice. Someone called out to Jace, but he paid no notice and continued scouring the stands for his parents. When he spotted them, the pain reached a new height and Jace screamed in pain. The entire stadium went gradually quiet as his scream echoed throughout the stands.
Every head turned towards Jace as he ran blindly through the stadium. Before he knew it, he was falling and he hit the grassy field. By now, the players had stopped the game and the prangs were pawing the ground nervously. Jace stumbled to the center of the field as he felt the pain reach its peak.
“HELP ME!!!” he screamed, eyes screwed shut against the pain.
Then, it happened.
The pain exploded out of Jace’s body in a shock wave that devastated the entire stadium. It began as a small ball of black which quickly expanded, destroying anything and everything it came into contact with. The few players on the field that had come over to check on Jace were vaporized, their entire bodies turning to dust within seconds, along with their prangs. The other players were thrown off their prangs as the beasts bolted in terror out of the stadium. The remaining players on the field were killed just as quickly as the others, their remains disappearing in the onslaught of the energy explosion. Someone, a woman, screamed shrilly in the afternoon air, spurring the crowd to action. There were shouts and screams as everyone headed towards the exits; none made it in time. Men, women, and children died as the dark ball met with them. As the dark energy slowed, the people did not die as fast but spent their last few moments in bitter agony.
When the dark ball finally began to shrink, the stadium itself began to crumble and dissolve. An icon for Trident Isle that had been around for hundreds of years, it was being destroyed as easily as if it had been made of sand. The darkness retreated back inside of Jace, who had been in a trance-like state while the chaos and devastation occurred around him. When the darkness disappeared, Jace took a shuddering gasp of breath and then collapsed in the middle of the crater he had created.

I think your story is good, but a bit too lenghy. Don't cut the story down but just do a little bit in each post.

But other then that it is really good. i'm a sucker for anything that involves magic and stuff lol :lol:

Hey all!
I know it has literally been AGES since I last even looked at this site, let alone post anything. I took a lengthy break from writing really anything. I know that there may still be some of you out there who want to continue reading and I wanted to let those people know that I will be posting all future chapters to this site and I will be continuing to work on my story. So, without further ado, I am going to tell you all that I have made some changes in the stories, particularly the names of the main characters. Damon is now Jace and Vince is now Vale, I figured that I shouldn't be using our-world names in my story since no one else would have names such as those. I will be editing the previous posts with my updated chapters and underneath, you will notice Chapter 4: Leaving Home. Keep reading and critiquing because I appreciate all of what you guys do to help me out!
Thanks!

Here is the next chapter:

Chapter 4

How long Jace lay there, he never knew. The rain began falling as he slept, putting out the fires scattered throughout the wreckage of the ruined stadium. The water began streaming down the sides of the crater and pooled where Jace lay. When he breathed water in, he woke up coughing and sputtering, completely unaware of his surroundings. After the coughing subsided, he looked around and was confused as to where he was or how he had gotten there. He stood up on shaky legs and tried to climb up the crater sides. Though they were not steep, the sides were slick from mud and Jace slid down several times before giving up. He called out for help and soon saw a figure peer over the edge.
“Hey! Can you help me?” he called up.
The figure disappeared for a moment and came back with a coiled rope which was tossed down to Jace. Jace used the rope, which was secured somewhere at the top, as a sort of rail to keep himself from falling. Jace slid a few times before managing to reach the top of the crater. He clambered over it and collapsed on the rim with his legs swung over the crater, too exhausted to move. The man who had helped him came over and it was then that Jace realized that it was Vale’s father, Trez. Jace looked up into his face and saw tears of joy streaming down his face.
“Jace…you’re alive!” he cried out and pulled Jace into a fierce embrace.
Jace, more confused than before, pulled away and looked into his eyes. “What do you mean ‘alive’? Where am I? What’s happened?”
“Jace…I…think you should come with me,” Trez replied solemnly. He guided Jace away from the crater and into the village where people were weeping in small groups or just staring off into space. There were no children out playing, no laughter, no happiness. The weather seemed to mirror the mood of the village at the moment but Jace did not understand any of it.
“Why is everyone crying?” Jace asked, distressed. He cast around for any reason for the mood in Morna, but the only thing he came up with was the match. “Did we lose that badly?” he asked, looked up at Trez.
At that, Trez tightened his jaw and fresh tears began to form in his eyes but Trez brushed them away hastily and walked faster. Jace realized that they were making their way toward the town square and he soon noticed that everyone was meandering in the same direction. When they made it to the square, Jace saw only about twenty-five people assembled there, all looking extremely sad or very solemn. Trez walked to the front of the group and strode to the middle of the court before stopping and facing everyone. He motioned Jace to join him and then began to speak.
“As you all know,” he said in a loud voice that attracted everyone’s attention and stopped all the whisperings and mutterings, “a great tragedy has befallen us today. Much of our village has been killed by something none of us understands any better than the rest. A few hours ago, something destroyed the entire stadium and all those inside. I cannot say for certain what happened but I do know this: there was but one survivor and he is with me now. Jace was found because I stayed behind and continued searching for anyone who could have escaped the onslaught. I saved him from the crater where our proud stadium once stood. We cannot press him for details but perhaps…perhaps he knows what happened. Jace, please, do you remember anything?”
Jace stared straight ahead in shock and denial. Of course he knew what happened, he had caused it! He had killed all of those innocent people. Everything began to flood back into his head: being sick but deciding to head out for the match anyway, his long stumble to the stadium, the bitter taste of bile in his mouth, and of the final terrifying truth of the energy explosion that came from…him. Tears began streaming down his cheeks as he felt the anguish and the guilt build up inside him. The stadium…destroyed; his parents…dead; nearly the entire village…gone; all because of his selfish decision to go to the game despite his illness. He had no one to blame but himself and he felt the overwhelming weight of his actions on his shoulders, crushing him down into a darkness from which he could never free himself.
Jace felt the eyes of the people on him and turned away in shame. He could not bear to face the few people of the village who were left. He could never tell them of his folly or he would be outcast from their village. It was then that Jace knew what he had to do. In order to never hurt anyone again with his bad decisions, he would leave Morna, leave Trident Isle, and find a place secluded from the world, a place where no one would ever find him.
“It seems,” Trez said warily, “that we will never know what happened as our only witness does not remember. So many people have died today that I can hardly keep myself together and I am sure that the feeling is mutual in many of us. I suppose we should consider ourselves the lucky ones for being away from the explosion when it occurred. I should hope that we can recover from this. Many of you will wish to leave the haunting memory of this event behind and leave Morna. I will be departing Morna once I pack my few belongings and those who would join me will be traveling to Torsit this afternoon, when the sun is highest in the sky. I could not bear to stay here…without my wife beside me.” Here, Trez’s voice cracked and he turned away. Trez silently walked off into the rain, towards his home, and soon the entire town dispersed, leaving Jace alone to stare blankly ahead, feeling numb inside.
After a while, Jace noticed how cold he was feeling and that he was soaked to the bone. He blinked a few times, stood, and began making his way back to home. When he made it, he was met with another bitter wave of misery as he realized that there would be no warm meal waiting for him inside ever again. He ran up to his room and began to pack, knowing he had to leave as soon as he possibly could, to get away from the villagers before they left for Torsit. He didn’t know about the nature of the magic inside of him or know when the next time he would give off that kind of energy would be but he didn’t want to take the risk of bringing more undue harm to the remaining people of Morna; they had suffered at his hands enough.
Jace stuffed all of his possessions, for there weren’t many, into the backpack he took hunting with him. He hoisted his backpack onto his shoulders, took one last sad look around his room, and shut the door for the last time.
He squelched his way back along the path towards town, ducking down the path he had used merely hours (was it only hours?) ago as he staggered to the now-decimated stadium. Jace kept his eyes on the path ahead of him, concentrating on keeping the pain out by putting one foot in front of the other, blocking out all other thoughts and feelings and becoming oblivious to his surroundings. Soon, the cold of the rain outside was a comfort compared to the numbness he felt inside. It felt as though his entire life had been destroyed in mere seconds, and thousands more in the process. It didn’t matter if the people of the town never found out about his negligence; it would be pure torture to simply be in the presence of those he had cursed with his stupidity.
Jace found his way to the rubble of the stadium and knelt by the edge of the crater, which had begun to fill with water.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered as hot and burning tears began to slide down his face.
“Jace, is that you?” called out a voice behind him.
Jace looked up with a jolt and whirled around to see Vale approaching him from the direction of the main road, returning from Torsit with a backpack similar to Jace’s slung over his shoulder. Vale smiled as he drew closer, but his smile faltered when he saw the look on Jace’s face…and looked beyond as he began to realize where he was.
“Hey,” Vale stammered, panic in his voice. “W-where’s the stadium?”
Jace shook his head as fresh tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. He did not want to be the one to explain what had happened to Vale; it would be difficult to lie to his best friend, especially since Jace had killed Vale’s mother, but it would be impossible to tell the truth and confirm what had happened as reality. Instead, Jace composed himself and turned to face Vale with what he hoped was a welcoming smile on his face.
“Hey, Vale,” said Jace, alarmed at the quiver in his voice. Jace cleared his throat before continuing. “I, uh, think your dad was looking for you at home, he needed some help with something.” This was, Jace realized a jolt, the complete and utter truth.
“Oh, OK,” Vale said hesitantly. “I’ll go…are you sure you’re alright?”
“Yeah,” Jace said, with an attempt at a laugh. “Don’t worry about me, you just go and find your dad. We’ll see each other later.”
“All right, Jace, if you say so,” Vale said, retreating towards the path while still facing Jace. “Just come by my house later if you, you know, need to talk.”
“You’re a good friend, Vale,” Damon said softly, so that Vale could not hear.
Vale turned and reached the path and, with one final look back at Jace, he walked back on the path and was soon lost to view.
Jace exhaled slowly, calming his nerves and his heartbeat, which had quickened to a rapid pace. The sadness threatened to come back and overwhelm him again, but Jace brushed aside the feeling quickly, storing it away for a later time. At that moment, Jace knew he had little time to flee the city before its remaining citizens began their migration to Torsit. Jace tightened the straps on his backpack, wiped away the remaining tears from his dampened eyes, and began walking on the path leading to Torsit, becoming the first citizen of Morna to leave the decimated town.
* * * * *
Not long after Jace had begun walking on the path leading to Torsit, Vale sat at the table in the kitchen in his house, staring off into space. His father had just finished relaying what he knew of the events which had befell the town and how his mother, Irona, and Jace’s parents had been caught in the onslaught. Vale could feel a strange range of emotions running through his head, including grief, despair, loss, anger, confusion, and betrayal. This last feeling came from Vale’s thoughts on Jace, who he by now had figured out had kept this information from his best friend, for reasons of his own. Vale could not understand how Jace had survived when so many others had not, but he knew that the answers to what had occurred were within his best friend. Realizing this, Vale had run down to Jace’s house to find it empty and Jace’s room bare. Vale had returned to his home in a daze, not knowing what to do or who to turn to, his best friend gone and his father preoccupied with packing and organizing the remaining townspeople for their move to Torsit.
Vale had been shocked and struck by grief upon the news that his mother was dead, but he was a strong believer in destiny and fate, so he had accepted his mother’s death and moved on to the next problem: Jace. Vale had known Jace long enough to know when something was wrong, and he berated himself for letting Jace go so easily.
I should have known! Vale thought, He even had a backpack on and I could tell something was up. I bought his lie and he’s probably halfway to Torsit by now!
Vale knew, however, that he had to try. The guilt and sorrow was clear on Jace’s face, leading Vale to believe that Jace blamed himself, at least partly, for whatever had happened to the people in the stadium. Vale shook his head and let out a deep, shuddering sigh before pushing back his chair and going to his own room, situated in a back corner of the ground floor. His feet dragging with each step, Vale was only fortified by his determination to go after Jace and make him come to his senses, and perhaps discover what had happened to the stadium in the process.
Vale packed many of his own belongings into a similar backpack to Jace’s, remembering to grab his bow and quiver of arrows before departing. These weapons had been bought by his parents from a traveling merchant and Vale had been practicing, and he considered himself, if not good, then proficient.
On his way out of his house, Vale scribbled a short note to his father, explaining where he had gone, why, and that he would meet everyone when they reached Torsit. He then slipped out of the back door, took a short cut through the forest, and then Vale was hot on the trail of Jace, soon leaving Morna behind him in his haste.