u/PerfectTen-RoyalRoad

I have my first chapter written, and would like feedback, specifically, on one character who uses an accent. After reading it through, please let me know if it was jarring, or if it worked for the character.

If it was jarring, what would you do to change it? A complete change to normal text with only the mention that they have an accent, keep some of the mechanics, or sprinkle the mechanics in at times to remind the reader of their accent? Any feedback would be appreciated. Thanks for reading.

Chapter 1: Despair

 

I’m . . . I’m sorry. I couldn’t save you. I couldn’t save…anyone.

It’s ok, Dek, a gentle, familiar voice whispered back in the darkness. Rest now.

It was midsummer in the Year of Fallen Leaves, and the day was blisteringly hot. The land, once lush with life, had since withered under the constant barrage of the sun’s embrace. Grass turned brown and brittle, and the earth dried out. On the horizon, heat waves rose like shimmering apparitions, suffocating the lungs with every breath.

Yet in the middle of a dying pasture rose a proud apple tree. Standing over fifty feet tall with thick, reddish-brown bark, its sprawling canopy blocked out the sun. Despite the trunk’s immense girth, massive limbs bowed under the weight of large, luscious red apples.

A boy lay beneath its sprawling branches, back planted firmly against its trunk. His hands hung limp by his sides, and his feet were splayed carelessly before him. Small leaves and twigs clung to his disheveled, sandy-brown hair, and his face—normally handsome—was battered so severely that his right eye was swollen shut. He licked his scabbed lips, his gaze fixed on the cloudless sky above.

“He’s not all there,” a man spoke in Sturian.

“Aye, something’s a-gone from him,” a husky voice agreed. Unlike the first speaker, his Sturian was crude, thick with a heavy accent.   

The two men stood atop a small hill hundreds of feet away. Before them, the rugged terrain flattened out into the pasture where the boy lay. Behind them, foothills rose gradually until they transformed into the famed Gloom Mountains: a vast wall of interconnecting peaks that cut across the horizon for miles.  

Gruman, an Alurian who towered well above most men, peered down at the distant pasture. He was broad-shouldered and imposing, his dark hair framing a chiseled face dotted with small scars. His very presence demanded respect.  

“Do you think we can help him?”

Perched atop a small boulder nearby was a short, sturdy figure. Ragabond, like most Isedri, had a thick body with bulky arms and overly large hands. His golden-tinged face was weathered and cracked, and his tangled hair, once a fiery orange, had long since faded to a dark gray. Glimpses of dull, reddish-orange streaks ran through his mane—a bitter reminder of its former glory.

Pushing off his seat, the Isedri landed heavily on his feet and scooped up a spade-headed shovel from the ground. “We?” he snorted, staring up at his towering companion. “Look inna mirror, Gruman. Yer eyes…they’re bleedin’.”

The proud Alurian looked defeated in both body and soul. His clothes were worn and stained, his beard unkempt, and the sour scent of stale sweat and dried dirt wafted off him. Yet despite his ragged appearance, it was his eyes that had changed the most. They were red-rimmed and hollow.   

“I finished me grievin’ days ago,” Ragabond grunted, cracking his neck from side to side. He sucked in a heavy breath, squared his thick shoulders, and exhaled loudly. “The boy needs a soldier now. Not a weeping wreck. I’ll see what I can do.”  

The Isedri trudged down the hill, his boots crunching carelessly over cracked earth and dying grass. Up close, the boy’s body was a map of violence. Scabbed claw marks peeked through his shredded clothes, and his battered face was painted in dark purples, save for the occasional yellowing mark.  

 “Lad.” Ragabond cleared his throat, his voice softening. “It’s me, Enforcer Vilner.”   

The boy’s unblinking good eye remained fixed on the sky as the Isedri stepped forward, blocking his view. “The Commander asked me to help ye out. Some kind o’ encouragement of sorts.”

The boy continued staring right through him, as if he didn’t exist.

Bending down, Ragabond smiled gently, placing a comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder. Leaning in close to his ear, he whispered, “But we both know I’m no good fer that, so I’m just gonna tell ye how it is, then.”

He jerked his head toward the hill behind him. “The Commander up there thinks I’m giving ye some motivational speech er somethin’. Far from it. The girl’s dead. All yer friends, dead. Maelix’s missing—probably dead. I imagine they tortured him afore splitting him down the middle. Bet ye he wet himself, didn’t he? Sat blubberin’ in his own piss while they did what they did to the others.”

The Isedri suddenly stood and took a step back. “But not ye, Dekkeon Wentwood. No…no, not our brave little boy! Ye fought back, didn’t ye?” He chuckled, a dry, raspy sound. “Of course ye did. How’d that work out fer ye? I found all of ‘em in the woods. Had to search fer several missing parts, but I’m a stubborn fellow. Oh, did I mention I also found her body still strung up betwixt two trees? Ye didn’t deserve her friendship—none of theirs. And why’d all this happen?”

A sharp flush rose up the enforcer’s neck and into his cheeks, his whole body trembling with rage. Squeezing his hand into a fist, he thrust it mere inches from the boy’s face, shaking violently. “Ye failed! Yer weak! Ye weren’t strong enough to save ‘em! They died—because of ye!”

As his fist continued shaking uncontrollably, Ragabond stared at it, his eyes afire. With tremendous willpower, he unclenched his fingers one by one, letting out a long, deep breath. The pasture grew still as his blazing eyes dimmed to their usual simmer. The sudden silence carried a weight far heavier than his screams ever could.

It was enough. For in the quiet, the boy finally broke.

A single tear slipped down Dekkeon’s cheek, plopping onto his muck-covered shirt. As he closed his eye, tears streamed down his face. Openly weeping, no words or cries of pain escaped his lips. His tears were words enough.

Ragabond waited for a stretch of time before speaking once more. “Ye’ve two options from where I’m standing, boy. Ye can wallow in yer self-pity, witherin’ away until ye eventually curl up and die like the worthless piece a trash ye are, or—”

Turning, his gaze locked on the distant figure of Gruman. When he turned back, his eyes were filled with fervor.

“—Or ye can get off yer lazy, worthless arse and quit feeling sorry fer yerself. And one day, if yer lucky, ye may just split the bastard in half what killed our precious little girl.” The Isedri licked his lips with a hunger that food could not satiate. “If I don’t beat ye to it first.”

He tossed the shovel at the boy’s feet. “I told the Commander I buried her since he’s too grief-stricken to do it himself. But ye know what? I lied. That’s yer job. I left the bodies up at the cabin. Once ye’re done burying ‘em, come find me. Or rot in hell fer all I care.”

Ragabond turned to leave, then stopped. “If ye do seek me out, I can promise ye only one thing. Chance. A chance fer revenge—that’s it. I’ll be at the cabin till the sun sets two weeks hence. If I don’t see ye by then, ye’ll ne’er see me again. Training begins now.”

As the Isedri trudged off, the boy and the apple tree were left in silence.

Back on the hill, Ragabond stood beside Gruman, but unlike his companion, he now faced away from the boy.  

“I did as ye asked.”

“What did you tell him?”

“The same thing me grandfather told me after me first battle.”

“I see,” Gruman replied softly. “Do you think it will work?”

Ragabond shrugged. “We’ll know when he either kills himself, runs away, or…”

“Or?”

“Or comes to us, then wishes he’d killed himself er run away.”

Gruman’s gaze slowly lowered, locking onto the ground. “A part of me wishes he’d simply run away.”

Ragabond cocked his head to the side. “Do ye blame him fer what happened?”

The Alurian shook his head. “No,” he replied, pausing a moment before adding, “For his sake.”

The Isedri sucked in gunk from his nostrils, then spit it to the side. “Yer looking the wrong way, Commander. The boy’s living in the past. Don’t make the mistake o’ joinin’ him. We’ll see him soon enough, if’n he has the courage. Are ye returning to the cabin?”

There was a short pause. Gruman shook his head. “No.”

“Ye think he’s alive?”

“If he is, I have to find out.”

“Joyous huntin’,” the Isedri replied. “I’ll be waiting fer yer return.”

Without another word, Ragabond departed, leaving the Alurian alone on the hill.

The wind picked up, bringing with it dark, billowing clouds that choked out the sky. The sun vanished behind the gray expanse. Though the respite from the heat was welcome, to Gruman, it felt like an omen. A storm was coming—a massive, unforgiving gale that would change the face of the very earth they trod upon.

At last, he too turned, leaving the boy alone in the dying pasture.