Through the arched window, the clouds parted to offer Sebastapol a distraction. The setting sun, the color of fire—not which blazes, but a low one which swirls with its own embers glow. A brief glimpse at beauty, rare in his muted grey world. But the static crackle hummed louder, drawing his attention back to the orb. Ever must its attention be kept, but which vain image did it cast? Was it his or that of the orb itself? A question too long on his mind. It had been nearly two centuries in his possession, or was it the orb which had possessed him?
Nested in its ebony pestle, it emitted diffused white light and the air surrounding it hummed faintly with ebbing of invisible currents. Gazing into it, he saw the same image he

I have a complete draft of the first chapter if anyone would like to take a look. This is actually the start of a later chapter.

Send it through.

For this next comment, keep in mind that I'm more of a science and tech guy, and have practically no connectivity to fantasy. My confusion and uncertainty during the passage about Sebastapol's experience with the orb might have been influenced by that very fact. If this is the case, perhaps there might be some inferred nuances written into it that those much more involved in the fantasy genre would have inherently connnected to, but that other non-fantiasy readers might scratch their heads about as I did.

Of course, if this observation is wrong and, therefore, resides only in my mind, I will go back to science and tech.

Other than that, this twinge of disorientation I felt wasn't horrifying enough to repulse me form the story...although, if it doesn't spoil too much of the plot, perhaps hint a bit more as to why the orb might have possessed Sebastapol.

Success with this story!

S!
S!...C!

I didn’t like the name being there, but I LOVED ‘a distraction’. I really like when I only get a bit of the description. I think I would have preferred to waited to know a name.

“ . . . the color of fire—not which blazes, but a low one which swirls with its own embers glow.”

This felt a bit off, but I think where you were trying to go. It might be just a bit to complex [like I should talk!].

“But the static crackle hummed louder, drawing his attention back to the orb.”

I think I would have preferred ‘to the orb’ to not be there. To me, it feels like that first sentence where I am getting just enough description and want to keep reading to get more.

“Ever must its attention be kept, but which vain image did it cast? Was it his or that of the orb itself? A question too long on his mind. It had been nearly two centuries in his possession, or was it the orb which had possessed him?”

This is feeling overwrought and almost Shakespearean.

“Nested in its ebony pestle, it emitted diffused white light and the air surrounding it hummed faintly with ebbing of invisible currents.”

I love this.

My gut was to like the first sentence and then dislike the ones in the middle. “Dislike” is the wrong word. It was to be dissatisfied with them. Yet, the last sentence once again delighted me.

I will take into consideration the helpful comments.

Through the arched window, the clouds parted to offer Sebastapol (love that name) a distraction. The setting sun, the color of fire—not which blazes, but a low one which swirls with its own embers glow. (I was really tripped up here on a number of things. Possible suggestion: The setting sun was the color of fire. Not the kind of fire which blazes, but a low one which swirls with the glow of its own embers.) A brief glimpse at beauty, rare in his muted grey world. But the static crackle hummed louder, drawing his attention back to the orb. Ever must its attention be kept, but which vain image did it cast? (I love this line). Was it his or that of the orb itself? A question too long on his mind. It had been nearly two centuries in his possession, or was it the orb which had possessed him? (love the idea here, but the second part of this sentence doesn't quite click for me. I can envision this as two separate sentences, possibly something like: It had been nearly two centuries in his possession. Or was it the orb which had possessed him?) Nested in its ebony pestle, it emitted diffused white light and the air surrounding it hummed faintly with (I'm not sure, but you might need to insert a "the" here. Grammar's not one of my strong points, though) ebbing of invisible currents. Gazing into it, he saw the same image he

Just my opinions and impressions. I like where the story's headed so far and I'm intrigued with Sebastapol's relationship with the orb. Which is the master and which the slave? Has he been possessed by his own possession? Have they developed a strange form of symbiosis? These were the questions that popped into my (admittedly abnormal) mind while I read this and would keep me turning the pages. Keep up the good work. Best regards,

Brant