This is a story I started writing a while ago but never finished, I might go back to it at some point and finish it but I will need the motivation xD It isn't a HP fanfic but I just thought I should post it here, please let me know if I have put this in the wrong place
Please give constructive criticism if you can Chapter I: The Darkness
The strange and mystical land of Almaara is shrouded in mystery; the lands are changing constantly so not even the most experienced cartographer can interpret the landscape accurately. The continents shift at an alarming rate, and strange gases mutate the very trees that provide the world with its source of life. Even stranger though, are the people who inhabit this world, for they are silent and deceiving, backstabbers and rogues, cutthroats and pickpockets. Those who do speak do so very rarely, speaking only when absolutely necessary. The cities that the people inhabit are cloaked in darkness, partly because the planet has not got its own sun, and partly because the air is thick with noxious gases, for the planet has a very strange atmospheric construction. The capital city, Falaei, is infamous for its Wrought iron archways and medieval architecture, for it’s people have never made large strides in science and metalwork. Along its dusty and cobbled streets you will find bars and inns, houses and churches, but it is the city’s flourishing black market that you will find the real darkness. Chapter II: Thieves Among Us
The Old Boar, a long established inn that had a fine reputation for the Best ale in Falaei, had long been a place for thieves. Its quiet and secluded bar was a hotspot for arms dealing and poison smuggling. Though the barman, an aging man with receding hair named Clive Merrywater, knew the true nature of his customers, he did not alert the authorities to the danger, for the gangs of knife wielding thugs had a nasty reputation for torture and violence. These thieves knew nothing of empathy or remorse; for they were cold, savage and brutal. On the other side of the city, in a dingy wine cellar below a dank and derelict building, was a group of freedom fighters which ran by the alias: The Free Brothers. They had fought for years against the tyranny of the ruler of Almaara, Thane Darkson. Over the many years of rebellion the Brothers had sustained many casualties, and were lying low, waiting for a time to perform a pre-emptive strike. The leader of the resistance, a Middle aged man named Jonathan Miller, was a brave and noble figure. Though scarred physically and mentally through constant fighting and war, he never showed signs of weakness or fatigue.