Anyway, I'm submitting the first few chaptershere because I want to get some feedback. I would like to know what people think about the portrayal of characters. As I've already said, I am making some changes to the show, but I don't want anything to be drastically different. So, I would greatly appreciate it if you, the readers, would comment on whether or not you think I have changed a the characters too much.

I thank you for your time and reviews. Even if you absolutely hate what I've done so far, please tell me. This is still in the very early stages and there's more than enough time change some things to make it right.


The Demonic Tongue

Pronunciation Guide

Vowels

Vowels in the demonic tongue are pronounced as follows. There are no exceptions to this.

A ä (ah)

E ē (feet)

I i (lift)

O ō (no)

U ū (rude)

Vowel Combinations

Vowels do not combine in the demonic tongue; instead, both vowels are pronounced. For example, AE ah-ee; OU oh-oo

Double Vowels

With the following exceptions, all double vowels are pronounced as single vowels, but held longer.

AA ā (age)

II ī (kite)

Consonants

All consonants are pronounced as it would in English except as follows.

C kh as in the German ach

H always pronounced, rolls out of the throat

Q ch (chew)

R rolls on the tongue

X Sh (shoe)

Y Always Y as in Yes

Z Chinese Zh, as in Zhou

Consonant Combinations

Combinations of consonants do not form different sounds. Instead, both sounds are pronounced together. For example, SHA: s-(h)a, THA: t-(h)a, GHA: g-(h)a, JYA: j-ya

Double Consonants

With the following exceptions, the demonic tongue has no double consonants.

SS sounds like hissing

NN lengthened

MM lengthened

Other

' apostrophes denote a short pause in the word

R/N when words end with these letters, violent emphasis is placed on the vowel immediately before it.

Sorry, a pronunciation guide is all you get.

If any of you were actually interested in the gramatics of the language, I actually don't have enough knowledge of the syntactical terms to explain it propperly. Basically, the grammar is similar to Japanese, but is pronounced with a harsh Germanic overtone. A few words were invented here and there to express concepts that I felt a demonic race would have, while certain words are virtually non-existent. The language has only one tense, that being present, but it implies a past tense through context and syntax. The idea behind this is that, living forever as the Mazoku do (assuming they are not killed), the concept of time would have an entirely different meaning to them.

That's about as detailed as I can get, and probably much more than you cared to hear. Bascially, I created this language for one purpose, to help differentiate between the different types of magic. Black magic incantations will all be in demonic. The rest I expect you'll figure out as you read. Anywho, on with the story.


Thrice Damned

Prologue

Beneath the Great Tree

The citizens of Sairaag greeted the sun as it began its glorious ascension above the sea. This was nothing unusual; of all the people who lived under the Empire of Lyzelle, none were said to be more industrious than those who lived in the city of Sairaag. Long ago, The Faith had decided that their temple would be built beneath the shadow of the Flagoon, the Great Camphor Tree, where the beast Zanafar's terrible power had been sealed away and around the temple, a proud city had been constructed. Many claimed that the citizens of Sairaag toiled as they did in order to draw the favor from The Faith, but this was an unfair observation. Over the decades, creatures from the surrounding region had been drawn to the temple again and again, and the countless assaults by mazoku and other monstrous beasts had nearly devastated the city many times. In the cycle of destruction and rebuilding, the people of Sairaag had come to value hard work and honest labor as a means of overcoming hardship.

This day, like many days, Sairaag had been active before dawn, but today the morning light fell upon a city brimming with energy. All the streets were filled with exuberant citizens speaking merrily of the upcoming events. Even the children were enthralled by excited anticipation as the days drew ever nearer the most beloved celebration of the Empire's history; the Festival of the Summer Stars, now only an eight-day away.

In a mere eight days, the time when the daylight shone longest would arrive and then the whole city would put aside its duties and gather at the fairgrounds for an entire day of feasting and merrymaking. At night, as the stars shone brightly overhead, all would gather around Flagoon and give thanks for the marvelous blessings of life. Around the tree a tremendous paper chain, each link a written prayer of the every citizen, would be hung, while traveling bards would dance, sing and tell stories all night long. To the people of Sairaag, no other holiday celebrated in Lyzelle could compare to the Festival of the Summer Stars.

Born from beyond the mountains to the southeast, a warm, midsummer breeze wafted effortlessly out of the foothills. Wooden signs hung over shop entryways swayed, rusty hinges slightly creaking, as it gently drifted into the city. Through the busy streets it blew on its northward journey, out of the city and up the path leading to the Great Tree, catching in a young temple maiden's dark hair, causing it to billow up around her.

The young woman, crouched beside the rosebushes that bordered the path, allowed the wind its moment of fancy before brushing back the long strands that strayed from their proper place. Indulging herself briefly, she arched her spine in a slightly catlike stretch, then leaned back a bit, straightening her work clothes as she looked up at the radiant blue sky. She let the soul-warming light sink into her silken skin, admiring the splendid beauty of the day.

Sylphiel, she had been named by her adoptive father, and for no other could such a delicate name be more appropriate. From her soft face, its fair tone accentuated by the contrast of her black hair, violet eyes took in all the beauty of the world, their inner glow giving it back tenfold, and when her lips, red as the roses she now tended, met in a smile, its simple purity could dissuade a starved wolf from attacking.

The moment passed and the maiden returned to her morning duties. Pulling her gloves back into place, she reached down to pluck the weeds sprouting at the roots. That finished, she drew from the basket at her side a pair of clippers and, keeping a wary eye out for thorns, carefully pruned the bush before completing her chore with the watering can. Across the path, she repeated the process with the next bush, continuing toward Flagoon with slow, but steady progress. As she neared the end of the path, one of the acolytes, initiate priests of The Faith, passed by on his way to scripture study, glancing at her from the corner of his eyes in a desperate effort not to look at her directly.

"Good morning." She smiled up at him pleasantly.

The boy started at the greeting. Turning to face her, his hands fidgeting nervously, he bowed to the temple maiden far more than was customary for politeness.

"Ah, good morning, Miss Sylphiel," he managed, straightening up. "It's a fine day, isn't it?"

As Sylphiel rose to her feet, the acolyte struggled to keep his eyes elevated toward her face. She removed one of her gloves and reached out to the boys hair, brushing up a lock of blond hair that had fallen over one of the boy's eyes. A brilliant red hue flushed across his freckled cheeks, a slight shudder passing over him.

"It's a lovely day," Sylphiel replied. "Now hurry along to your studies."

The acolyte nodded, stuttering as he politely excused himself, and rushed away, looking back over his shoulder once and stumbling before joining the other acolytes. The young woman couldn't help but chuckle, covering her mouth with one hand, as she watched him go. In the midst of the boys, seated on one of the trees giant roots, the priest leading the study group gave her a stern, questioning look. She shrugged helplessly in reply. She understood his concern; having shown the boy some attention, there was bound to be conflict among the acolytes about the gesture, the affection of which would doubtless be exaggerated, but boys were boys and she could do nothing about it. The priest shook his head, his expression both amused and bemused, and continued with his lesson.

Sylphiel pulled off her gloves with a relaxed sigh and dropped them into the basket. She approached the tree and admired the golden tint of the morning light on its leaves as she walked around to the back of the trunk to a gap between the roots, the place where she had buried Rezo II, the man who murdered the only father she had ever known.

That one man's ambitions had caused the near complete destruction of Sairaag, almost killed the Great Tree and cost the lives of so many innocent people still seemed unfathomable to her. Almost four years had passed since that day and the city had been rebuilt to its former splendor, as it always was, but still every terrible moment of that time haunted her dreams. How horrifying, that one man could be the cause of so much suffering.

From her pocket, the temple maiden drew a daisy she had grown in her home garden, holding it gently in her hands, glancing from it, to the grave and back again. As she stood in silence her memories of him – the cold smile, the piercing blue and brown eyes, the hateful, murderous declaration of intent – fell away till only one remained, the pleading expression of a confused, dying man. Sylphiel laid the flower between the roots and then stepped back away from the otherwise unmarked grave. Her eyes closed and head bowed solemnly, she put her hands together in a gesture of prayer. A long, contemplative silence passed, with only the distant drone of the lecturing priest on the other side of the tree giving sign to her that the rest of the world continued around her.

Another warm breeze, slightly stronger than the last, drifted in from the west, carrying with it the salty scent of the ocean. Sylphiel again brushed back her hair and wiped away a tear that had begun a slow pilgrimage down her left cheek. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, a peaceful smile finding its way to her face.

As the time passed, the young woman became aware of someone watching, the feeling of eyes on her settling quietly into her mind. She continued to stare at the grave as though lost in though; there was no need for her to look to recognize the priest who now approached her from behind.

"What are you praying for?" Radin asked as he stepped up close to her.

He placed hand on her shoulder, wrapping the other arm around her, and leaned his head against her neck. Without turning, she placed her own hand on his, reaching across her body with the other to gently stroke his face, feeling a flutter in her heart as they touched.

"His peace," she replied softly.

Radin smiled as he drew her hand up to his mouth for a gentle kiss. "You pray for his peace?" he asked, his tone equally gentle. "After all Rezo II did?"

"I looked into his eyes as he died and I could only feel sorry for him. He wanted to prove that he was better than Rezo, so he could believe it himself. But he didn't understand what greatness was, and so his dreams only eluded him until he could only lash out at the world in confused rage. He must have been so lonely."

Sylphiel allowed Radin to turn her around to face him, meeting his longing gaze. She made no move to resist as his hands slid down from her shoulders to caress her arms as warmly and gently as the first morning breeze until he took hold of her hands, his gaze not once straying from hers. He drew nearer to her, till his brown hair brushed against her forehead. She stared deeply into his face, boyish and awkward when she had first met him, now strong and proud, his jaw set firm and his brown eyes that she believed drew in things from the world which no other man could see.

As Radin looked back at her, he could only admire what he saw. In the face of all the hardships which she had experienced, she remained pure, untainted by malice or regret. She was pure in heart, mind and body, yet it was not the purity of a person simple or childish in nature. In her he could sense the resounding strength of matured soul that remained true to itself in spite of whatever may happen. He had never seen such a purity in any other person before and somehow knew that he never would.

As the seconds passed, the silence grew uncomfortable for the priest. He felt the need to speak, but he could think of nothing to say in that moment. Words twisted up in his mind, resisting any attempt to be organized and finally darting teasingly out of his grasp as he tried to seize them. It would not have been the first time that he wished he'd been gifted with a poet's tongue. If only he could find the means to say what he felt, but there was nothing.

"You are," he whispered, "so beautiful."

Sylphiel smiled up at him and gently touched his clean-shaven chin; she could almost feel him melt at her touch. 'You are so beautiful.' It was the same thing he always said to her in their quiet moments alone, but just as she knew his eyes took in what others couldn't see, she knew his words said more than others could hear. Rising up on her toes, she kissed him lightly on the cheek and then stepped back away.

"We have a lot of work today."

Radin nodded. "Indeed we do."

His hand stretched out to her. For a brief instant, as she reached out to take it, Sylphiel again felt the strange sense of eyes on her and in the corner of her vision she thought she saw a flash of movement behind the Great Tree, but saw nothing when she looked. Side by side, she and Radin walked back toward the temple together. The lecturer didn't notice as the acolytes all turned away from him to glare jealously at the priest and the temple maiden, neither of whom would have cared if they had noticed themselves.