Post by gypsythemoonstruck on Dec 17, 2008 14:32:17 GMT -5
I give and take...Critique me as harshly as you want. I need to know. Don't go soft. Seriously, even if it's good find a flaw. If you Dookienut/you guys don't I will...trust me.
The cool crisp feel of the autumn breeze running through the valley of Shaymoore rustled the leaves around the house of the local apothecary, Jiran Osmunde. As an old and superstitious man, he closed his shutters shut to keep the spirits of the dead from entering his home. The old man had lost many people in his life due to the Lich
's war, one of which was his beloved wife, Lanette. Together they had made a beautiful daughter that looked so much like her mother that Jira sometimes, in his old age, would call their daughter by the name Katrine. Those days he could barely stand to live; those days he could barely stand to look at his daughter, Rhuemia.
Rue had grown up without a mother and to make matters worse a strict, overly critical father. Jiran knew life with him was hard and Rue had suffered as the daughter of an angry apothecary. Jiran's work took him everywhere in the valley and he would often leave Rhuemia alone for weeks at a time, however, the girl seemed to enjoy her solitude and did well without him or anyone else. She did so well without others that Jiran feared the negative effect of her anti-social behaivor, so he had begun to take her along with him and taught her a few things of the trade so that she would, at least, be useful.
She had learned everything he taught her so quickly, too. She was so eager to learn anything and everything she could. When Jiran couldn't teach the girl anymore he gave her books to keep her quiet. She devoured knowledge like a starving child would a tart.
There were irreversible effects for allowing his daughter so much freedom, and those were called pride, stubborness, and competitiveness. She would often argue with him about this and that. Which herbs were in season, which route was the better route to get to town, why she shouldn't have to primp and comb her hair. When she truly gets into an arguement with anyone her face lowers slightly and her jaw clenches, she looks like a raging bull ready to gore anyone who happened to be in the way.
He frowned, trying not to smile. He had tried to get rid of her last year. He tried to marry her off to a well-to-do merchant's son, but one day with the girl had him breaking off the engagement and running for the hills to marry a calm but homely milk maid. He shook his head as he thought of what could have possibly made such a strong looking lad run. It's true her tongue is like a poisoned arrow, but Rue herself was beautiful.
He turned to look at his daughter sitting with a book in front of her face. She had long curly dark brown hair with a set of gold-green eyes. She was beautiful. Only Jiran knew the softer side of his daughter. She nurses the
, helps the poor by sneaking Jiran's expensive concoctions to them, she even tries to teach the child how to read.
If only, he thought, she could just open up to someone, a man worthy of her love.
It's not done yet...This is just the first bit. It takes me forever to write because I want it to be just so.
The cool crisp feel of the autumn breeze running through the valley of Shaymoore rustled the leaves around the house of the local apothecary, Jiran Osmunde. As an old and superstitious man, he closed his shutters shut to keep the spirits of the dead from entering his home. The old man had lost many people in his life due to the Lich
's war, one of which was his beloved wife, Lanette. Together they had made a beautiful daughter that looked so much like her mother that Jira sometimes, in his old age, would call their daughter by the name Katrine. Those days he could barely stand to live; those days he could barely stand to look at his daughter, Rhuemia. Rue had grown up without a mother and to make matters worse a strict, overly critical father. Jiran knew life with him was hard and Rue had suffered as the daughter of an angry apothecary. Jiran's work took him everywhere in the valley and he would often leave Rhuemia alone for weeks at a time, however, the girl seemed to enjoy her solitude and did well without him or anyone else. She did so well without others that Jiran feared the negative effect of her anti-social behaivor, so he had begun to take her along with him and taught her a few things of the trade so that she would, at least, be useful.
She had learned everything he taught her so quickly, too. She was so eager to learn anything and everything she could. When Jiran couldn't teach the girl anymore he gave her books to keep her quiet. She devoured knowledge like a starving child would a tart.
There were irreversible effects for allowing his daughter so much freedom, and those were called pride, stubborness, and competitiveness. She would often argue with him about this and that. Which herbs were in season, which route was the better route to get to town, why she shouldn't have to primp and comb her hair. When she truly gets into an arguement with anyone her face lowers slightly and her jaw clenches, she looks like a raging bull ready to gore anyone who happened to be in the way.
He frowned, trying not to smile. He had tried to get rid of her last year. He tried to marry her off to a well-to-do merchant's son, but one day with the girl had him breaking off the engagement and running for the hills to marry a calm but homely milk maid. He shook his head as he thought of what could have possibly made such a strong looking lad run. It's true her tongue is like a poisoned arrow, but Rue herself was beautiful.
He turned to look at his daughter sitting with a book in front of her face. She had long curly dark brown hair with a set of gold-green eyes. She was beautiful. Only Jiran knew the softer side of his daughter. She nurses the
, helps the poor by sneaking Jiran's expensive concoctions to them, she even tries to teach the child how to read. If only, he thought, she could just open up to someone, a man worthy of her love.
It's not done yet...This is just the first bit. It takes me forever to write because I want it to be just so.
' Bloody heck, two jobs and a BUNCH of kerfuffle later, and I'm back AGAIN.