u/PhishNips

I recorded both guitar parts and some of the harmonies. Super fun!

Hello everyone, I'm looking for feedback on the first chapter of my story. I'm trying to improve my writing and storytelling skills, so I'd be grateful for any feedback and critique on the below:

- Story / intrigue / would you keep reading?

- Prose

- Character

- Action (never really wrote an action sequence, so I'm curious about this)

- Overall impression / does it make sense / good or bad for a first chapter?

I appreciate your time and consideration! I'm no professional, just trying to get better at a hobby. I've edited this a few times, and each time I think I get better, so I thank you for the advice because I do take it to heart. Apologies if I formatted this post incorrectly. Thanks!

Hello everyone, I am hoping for feedback on the first chapter of a story I'm starting. I'd love to know if the prose is any good, and if the story is intriguing or if anything doesn't make sense.

Day came after a month of endless night, but Jerron would not see it.

He was in a cave within Mal Pyett, the tallest peak in the Eastern ranges. Missing the rare sunrise meant nothing to him. Only the hunt.

Holding a torch in one hand, he crept through the cold cavern. The braziers within must have once lit the chamber a thousand years ago, before the Underfall. Now, the unusually smooth walls reflected the torchlight, allowing him to see the path ahead. One of the ancient crypts of old, it was similar to the vault he'd plundered last — a cavern within Mal Sooq, in the Southern ranges. However, this one was different, somehow. Almost sterile.

He soon came to a wide stone step that led up to a high platform above the chamber. It was a three days’ climb to the highest pass just below the summit, and his legs ached at the thought of yet another ascent, but the pain didn’t matter — he was so close. His heavy boots echoed throughout the cavern as he climbed, breaking the ancient silence once held by the frigid air.

The shadows beyond soon gave way to the torchlight, and there it was, as he had expected.

The sarcophagus waited there before him. A pale limestone block six feet across, it lacked any ornamental design, unlike the one in Mal Sooq. Jerron held the torch to the tomb’s surface near his waist, searching for the symbol Rufin had shown him. He brushed his other hand across the tomb, feeling for any etchings in the stone.

Nothing. It was smooth, much like the surrounding walls.

He sighed through the cloth wrapped around his mouth and laid the torch on the ground. This vault was unique. There were no signs of decay, no loose rock, no cracked stone. The firelight had not revealed the same angular patterns marked on the walls of the other vaults. Even the entrance, hidden well beneath the snow outside, was devoid of any decoration.

Irritated, Jerron removed the large hammer clasped to his back and immediately came down on the stone. The impact rang loudly throughout the still crypt. He was breathing heavily now — not from exhaustion, but annoyance. The peculiarities of this place didn’t so much worry him as it did frustrate him. There was nothing he loathed more than a wasted hunt. He swung again.

The surface cracked.

With his wrath, Jerron brought the hammer down, crashing through the sarcophagus and sending a thick plume of stone dust into the air.

Easy, he thought, satisfied. The hammerhead reflected the fiery glow of the torch, and Jerron grimaced at the long scratch across the steel. Rufin is going to have to pay me more.

He reattached the hammer to his back and began to remove pieces of broken stone from the sarcophagus. Despite their weight, he tossed the fragments away with ease, soon revealing a human skeleton underneath. He didn't care that the bones were damaged from the shattered stone. Instead, he carelessly untangled them from the scattered rock until he uncovered what he had come for. The skull.

The cracking of bone sounded throughout the space as he wrenched the head from the crumbly spinal column. The skull had remained intact, dark and discolored after a millennium of burial. He set it down on the edge of the sarcophagus and picked the torch up off the ground. His blood warmed while he examined the skull beneath the firelight, feeling a rush as he brushed the dust from off the bone.

He smiled.

The oval with a smaller circle inside, resembling an eye, was etched into the back of the skull. It was the symbol Rufin had shown him, the same one he had seen in Mal Sooq: the Kabal.

He laughed as he shoved the skull into his pack. Rufin! he thought. “Bastard” wouldn't begin to cover it. Relief softened his aching legs, and he let out a deep breath. The days spent trudging up Mal Pyett had finally come to fruition. The journey down wouldn't be so —

A shriek pierced the darkness.

It echoed endlessly throughout the large cavern, a harrowing sound undertoned by a low clicking rumble. Jerron spun around, the darkness of the crypt his only view. He cursed himself for not lighting the braziers earlier.

The shriek sounded again, this time followed by the sound of crumbling stone.

Time to go, he decided.

He ran down the steps, torch in one hand, hammer in the other. He needed only to cross the chamber, then fit through the partially collapsed passage that led outside.

An expulsion of rock and dust scattered across the firelit floor in front of him. Throaty basso clicks thumped loudly, and he could feel the ground pulse as the creature pounded towards him. Spindly, membranous arms stepped forth into the light, supporting a mass of brown-black fur towering into a fierce wolf-like head poised downward to strike. The creature lunged at Jerron with a toothy snap, but he dodged sideways, falling into a roll onto the dirty floor. It let out another deafening shriek, raising its long, winged arm, then swiped down at him. He rolled away, losing grip of the torch and hammer.

The creature's clawed feet kicked the torch away as it approached him, casting the light into a far corner. The thumping vocal clicks probed nearer, and a rancid stench aired close. Jerron sprang to his feet, rushing to the right of the sound. He knew the thing could see in the dark through sound, but he'd decided that the time for quiet subtlety was gone. He would kill the beast.

He searched in the dark for the hammer, pawing frantically at the dusty ground. The animal had already turned, bounding towards him when he saw the long, grey handle against the rocky ground. He grabbed the heavy hammer with one hand, dodging another fanged jab from behind, the cloth around his face slipping off from the rapid movement. He didn't feel the sting of the icy air, only the grip of the hammer as he swung desperately at the thin, webbed arm before him, hearing a sharp snap in the dark as the steel head split bone. The beast cried out a monstrous scream and faltered away from him. He raised the hammer for another strike, but the thing had already swiped its other arm down at him, hitting his forearm with a sharp and spiny fist. He stumbled, feeling a blistering pain rush across his skin.

Turning his attention to the torchlight, he ran along the wall across from the exit. The bat-wolf followed him, but he quickly snatched the torch and stabbed at the creature, making it flinch violently backward, shrieking at the bright flames. He stepped towards it, then flinched, feeling the stinging pain in his right arm.

Damn, he thought, feeling the wound. I won't be able to keep this up for much longer.

 A scraping sound came from across the chamber, like rock grinding against rock. And then thumping, guttural shrieks.

More of them, he thought bitterly. They should be dormant this time of year. Rufin better raise the rate!

The crumbled passageway was a short dash away now. He hooked the hammer to his back and ran for it.

The huge shadow of the creature chased him, a chiropteric horror bred in the dark hollows of Mal Pyett, boundless hunger pushing it despite its broken limb. Saliva bespattered Jerron as he rushed past the raving beast. It stumbled after him into the mouth of the passage, barking wildly as it struggled to enter the tight aperture.

He kept moving through the winding tunnel, not looking back at the clawing creature. His arm throbbed from the blunt force of the creature's attack. Blood began to drip onto the light rock, and he now noticed the large rips in his sleeve.

Danger was not unfamiliar to him, nor was he unprepared. However, Mal Pyett was stranger than the other vaults. The buried, unadorned entrance; the sanitary crypt; the kybak infestation… He may have suspected a set-up if not for the fact that everything was there after all. But none of that mattered now. The hunt was over.

The exit was drawing near, yet something was different. Jerron could see more detail in his surroundings. He realized that it seemed brighter than before. Ignoring this, he pushed on, his legs trudging along the rock.

A hard force knocked Jerron forward as shattered stone blasted past him. The sudden shock left him concussed, but he still saw the brown-black wing that burst through the ceiling, and the fanged wolf-head that followed. It let out a grinding scream as it crawled into the tunnel and advanced towards him.

By the hunt, this one is eager!

He grabbed at rocks wildly, hitting the kybak's face with hard throws. It snapped at the blows, shrieking and faltering with each hit. He rushed backward towards the exit, struggling to find his footing along the twisted path.

It felt like an eternity as they both marched through the passageway, and the kybak was gaining on him. Even in the frenzy, he began to notice the growing brightness, and with it the features of the beast. Despite its broken arm, it was on all fours, gaunt hands in front and large clawed feet in back. Its round body was covered in dark matted fur. A wide, brown membrane webbed across its bony fingers, culminating into broad wings that folded inward as it walked. Beady, black-yellow eyes were set above a long snout with flaring nostrils that leaked out a vile drool.

A protruded rock caught Jerron's boot. He fell backward, immediately grasping for his hammer. The tunnel had now become a larger space, and he knew they had finally come to the cavernous entrance. Now with more room, the kybak stood up on its hind legs, towering over him. He shot a glance over his shoulder.

The mouth of the cave was right behind him.

He pulled the hammer from his back and rushed towards the opening.

The kybak lunged, spreading its raised wing to strike.

It fell forward suddenly and crashed through the surrounding walls. Its outreached hand had hit an outcrop in the ceiling, interrupting its momentum and causing it to lose its footing on the jagged floor.

Jerron tumbled away from the rocky cascade and felt freezing cold snow fall across his neck. The crash had exposed the cave mouth, filling the space with blinding light and snow.

The kybak let out an ear-splitting scream. It shook violently and lurched from side to side, trying to burrow itself into the earth.

Jerron stood now, facing the stunned beast. He laughed. “Look at you now!” he shouted. “Where did your kin go?”

The kybak squirmed at the sunlight, shrieking in short, clicking bursts.

“You should have stayed in your hole.” He squinted towards the white, glaring snow. Looks like morning finally came.

He laughed again as he raised his hammer. It was an excellent hunt, and he was rewarded not only with a healthy kill, but with a sunny descent back.

He swung fiercely through the kybak's mouth.

The blow knocked its ensiform fangs across the furry flesh, and blood sprayed across the fallen snow. The beast whimpered at the continued bludgeoning, reduced to a sorry pulp of tangled, bloody fur. The work was done.

Jerron stepped out onto the mountain pass and dipped the hammerhead into the snow, cleaning off the dark kybak blood that had soaked it. Then he took a fistful of snow and stuffed it into his shredded sleeve. Thrashing the kybak had exacerbated the pain in his forearm, and the cold snow helped to numb it. He attached the hammer to his back and looked out.

Before him now was the smooth, white expanse of packed powder that had only been a pale shadow the night before. The sky was an effulgent blue, the sun an unworn crown above the earth. Beyond the precipice, the pass sloped downward a league toward a sparse forest of faded pine.

Despite the intensity of the fight, Jerron's pack was still tightly secured to his belt, dense with the weight of the loose skull within. Wrapping a fresh cloth around his face, he fastened his boots and started down the slope.