CW Critique Needed

Hi all,

I've been slaving away over a portion of the novel I started for JulNo and could really use some feedback if you have a few minutes. I literally worked on this until 5 this morning and then crashed for a few hours before taking it on again... I'm not going to be content moving on until I know it's exact. I think I have it just about "there" but a fresh pair of eyes or two would really come in handy now.

Does it capture your attention?
Can you "see" the scene being read or is it missing some vital element?
Does it flow together or are there disjointed sections?

Any and all feedback would be greatly appreciated!

Galen in the Hall (not a title)

The Great Hall was damaged beyond repair. Entire sections of wall crumbled and fell away in an almost recognizable pattern. Others stood like silent sentries, seeming to bear an almost mournful witness to the decay that had sunk its claws so deeply into what had once been sheer greatness. Like carrion pecking incessantly at the eyes of the fallen, ivy and worse shoved foul limbs through the dying rock, further infecting it with a disease so vile it did not even have a name. Small beads of water fell like tears from one of the many cracks that ran as broken veins across the ceiling.

Somehow, despite the wreckage of the walls and those ominous veins, the ceiling was mostly in tact, shrouding the room in a sort of misty darkness that cast off an almost otherworldly glow. That a place of such power could seem no more than the ghost of a memory wobbling in a broken mind was pure senselessness. It should not have ever come to that. But it had.

In the blink of an eye five thousand years of power had been ripped asunder, leaving only that ghostly memory in its place. And Galen din’Quaid Makaio, First Protector of Fae’rava and Master of Dahlian Swords, wanted nothing more in that moment than to wretch and rail at that ghostly memory.

He fought desperately not to see the devastation that surrounded him, perhaps knowing that if he allowed himself to see, the heart he wasn't sure he even possessed would crack wide open and old wounds would break anew, plunging the world into darkness again. That fight not to see, however, was as hopeless as was any thought of restoring that once powerful place to former glory.

He couldn’t help but to see. The wreckage and decay, the utter loss and despair the room seemed to whisper of wormed its way into his soul, forcing his mind to obey and see even as his body struggled to refuse. He breathed deeply of the decaying air and fought to control the emotions that threatened to wrack him against his will. An anger long buried whispered along his spine, tightening his scalp and raising the hairs upon his arms until he wanted to howl his fury to the Heavens.

Kill them, the anger seemed to sing, its lulling melody calling to that barely contained beast. Make them feel the hurt you feel. Make them burn, make them ache; make them beg for the mercy they denied you. Throw them into the very pits of hell and dance upon their melting bones. Make them pay for what they have done to you, to your people, to the world.

Galen did none of that, though the beast, that soulless part of himself that fought for dominion at every turn, threatening to burst from his skin into the taloned fire flinging monster he knew he could become, roared with satisfaction at the thought of damning them all to the lowest, most unholy pits of hell.

He could do it. He could do it so quickly and so completely, they would never know what hit them. The beast wanted to do it. Wanted it so fiercely the desire gnawed at him until his skin seemed to crawl and he could almost feel his form wavering, could feel the part of him that still had a soul losing the battle and the beast straining against its cage, raging in fury.

But, he dared not lose that battle. Too much was resting upon the success of his visit to this long damned memory to risk allowing sweet thoughts of revenge to drive him to madness and every Realm of Orphia to its knees. It was too soon to uncage that beast and let it feast.

If he did so now, Orphia would lose, and the revenge that consumed his every thought would never be complete. The Magi would never pay for the wounds his soul carried, nor for the physical scars their evil had left upon the world. Four centuries of waiting would come to naught and, even as he carried the Magi to death, they would carry him, and every hope of Orphia's continued survival, with them.

While he would give himself willingly to that cause, he could make no such decision for the land of his heart. Orphia was far more than he was prepared to gamble and he knew enough to recognize that one should never gamble when he had something to lose. So instead of unleashing that inner beast, he stared straight ahead, his eyes locked with desperation upon the furthest corner of the Hall, the muscle in his cheek ticking a counterpart to the small splashes of water upon his neck.

“Breathe, Galen, just breathe.” Letting his eyes fall almost closed, he opened himself to the meditations he had learned so very long ago. Like weeds spreading beneath cobblestone, determined to push their spindly arms up and lift their heads to the sun, stillness wormed its way into the darkest places of his soul, soothing the beast until its roars quieted and, eventually, stopped altogether.

For long moments after that beast had lain head on clawed paws, Galen stood there, letting that peace shift through him and restore at least a sliver of his blackened soul. Only when the muscle in his cheek ceased its twitching and the beast finally closed its eyes with a snort of disgust did he let that meditation unravel, releasing his furious grip upon it so slowly, it floated almost imperceptibly from his body and back to that Divine source from whence it came.

He shook himself as if waking from a dream and stepped forward, taking care to step over the eroded foundation at his feet. Crumbled rock crunched beneath his booted heels as he paced silently across the room and towards the completion of his mission. He ignored those crunches just as he had the gentle fall of water upon his neck and, within moments, had traversed the lifeless husk of the room that had once pulsated with the combined power of Fae.

He knelt in the very corner upon which his eyes had been trained during his internal battle and, reaching out with his left hand, began to feel for the bottom of the wall. His hand landed upon the damp stone of that bottom brick and he closed his eyes on a brief prayer. He was almost there. Running his hand upward as if caressing the wall, he counted bricks. At the sixth, he stopped and grabbed hold of the dagger encased at his hip with his right hand.

Dropping to his stomach amidst the grime that coated the floors, he sat his ear to the stone upon which his left hand still rested and tapped his dagger twice. A hollow hum echoed back and he bared his teeth in a grim smile. He leaned back and shoved the dagger between the stone and the mortar at the top of the block. It slid in easily and, working quickly, he sliced through the mortar holding that brick in place.

How this portion of the wall had survived the decay while so many others had long ago given way to the ruinous ivy, he did not know. But he was grateful all the same. What this wall housed was, perhaps, the second most important thing in all of Orphia. Or, if looked at from a less hopeful position, the most important thing in all of Orphia. And while Galen was many things, hopeful was not amongst them, particularly when being so meant putting his faith and his trust completely in the hands of another. He wasn’t foolish enough to do that.

As far as he was concerned, the object he had come to retrieve was the salvation not only of his own people, but of every other race and realm of Orphia. While that wasn’t a pleasant thought, it consoled him all the same. His people would soon have justice and in the end, that’s all that really mattered to him.

Whether it came from him or from some vision long ago hidden in the very foundations of the room, it would come and not even the combined forces of hell would stop it this time. Fire would dance like rain upon the traitors that had perpetrated the loss of so many of his brethren and when it was over, the evil they had used to taint the world would be flung off, cast into hell with their unworthy and thrice damned souls. Then, and only then, would he be satisfied.

He pushed the dagger back into its sheath and rose to his knees. He glanced behind him once to ensure he was still truly alone in that dying place and satisfied that it was so, dug his fingers like claws into the mortar and pulled. With a groan, the brick snapped in two and slipped easily from the wall, the two halves crumbling in his hands. He smiled then, the dark lights of his eyes glowing in a satisfaction so grim, even that recaged beast shuddered slightly and cracked one eye open to watch.

“It’s begun,” he announced softly and reaching one hand into the cavern in the wall, pulled out the vision that he had hidden from the world so very long ago. The beast rose to its feet in the cage and roared. Galen threw his head back and laughed aloud, the heartless sounds bouncing off the walls of the Hall and echoing through the cracks of the ceiling, seeming almost to dare someone, anyone, to gainsay him the weapon of death he now held in his hands.