Kassarock — Roleplayer Guild

Like Bango, I intended to do something for this, but rather than forgetting, call my failure poor time management. 

Anyway, I will attempt to redeem myself by giving feedback for the one brave soul who did submit. 

Overall I liked the premise of the story, two lovers, one who can't remember the other but is torn by their residual emotions, on either side of a fantastical conflict. I particularly liked the bittersweet and unresolved ending, it would have come across as a bit to saccharine I think to have Thomas's amnesia so easily resolved.  

 Where I think there is some room for improvement is the order perhaps in which we see elements of Thomas's memory resurface. In their first encounter we learn that he does have lingering emotional feelings, at the end we learn that he does have some specific memories (Cassie's signature spell). I think it could have been more impactful perhaps if you had flipped these two revelations. The discovery of Thomas's feelings is the more emotionally impactful of the two, and should therefore in my opinion be saved for the climax of the story. 

The fact that we know that Thomas already feels for Cassie also slightly undermines the tension of the end of the fight with the Hybrid. What if Cassie had somehow broken free, or doesn't see how the Hybrid is slain, all she see's is her lover standing over her, sword in hand. The moment of tension that would create and the thoughts it would send running both through Cassie's and the reader's heads (is he about to kill her, or save her, does he even remember), would have been an improvement as well I think.

Other than that there a couple of minor points, I think you seemed to have missed a search and replace in the text? There was an anomalous   <evilguy> in there. A bit of the dialog also verged on author exposition, particularly the section where Cassie explains what Resonators are to Erin. Erin is a resonator, surely she should already know all of this? However, more subtle exposition can be very difficult in the short story format, where you much more pressed for space, and especially when dealing with fantastical worlds and concepts.

Art by Chris Hull

There was still a thin line of mist hanging above the opposite shore of the lake when Ozragad arrived at the camp. The low hillock it was situated upon gave a good view of the dark blue waters, the distant forests, and the hills and mountains that rose above them all. The chill  was dissipating from the late morning air, as more and more sun broke threw the patches of cloud to bathe the land beneath in their rays. Perhaps the Princess right after all, he mused to himself as he surveyed the horizon, it is good weather for a hunt.

The top of the hillock was taken up by a pair of large canvas pavilions, between them there had been erected a wooden platform covered by an awning. The rest of the camp of lesser pavilions and common tents had been arranged around these, leaving a clear central avenue the dais looked down onto. They would be hunting all day, or gods forbid, multiple days, and therefore there was a good chance they would be spending the night here. Ozragad did not mind particularly, he was more than used to living on the march, it was the theatre of it all that grated at him. He did not appreciate an audience to his leisure time.

For some reason the King found himself thinking about her again, did she hate the artifice of all this as much he did? Or was she inured to such things from her time in Eozia? Had she ever slept beneath the open sky? Had she ever hunted into mountains and forests such as these? 

She was a strange creature to him. In some small ways Ozragad supposed they were similar, their royal upbringing, their fiery tempers and fierce wills, their own share of traumas. Though at the same time, they were profoundly different, their race, their gender, their age, the very lives they had led. How was it then she had been able to pierce him so with a simple question? And somehow dredge her up from the depths of his soul. Livueta.

"You're staring." The voice made him jump. It was Manawyndan, he could tell just from the dry rasp of the old Formori's throat, but he had not heard him approach. Never forget, he is a spymaster, he knows those subtle arts better than you.

"I was thinking actually."

"About what exactly, sire?" The councillor raised an eyebrow he query. 

"Nothing, nothing that matters at least. Shall we get on with this?" There might have been a time he would have devulged his thoughts to Manawyndan, but that time seemed to have passed. After all, someone was trying to kill him. Manawyndan certainly had means... but did he have motive? Either way he should trust no one. And yet you are busy taking the Eorzian child into your confidences.

He turned his back on the lake and strode to the wooden dais erected between the two royal tents. The majority of the courtiers were milling around in the camp, the servants hard at work preparing the tents for their masters, the guards either at their stations or patrolling the outer edge of the camp. On the wooden stage were a number of Ozragad's inner circle, his two other present councillors, Lords Iria and Urathon, Lady Cheldarine and her family. 

"Lord Iria will make the announcement, if it pleases Your Majesty." Manawyndan again, slipping in beside him, whispering to him what would happen. How had he once been comforted by this man's ever-present presence? Now he thought about, was there not something sinister about a councillor who was too useful, too indispensable? 

"Very well. Get on with it." Ozragad spoke brusquely with a dismissive wave of his hand. Iria turned to a herald standing at the edge of the platform, at his signal the long call of the hunting horn sounded once more.

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