First workshop

[Nomad]

Hmmm, nice description Ad.

Inquisitor Jelcine Enandra.

Jelcine Enandra was an attractive woman who would have been utterly stunning if her face wasn’t covered in such copious amounts of make up. She was well into her two hundreds but thanks to extensive and extremely expensive juvenant treatments (to the point that some would say to a narcissistic degree), looked like a healthy woman in her mid thirties. Her brown skin was almost luminescent and her thick, long, curly hair was bleached bright blond.

She wore a long coat of elaborate design, with ornate, polished sliver buttons that had slight “I’s” emblazoned on every one. Her coat was open, showing she wore a high quality vest of mesh armour underneath and on her head sat a tall tipped, wide brimmed hat. A hat that accentuated her already respectable height even more; a hat worn by the Witch Hunters, the Inquisitors of the Ordo Hereticus. Yet she wore it tilted and with distinct disdain, as though she held little respect for what it represented.

Slowly, she started to walk across the deck, her high heeled boots clanging loudly on the metal floor with every step. She moved with a confident swagger that made Karmen Kons look like a timid scholar girl in comparison, her long, lithe legs slipping in and out of her coat. A slight, contemptuous smile curled her thick lips then, from the sheath at her hip, she drew a beautifully ornate power sword and ^ an equally ornate bolt pistol.

Jelcine shrugged, stopped, raised her bolt pistol and said in a voice as soft as silk; “Well, I guess, it’s the end road for you.”

Then pulled the trigger.

Most fixes are in the quote.

I hope to never, ever, ever see a description like this in any of your writing, however. It might be a great excercise but natural description flows in the story.
Wrong:- The boy, who was tall, with blonde hair and blue eyes, stood over the grave.

Right:- The tall boy stood by the grave, tears stinging his blue eyes as a stiff breeze ruffled his blonde hair.

See the difference?

[Tallarn]

Hrem, well I made it to 400 words, its only been like 2 years...

Calf-high rough suede boots, lightly yellow in color, cling to his feet; their thick soles shielding him from the hot sand beneath. Loose fitting white cotton pants are secured to his waist with a thick leather belt and tucked into his boots above his calves. Two antique silver buckles reflect the light of the sun while holding the belt together while two more buckles dangle from the left side of his belt holding a scabbard in place on his left hip. His shirt is light blue in color with arm length sleeves, rolled partially up to his forearms, and buttons running up to his neck. Around his shoulders a white shawl helps protect him from the sun, its tattered edges flitter in the gentle breeze. The shawl is inscribed with runes hand-stitched in a golden thread, their edges shimmer with an ancient power. His mustache is neatly kept and aside from it, his face is closely shaved. His skin is tanned and tough, hardened by years of sun and sand, with a small scar on his right cheek as a reminder of an ancient foe. A Keffiyeh, light brown and blue in color, protects his head from the sun while black glasses shield his eyes.

His gaze is long and unwavering. Silently he stares into the distance with his left hand resting on the hilt of his sword. His right hand holds a circular string of beads with an Aquila attached to one side, his fingers relentlessly moving the beads along in an unending circle. With a single imperceptible nod he commands his men to ready themselves. Silently power packs are checked and safeties are released along a thin line of men stretching hundreds of meters to his left and right. The eyes of over five hundred of his men are now upon him, the weight of their gaze suffocating, the sound of their silence deafening.

In a single fluid movement his sword is free from its scabbard; the runes of his shawl come to life. In that instant he and his men are as one, their bodies straining in one effort to propel them from their ambush position and into the attack. In the blink of an eye, and the movement of a single sword, the Desert Raiders are on the attack - bound to whatever fate awaits him in the sands. Tremble foes of man, for the wrath of the sands is upon you.

[Adrassil]

Thanks for the C&C Nomad! will fix it soon!

[Nomad]

Hrem, well I made it to 400 words, its only been like 2 years...

Calf-high rough suede boots, lightly yellow in color, cling to his feet; their thick soles shielding him from the hot sand beneath. Loose fitting white cotton pants are secured to his waist with a thick leather belt and tucked into his boots above his calves. Two antique silver buckles reflect the light of the sun while holding the belt together while two more buckles dangle from the left side of his belt holding a scabbard in place on his left hip. His shirt is light blue in color with arm length sleeves, rolled partially up to his forearms, and buttons running up to his neck. Around his shoulders a white shawl helps protect him from the sun, its tattered edges flitter in the gentle breeze. The shawl is inscribed with runes hand-stitched in a golden thread, their edges shimmer with an ancient power. His mustache is neatly kept and aside from it, his face is closely shaved. His skin is tanned and tough, hardened by years of sun and sand, with a small scar on his right cheek as a reminder of an ancient foe. A Keffiyeh, light brown and blue in color, protects his head from the sun while black glasses shield his eyes.

His gaze is long and unwavering. Silently he stares into the distance with his left hand resting on the hilt of his sword. His right hand holds a circular string of beads with an Aquila attached to one side, his fingers relentlessly moving the beads along in an unending circle. With a single imperceptible nod he commands his men to ready themselves. Silently power packs are checked and safeties are released along a thin line of men stretching hundreds of meters to his left and right. The eyes of over five hundred of his men are now upon him, the weight of their gaze suffocating, the sound of their silence deafening.

In a single fluid movement his sword is free from its scabbard; the runes of his shawl come to life. In that instant he and his men are as one, their bodies straining in one effort to propel them from their ambush position and into the attack. In the blink of an eye, and the movement of a single sword, the Desert Raiders are on the attack - bound to whatever fate awaits him in the sands.

Tremble foes of man, for the wrath of the sands is upon you.

Again, a great descriptive piece. Again, I would never want to read anything like it in a piece of fiction.

Just a quick word on the use of commas. It is becoming common place and, thus, accepted to use a comma before the word "and" and other conjunctions. I have highlighted an instance in the quote. A comma is a replacement for the word "and". By putting it before "and" you are essentially writing In the blink of an eye [and] and the movement of a single sword. In this instance, no comma is required at all:- In the blink of an eye and the movement of a single sword.

An even more distressing habit that is creeping in is the insistence on putting the comma before "and" in an insertion. This makes the sentence completely incorrect in structure and changes the meaning of the insertion.

Sentence We are leaving now and will meet you at the shops in ten minutes.
Insertion If nothing delays us...

The sentence stands alone. The insertion requires the sentence to give it meaning.

Correct insertion We are leaving now and, if nothing delays us, will meet you at the shops in ten minutes.

Incorrect insertion We are leaving now, and if nothing delays us, will meet you at the shops in ten minutes.

The second sentence now reads: We are leaving now will meet you at the shops in ten minutes. which is clearly incorrect.

If you are in a situation where you cannot avoid having to place a comma before a conjunction, rethink and restructure your sentence. It has either been compounded badly or is way too long.

[Ossai]

Hope this is kinda what you are after, if not I can always go back and redo it.

Einar stopped where he was and looked out onto the scene before him. A brute had appeared below and was busy smashing his way through the bandits Einar was trying to avoid. Standing at around six foot eight, and built like a bear. His green fatigues were torn and he had lost a sleeve somewhere but it didn't seem to matter out here in the snow. He also swung his hammers with ease, scattering the attackers in all directions.

"Come back here!" he shouted in a thick Russian accent, letting go of one of his hammers to reach out and grab one of the men who had turned to flee, his massive hands easily catching the man's arm. Einar heard a scream as his massive strength caused the arm to break and winced. He resolved not to anger the large man. He watched as another man snuck up behind, a knife out, his intent clear. Einar reacted quickly, sending a fireball his way. The man screamed and ran for the nearest mound of snow, his clothes ablaze. Stopping what he was doing the large Russian turned to Einars direction and nodded slightly before finishing with the men around him. He picked up the hammer easily and walked over. It was only as he got closer that Einar could pick out more details. A long black beard that was well looked after aside from a white streak from an old scar and thick bushy eyebrows to frame his brown eyes.

"You have my thanks little man," he remarked, looking down at Einar with his brown eyes.

"I couldn't just let him stab you in the back," he replied.

He watched as the man busied himself attaching his weapons to his belt, "I am Iosef."

"Einar," he replied offering his hand. Iosef took in in one of his, easliy dwarfing Einar's.

Having seen Iosef's strength firsthand earlier Einar flinched, expecting the crushing force at any moment but instead Iosef shook his hand firmly but carefully enough not to cause any pain.

He took out a clear bottle from one of his pockets and took a swig before offering it to Einar. Accepting the bottle he took a sniff and winced, it smelled almost of pure alcohol. "Is good for staying warm," Iosef said with a hearty laugh, "you look a little cold."

"A little," Einar replied with a grin.

Iosef sat down on a conveniently fallen log and it creaked under his immense weight, but held, "you are first friendly person I have seen in a while," he said with a grin that showed off his white teeth, "well, first that hasn't tried to kill me."

He took off his hat to inspect for anydamage and Einar saw that he was completely bald, "well, I am looking for people to help me and I was wondering if you would be interested."

Iosef made a show of considering this, one of his hands coming up to his stroke his chin, "Interesting proposal, why would I join you rather than stay here though?" he asked.

[Nomad]

Hope this is kinda what you are after, if not I can always go back and redo it.

Einar stopped where he was and looked out onto the scene before him. A brute had appeared below and was busy smashing his way through the bandits Einar was trying to avoid. The newcomer was built like a bear, his massive hands swinging his hammers with ease. His green fatigues were torn and he had lost a sleeve somewhere but it didn't seem to matter out here in the snow. As Einer watched, a swipe with his hammer scattered the attackers in all directions.

"Come back here!" the giant man shouted, betraying a thick Russian accent. He let go of a hammer to reach out and grab one of the men who had turned to flee, his massive hands easily catching the man's arm. Einar heard a scream as his massive strength caused the arm to break and winced. He resolved not to anger the large man.

As he watched, another man snuck up behind the large brute, knife out, his intent clear. Einar reacted quickly, sending a fireball his way. The man screamed and ran for the nearest mound of snow, his clothes ablaze. Pausing in what he was doing, the large Russian turned in Einar's direction, nodding his thanks, before turning back to finish with the men around him.

Picking up the hammer easily, he walked over to Einar. It was only as he got closer that Einar could pick out more details. A long beard covered the lower half of his face, making his expression inscrutable. Despite its length, the beard was well looked after, its black mass marred by a white line running through it, indicitave of an old scar lying beneath the hair.

"You have my thanks little man," he remarked, looking down at Einar with his large, brown eyes.

"I couldn't just let him stab you in the back," Einar replied.

He watched as the man busied himself, attaching his weapons to his belt.

"I am Iosef."

"Einar," he replied offering his hand. Iosef took in in one of his, easliy dwarfing Einar's.

Having seen Iosef's strength firsthand, Einar flinched, expecting the crushing force at any moment. Instead, Iosef shook his hand firmly but carefully enough not to cause any pain.

He took a clear bottle from one of his pockets and took a swig before offering it to Einar. Accepting the bottle, Einar took a sniff, wincing as the fumes of almost pure alcohol assaulted his nostrils.

"Is good for staying warm," Iosef said with a hearty laugh, "you look a little cold."

"A little," Einar replied with a grin.

Iosef sat down on a conveniently fallen log. Althoug it creaked under his immense weight, it held.

"You are first friendly person I have seen in a while," he said with a grin that showed off his white teeth, "well, the first that hasn't tried to kill me."

Taking off his hat, he inspected it for damage. Einar saw that he was completely bald. Making a quick decision, he spoke up.

"I am looking for people to help me and I was wondering if you would be interested."

Iosef made a show of considering this, one of his hands coming up to his stroke his beard.

"Interesting proposal, why would I join you rather than stay here though?" he asked.

As you might notice, I didn't just correct this one, I have rewritten it slightly to indicate how it oculd have been written with the descriptive text worked into the prose.

Good job, Ossai. Just a few little things:-
Einar was trying to avoid. Standing at around six foot eight, and built like a bear. His green fatigues - you have put in a "fragment." This is a dependent clause with no purpose. Without the purpose, it makes no sense. Einar was trying to avoid. Standing at around six foot eight, and built like a bear [what?]. His green fatigues

"...foot eight, and built ...", "his immense weight, but held" :- See my reply to Tallarns piece. In short, never use a conjunction after a comma.

Be careful with non-identifying pronouns. He crops up way too often and it becomes hard to tell which of the characters you are making reference to. Use names where possible and appropriate.

Seperate spech from text by giving it a new line.

Watch your sentence structure and try to use active rather than passive throughout instead of chopping and changing.

Passive:- He picked up the hammer easily and walked over.
Active:- Picking up the hammer with ease, he walked over...

Commas: You have missed a few of these.
Having seen Iosef's strength firsthand earlier, Einar flinched,

Overall though, a great effort and getting closer to couching description in the story.

[Inquisitor023]

(Ring-a-ding-ding, 470 words. I understand it's very narrative and ends rather aburptly, but sue me. I was trying to write proper and I intend to write more of this scene. I was simply submitting for the 500-word cap.

Cherriana smiled a soft smile as she stepped through the ankle-deep snows of Kannard Vale. She walked up a small mound of snow near the silver-iron fences surrounding her regal estate. She looked over the lands - her lands, she reminded herself - with eyes as green as grass and a smile as white as the snow at her feet. Absent-mindedly, she ran a nail through her long blood-red hair.

She simply stared at the trio of rising moons in silence for a moment, the moonlight reflecting off her pale skin. She smirked. "I am glad I took this from you, Mother."

The harsh winter winds tore at the black leather and silver chainmail she wore. The wind seemed to be displeased at her attempts at modesty and seemed to want to present her bare before the moon. The Goddess of the Moons - Nyr - wanted her presented with nothing to conceal her. "How romantic," Cherianna said aloud, sarcastically as she smiled faintly at the thought.

Her joints began to cramp from the cold and thus, she began to move away from her home and towards Kannard Vale proper. As she moved, the winds increased in bitterness and strength. To try and counter it, she pulled the black furs around her shoulders closer.

Cherianna was a Vampiress and was hardly concerned by mortal concerns such as the cold or heat. However, she had an appearance to keep up. To the people of Kannard Vale, she was mortal. To them, these petty matters of nature and God's whim were a concern and to keep them appeased, to her they must appear. They must appear to all her family: The K.

She shook her head in disguist invisible to the plebs who hailed her as she walked. 'Honestly,' she thought to herself, 'For nearly three hundred years our dark family has ruled and yet no has noticed we are more than human?' Sometimes, she truly hated the plebs.

She stopped beside the arena, its white marble walls glistening in the moonlight. She thought of the gladitorial games that had occured over the last three days to celebrate her rise to the throne. And her Mother's death, on a less significant note.

Brave men saluted, fought, bled and died under her eye. The thought of the blood , crimson and hot, splashing on body, armour, sword and floor caused her mouth to water and a tounge to run across her fangs. She decided to go in, her black fur-covered boots impacting on the black granite floor with a wet thud. She stepped through the arena's entryways and followed along to the battleground itself. She stopped for a moment, however, when she noticed a figure dueling the very air around him. A Gladiator.
"Pray tell," she called out, "And who are you?"

[Nomad]

OKAY!!!!

Now that's more like it. The descriptive text couched in the prose and neither distracting or competing for attention.

From this we know that Cherriana has pale skin, green eyes and long, blood-red hair.More than this we get a description of the Vampiress' temperament. She is arrogant, disdainful and selfish, lusting for blood and men.
You could possibly have included a bit more description, like her height, her weight etc. The thought of the blood , crimson and hot, splashing on [slender/firm/flabby/fat/portly/muscular/insert other] body

Overall, not bad, not bad at all.

Cherianna was a Vampiress this is a little too blunt. As a vampiress or something would be better than C was a V...

[Inquisitor023]

You could possibly have included a bit more description, like her height, her weight etc. The thought of the blood , crimson and hot, splashing on [slender/firm/flabby/fat/portly/muscular/insert other] body

I appreciate that look over, mate. I'll put that into effect as soon as possible.

I'll do my best to run through some of the stuff posted up thus far. However, those who actually know me will be aware that I am awful at C&C and even worse at actually doing it.

I'll see what I can do.

[Inquisitor023]

Inquisitor Jelcine Enandra.

Jelcine Enandra was an attractive woman who would’ve been utterly stunning if her face wasn’t covered in such copious amounts of make up. She was well into her two hundreds but thanks to extensive and extremely expensive juvenant treatments (to the point that some would say to a narcissistic degree), looked like a healthy woman in her mid thirties. Her brown skin was almost luminescent and her thick, long, curly hair was bleached bright blond.

She wore a long coat of elaborate design, with ornate, polished sliver buttons that had slight “I’s” emblazoned on everyone. Her coat was open, showing she wore a high quality vest of mesh armour underneath and on her head sat a tall tipped, wide brimmed hat. A hat that accentuated her already respectable height even more, a hat worn by the Witch Hunters, the Inquisitors of the Ordo Hereticus. Yet she wore it tilted and with distinct disdain, as though she held little respect for what it represented.

Slowly, she started to walk across the deck, her high heeled boots clanged loudly on the metal floor with every step.

She moved with a confident swagger that made Karmen Kons look like a timid scholar girl in comparison and her long, lithe legs slipped in and out of her coat.

A slight, contemptuous smile curled her thick lips then from the sheath at her hip she drew a beautifully ornate power sword and with that; an equally ornate bolt pistol.

Jelcine shrugged, stopped, raised her bolt pistol and said in a voice as soft as silk; “Well, I guess, it’s the end road for you.”

Then pulled the trigger.

So, I'm starting with you old buddy, old pal? Why am I not surprised?

All right...

First thing I will say is: Please don't write like this in actual Fiction, Nomad's completely right in that regard (+1 Nomad's Ego). It is very jarring. Now, in the way it's written, it seems quite solid.

Now it may just be me, but I find the past tense sort of jarring. "She was an attractive woman" - Why, did she get hit by a bus? It may just be me and I don't think it is against any sort of rule, but *shrug*

Next thing I noted was brackets. If I recall, I did say this to you before. Brackets in this kind of writing doesn't sit well with me. I'd personally suggest a dash or just a good old comma. I imagine someone with more brains than I will, in fact, inform me you're correct but I'll take that as it comes.

Other than that, it's fairly solid. As I have said, your writing is generally of very good quality and I wouldn't say this is an exception.

Well done, Ad.

Now, if I am not mistaken, Tallarn is next...

Calf-high rough suede boots, lightly yellow in color, cling to his feet; their thick soles shielding him from the hot sand beneath. Loose fitting white cotton pants are secured to his waist with a thick leather belt and tucked into his boots above his calves. Two antique silver buckles reflect the light of the sun while holding the belt together while two more buckles dangle from the left side of his belt holding a scabbard in place on his left hip. His shirt is light blue in color with arm length sleeves, rolled partially up to his forearms, and buttons running up to his neck. Around his shoulders a white shawl helps protect him from the sun, its tattered edges flitter in the gentle breeze. The shawl is inscribed with runes hand-stitched in a golden thread, their edges shimmer with an ancient power. His mustache is neatly kept and aside from it, his face is closely shaved. His skin is tanned and tough, hardened by years of sun and sand, with a small scar on his right cheek as a reminder of an ancient foe. A Keffiyeh, light brown and blue in color, protects his head from the sun while black glasses shield his eyes.

His gaze is long and unwavering. Silently he stares into the distance with his left hand resting on the hilt of his sword. His right hand holds a circular string of beads with an Aquila attached to one side, his fingers relentlessly moving the beads along in an unending circle. With a single imperceptible nod he commands his men to ready themselves. Silently power packs are checked and safeties are released along a thin line of men stretching hundreds of meters to his left and right. The eyes of over five hundred of his men are now upon him, the weight of their gaze suffocating, the sound of their silence deafening.

In a single fluid movement his sword is free from its scabbard; the runes of his shawl come to life. In that instant he and his men are as one, their bodies straining in one effort to propel them from their ambush position and into the attack. In the blink of an eye, and the movement of a single sword, the Desert Raiders are on the attack - bound to whatever fate awaits him in the sands. Tremble foes of man, for the wrath of the sands is upon you.

Well look here, I was right.

All right Sandy, let me see...

Same thing as Ad, but also a personal gripe. The tense (Style, maybe) of the writing throws me. The boots "cling to his feet" and such. I don't know why, but it does slightly throw me. Nothing wrong with it, but that's how it is to I.

Other than that small issue, I really don't seem much fault with it. I imagine someone with superior ability in Commenting/Criticizing will be able to help, but otherwise? Good writing, Tallarn.

And lastly, I know we come to the Scotsman...

Einar stopped where he was and looked out onto the scene before him. A brute had appeared below and was busy smashing his way through the bandits Einar was trying to avoid. Standing at around six foot eight, and built like a bear. His green fatigues were torn and he had lost a sleeve somewhere but it didn't seem to matter out here in the snow. He also swung his hammers with ease, scattering the attackers in all directions.

"Come back here!" he shouted in a thick Russian accent, letting go of one of his hammers to reach out and grab one of the men who had turned to flee, his massive hands easily catching the man's arm. Einar heard a scream as his massive strength caused the arm to break and winced. He resolved not to anger the large man. He watched as another man snuck up behind, a knife out, his intent clear. Einar reacted quickly, sending a fireball his way. The man screamed and ran for the nearest mound of snow, his clothes ablaze. Stopping what he was doing the large Russian turned to Einars direction and nodded slightly before finishing with the men around him. He picked up the hammer easily and walked over. It was only as he got closer that Einar could pick out more details. A long black beard that was well looked after aside from a white streak from an old scar and thick bushy eyebrows to frame his brown eyes.

"You have my thanks little man," he remarked, looking down at Einar with his brown eyes.

"I couldn't just let him stab you in the back," he replied.

He watched as the man busied himself attaching his weapons to his belt, "I am Iosef."

"Einar," he replied offering his hand. Iosef took in in one of his, easliy dwarfing Einar's.

Having seen Iosef's strength firsthand earlier Einar flinched, expecting the crushing force at any moment but instead Iosef shook his hand firmly but carefully enough not to cause any pain.

He took out a clear bottle from one of his pockets and took a swig before offering it to Einar. Accepting the bottle he took a sniff and winced, it smelled almost of pure alcohol. "Is good for staying warm," Iosef said with a hearty laugh, "you look a little cold."

"A little," Einar replied with a grin.

Iosef sat down on a conveniently fallen log and it creaked under his immense weight, but held, "you are first friendly person I have seen in a while," he said with a grin that showed off his white teeth, "well, first that hasn't tried to kill me."

He took off his hat to inspect for anydamage and Einar saw that he was completely bald, "well, I am looking for people to help me and I was wondering if you would be interested."

Iosef made a show of considering this, one of his hands coming up to his stroke his chin, "Interesting proposal, why would I join you rather than stay here though?" he asked.

I'll say this: I am happy to see you writing again, my friend. I did enjoy this universe.

So, my comments.

"Iosef took in in one of his" I'm assuming this should be 'took it in one of his'.

Other than that, I don't see much issue mate. Glad to see you writing again and it is of a fairly nice quality. GeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeGeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

Cheers,
Dan