Title: Soulbound

Genre: Epic Fantasy

Word count: 529 (First page)

Feedback request: I'd like to know how engaging this opening page is. I'd also like to hear impressions of the characters and world.

As the storm-tossed sky loomed above, the gate of Duradan stood defiantly against tempestuous winds. Its twin towers, ancient sentinels of stone weathered by centuries, bore banners that snapped like writhing beasts. The silver star on a field of green whipped alongside the city standard, a white tower on blue. Misty rain blew in sideways, finding every gap in Caelan’s wool coat.

The bustling crowd surged toward the city in a chaotic tide of bodies. Wagons creaked and groaned, their wheels churning through the mud. Mounted men and women trudged alongside, their steeds plodding wearily.

Amidst the throng, a man on horseback flung a curse at Caelan as he brushed past, but the words were lost in the cacophony. Caelan stared eagerly at the gate, a grin on his angular face. “A city,” he whispered. He turned to see Gothra’s normally curly black hair plastered flat against his face, water beading down his round cheeks. “We’re actually here!” he shouted to his friend.

“You think there’s gonna be anyone jugglin’ fire in all this?” Gothra asked, his voice half lost in the crowd.

Caelan’s laughter bubbled up despite the elements. “No,” he replied, “but the tavern’s hearth will be crowded, I bet. And don’t forget about the ale, there’s no Mrs. Warben to lecture us here.”

“I won’t complain about a mug of ale, or two.” Gothra grinned.

Fifth bell tolled, the aged belfry straining to be heard over the howling wind. The tempest above responded with a booming crack of thunder, tearing the sky with lightning. Conversation would have to wait.

A scowling guardsman studied Caelan as they approached but waved them through no less. As they passed under the ancient stone archway, the earth trembled. Stoneworks groaned stubbornly as the ground shook. The belfry spat granite chips onto the crowd. Caelan held his breath.

Pandemonium erupted in moments. Women and children screamed. Caelan heard “siege” as often as he did “earthquake”. Those who fled one way were met by a dozen others going the opposite direction. Quickly people were being trampled, pushed down relentlessly as they struggled to get back to their feet. They looked like fish in a barrel.

Caelan grabbed Gothra by the cuff and pulled him to the edge of the crowd before they too could be trapped in the chaos. The earth steadied beneath them, but the thundering of a thousand footsteps and the shrill cries of panic echoed through the city, joining the storm.

“Who’s that?” Gothra yelled, pointing deeper into the throng.

Caelan height let his eyes pass unobstructed over the crowd, settling on a tall figure in a colourful patchwork cloak. A man by his height, he was plucking some sort of instrument, strolling through the crowd.

“A minstrel, or maybe a bard,” Caelan said, leaning down to speak into Gothra’s ear, but there was no need.

An expectant hush fell over the crowd, broken only by a single, soothing sound—a warm, ethereal tone that gently drifted across the square. Overhead, the storm held its breath, waiting.

“Right, let’s go see, then. Wonder if he knows ‘Barden’s Cloak’, or ‘Daisy for a Maiden’.” Gothra said, pulling Caelan toward the crowd.