Elisabeth's Short Stories Options

[Elisabeth Hollow]

Writing short fics like this keeps me sharp. There's no continuation for any of these. These will be one or two chaptered stories. I won't be concerned with word count, only the content and editing.

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A hiss of pain was all that escaped her lips before her skull cracked against the rock.

Soft shoes padded against the cobbled stones of the darkened streets as the brown-haired man fell to his knees, hand shaking. Tears sprung to his eyes as the only woman who had ever loved him lay dead in front of him, a pool of what was left of her blood creating a blackened halo around her head.

He stepped in it. Gods forgive him, but he stepped in her blood as he ran away. There were no guards chasing him, no angered shouts of mobs, voices roaring with rage as they burned down his cabin. It was quiet.

Too quiet.

Roland Jenseric hid out for several days, he thought, though it had been weeks. The nightmare of finding Relfina clutched in the grasp of a vampire was toying with his brain. Nightmares of what he might have done to her haunted him. He wondered more, what did Seridur do with her body?

He had combed the beaches of Lake Rumare, finding nothing. No guards were after him, and she was simply…missing. He would not be missed because of his isolated ways. No…Seridur would attempt to find him, he knew it. Roland was only a simple man, but he would fight to the death.

The days stretched on, with him writing furiously in his journal, re-reading the silly love notes Relfina would write to him and stick in strange places in the cabin. Under a pot was a bit of parchment with a simple heart drawn on, in a cup there were several love notes, each one stuffed in hurriedly. His favorite one was a note tied to a branch of dried lavender that simply said “You’re always in my dreams.” She stuck that beneath his pillow and left it there.

Once, in a frenzy, he decided to find all of them. He tore the cabin apart, determined to find every scrap of paper her lovely fingers had touched. In the short few months they had been seeing each other, Reflina had managed to write nearly fifty separate love notes to Roland, sticking them in odd places. The last time they had visited the cabin, she had sneakily rigged a note to fall when Roland opened a cupboard door. He wept.

He was re-reading another particularly saucy love note from her, the paper creased and smeared from him folding and unfolding it, when the knob jiggled. He was lost in the words, the echoes of her intent leaving him breathless. When you pressed your lips against my neck…

A sword unsheathing caused him to jump up, crumpling the letter in his fist.

“Wait! I know what you’re here for!”

And thus begun Roland’s revenge.

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He thought about burning them. He knew that with each piece of paper that turned to ash and smoke, a little more of his soul would be released. A little more of himself would be ready to heal. But he wasn’t ready to heal quite yet. Instead, he cleaned out Seridur’s drawers and gave them to Cylben and tucked the letter away in the side table next to the bed.

It was hard to act noble in front of The Hero; the same man who killed Seridur would also bring him the ashes of the other vampires he had killed. Roland paid him straight from Seridur’s coffers; an act he felt was justified. Stepping into Seridur’s house didn’t fill the void Relfina had left, but left him with a righteous, victorious indignation. She would be avenged wholly.

Despite what he thought, he was chagrined to see he wasn’t the only one who had lost someone due to Seridur’s vampirism. Roland had found Cylben Dolvalos, Seridur’s bodyguard, hunched with his own scrap of paper on Seridur’s bed several weeks after The Hero brought Seridur’s ashes to the Order. Roland left him in peace, though Grey-Throat commented on what Roland already speculated on, nodding towards a solemn Cylben.

“They were close,” he hissed in Roland’s ear. “Seridur was his Relfina.”

Roland didn’t feel victorious after that.

Still, no amount of scrap paper would convince him he wasn’t where the gods destined him to be. He may be just a man, but he would fight with the tools the gods gave him. And the gods gave him The Hero.

[Destri Melarg]

Hi Liz. It’s good to see you posting stories again. I’m not sure if you even want an in depth critique, but I’ve been meaning to give you one for so long that I just can’t help myself. Let's take the first story:

A hiss of pain was all that escaped her lips before her skull cracked against the rock.

Now that’s how you open a story! You’ve got me pinned in one sentence. Nice.

Soft shoes padded against the cobbled stones of the darkened streets as the brown-haired man fell to his knees, hand shaking. Tears sprung to his eyes as the only woman who had ever loved him lay dead in front of him, a pool of what was left of her blood creating a blackened halo around her head.

He stepped in it. Gods forgive him, but he stepped in her blood as he ran away. There were no guards chasing him, no angered shouts of mobs, voices roaring with rage as they burned down his cabin. It was quiet.

Too quiet.

Excellent imagery here. The ‘blackened halo’ is particularly effective. ‘What was left of her blood’ is a fantastically subtle way of letting us know that she was the victim of a vampire. I simply loved that! The term ‘padded’ in describing the soft shoes of the brown haired man might be a little off... if that was the intent. Padded as a verb denotes movement in the sense of walking (or even running). In this case, because the figure in question simply falls to his knees at that moment, ‘padded’ comes across as slightly confusing. This becomes even more apparent when you describe him as stepping into her blood ‘as he ran away.’ Perhaps stating that ‘he had stepped in her blood as he ran away’ would clue us into the passage of time.

Now, if the intention was to describe the ‘padding‘ away of the perpetrator of this crime, even as the poor man discovers the body, then you need a word or two more in the first sentence to clearly differentiate the two.

Roland Jenseric hid out for several days, he thought, though it had been weeks. The nightmare of finding Relfina clutched in the grasp of a vampire was toying with his brain. Nightmares of what he might have done to her haunted him. He wondered more, what did Seridur do with her body?

Just an observation, but I’ve always found italics to be effective when it comes to highlighting something going on inside a character’s mind.

He had combed the beaches of Lake Rumare, finding nothing. No guards were after him, and she was simply…missing. He would not be missed because of his isolated ways. No…Seridur would attempt to find him, he knew it. Roland was only a simple man, but he would fight to the death.

This is a nice way of establishing the sense of hopeless dread that Roland must surely be feeling. I would be remiss in pointing out that Roland has no way of knowing that Relfina was ‘missing’ simply by combing the beaches of Lake Rumare. A visit from someone inside the city, or an overheard word from travellers on the road would have clued him in, and it would have also presented you with the opportunity to show us rather than tell us.

The days stretched on, with him writing furiously in his journal, re-reading the silly love notes Relfina would write to him and stick in strange places in the cabin. Under a pot was a bit of parchment with a simple heart drawn on, in a cup there were several love notes, each one stuffed in hurriedly. His favorite one was a note tied to a branch of dried lavender that simply said “You’re always in my dreams.” She stuck that beneath his pillow and left it there.

This entire paragraph is simply beautiful, Liz! The details are absolutely perfect!

Once, in a frenzy, he decided to find all of them. He tore the cabin apart, determined to find every scrap of paper her lovely fingers had touched. In the short few months they had been seeing each other, Reflina had managed to write nearly fifty separate love notes to Roland, sticking them in odd places. The last time they had visited the cabin, she had sneakily rigged a note to fall when Roland opened a cupboard door. He wept.

This is great as well. In two short paragraphs you have managed to give us a real feeling for the relationship the two of them shared. That is no small feat!

He was re-reading another particularly saucy love note from her, the paper creased and smeared from him folding and unfolding it, when the knob jiggled. He was lost in the words, the echoes of her intent leaving him breathless. When you pressed your lips against my neck…

You have the most wonderful knack of dwelling on just the right little detail. That creased and smeared piece of paper jumps off the page, and puts me right into that room with him. I just love ‘bouncy’ writing! Forgive me for adding the italics... but they just seemed to fit, considering that we are hearing what he is while reading her letter.

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He thought about burning them. He knew that with each piece of paper that turned to ash and smoke, a little more of his soul would be released. A little more of himself would be ready to heal. But he wasn’t ready to heal quite yet. Instead, he cleaned out Seridur’s drawers and gave them to Cylben and tucked the letter away in the side table next to the bed.

I like the stubborn defiance in Roland. He knows he needs to heal, but he isn’t ready to release Relfina (or himself of the guilt he feels for not being able to protect her). The bolded portion gives the indication that he gave Seridur’s drawers (and not the contents within) to Cylben. Not sure what to make of that!

It was hard to act noble in front of The Hero; the same man who killed Seridur would also bring him the ashes of the other vampires he had killed. Roland paid him straight from Seridur’s coffers; an act he felt was justified. Stepping into Seridur’s house didn’t fill the void Relfina had left, but left him with a righteous, victorious indignation. She would be avenged wholly.

Despite what he thought, he was chagrined to see he wasn’t the only one who had lost someone due to Seridur’s vampirism. Roland had found Cylben Dolvalos, Seridur’s bodyguard, hunched with his own scrap of paper on Seridur’s bed several weeks after The Hero brought Seridur’s ashes to the Order. Roland left him in peace, though Grey-Throat commented on what Roland already speculated on, nodding towards a solemn Cylben.

“They were close,” he hissed in Roland’s ear. “Seridur was his Relfina.”

Roland didn’t feel victorious after that.

Still, no amount of scrap paper would convince him he wasn’t where the gods destined him to be. He may be just a man, but he would fight with the tools the gods gave him. And the gods gave him The Hero.

A satisfying conclusion to a thoroughly enjoyable vignette! Roland justifies using Seridur’s money to pay for the eradication of vampires, even while acknowledging the fact that doing so makes him the monster in the eyes of Cylben. That is a fantasic twist that you’ve added to the existing quest that we are all familiar with. This was simply a pleasure to read, Liz!