Critique on opening chapter, i cant find my 2nd draft atm, but 1st ones here. thanks!?

Leaves billowed around his feet, the wet foliage sticking to his scuffed unlaced docmartins. Rain was falling from the sidewalk below, barely discernable behind all this fog, a flicker of a rat鈥檚 tail away from environmentally lethal. Staring blankly ahead with cold black eyes, a curled lip giving him the allure of a sleeping Cheshire cat, his cogs whirred and the dastardly plan he had lain before him finally gave him the purest of satisfaction.



Behind him, a woman and her partner presumably came thundering up the steps.

"Yeah, you and your cocaine soul!"

"Brenna, you know I can change."

The woman's voice cracked, "I know you can, i've been with you this long, because i've been waiting for you."

"Please, bren-"

"NO! You've got all the beauty, all i've ever wanted, you鈥檙e a beautiful cabaret, but your an empty one, the cocaine

souls taken my music away and I鈥檓 never going to hear the tune again."

"Help me Bren, please, don't go..."

The woman fled up the remainder of the steps, the man lowering to his knees.



Ambiguous, thought the invisible figure, but i'm guessing drug addict and tired lover.

Cackling as the woman turned around and almost caught eye with his black pools, he jumped through the gnarled trees, graceful as a gibbon, and felt sweet delight as the helpless guinea pig in his experiment fell out of the towering tree.





Sweet Satisfaction.



A thick mist opens like unravelling folds in a curtain. A grey, bleak, but purposeful curtain.

A heavy curtain, festooned with showy ruffles and golden tassles.

A curtain in front of an invisible door.



All mists have purposes, you know.

A diversion is the most common. A fog on the motorway could mean that someone's opened a portal nearby, and needs the confusion to get to or fro.

But you can get the odd poisoning mist. A sleep mist. And then you get a Destroya mist, which can only be kept at bay, by another Destroya spell, or an elemental spell, however finding either of the Majyk is incredibly rare.



It's an awkward procedure. The Majyk involved entails a lot of intelligence and energy. Although, environmentally, it distributes a lot of oxygen nitrate- a plus indeed- of which Greenpeace thinks is down to them.

Little do they know.



The problem with mists is that it cannot increase, get smaller, change shape, or move from the floor. Gravity prevents it. Infact, it shares all other laws of science apart from the fact is its Majyk, and when touched by it,

A white poisonous tarry substance lingers.



But of course, only powerful sorcerers can create such portals and powerful sorcerers only usually tend to have bad intentions.

The mist dived down the cobbled steep steps, whipping leaves off branches into the sticky white tar that was the mist.

An orchestra of snapping tree bodies provided warning to the woodland creatures and people in the forest.

All but one.

Yawning, Cassopeia stretched on the thick tree branch, towering over Matlock and the famed long winding pathway that lead up to the top of the hillish forest.

GREAT, she muttered. PINS AND NEEDLES.

Groaning, when her cardigan snatched on some loose bark, she gathered her bearings and balanced herself, taking care not to put too much weight on her pin and needled legs.

"Ahh!" she gasped. Casi had been scouring the view from Top Tree for a good half hour, and had completely forgotten about what she had been here for.

But she forgave herself. She knew what it was like to capture the moment, and then be captured in the moment. It was why she loved taking photography. Although she could never bring herself to call herself photographer. For now, it was a pursuit, even though she had had a couple of nature shots and bustling tourists in Matlock published in some prestigious leaflets and marketing campaignes. Looking at Matlock streetway, she grinned at the sight of bikers, hundreds of them, some couples sharing the same biking leather, holding hands. She caught herself before she looked for matching blue and black motorbiking outfits, two people the practically the same height, same messy, unkempt hair, same worn smile; but not because Mum and Dad were tired, just because they used it so much.

Mum always said laughter lines were her favourite wrinkles, because they told everybody she was happy with her life, and not worrying about the end of it.

Casi held the tree for support, breathing heavilly.

It's been too long, Casi mumbled, amazed. But it feels like it happened last week or something.

It was unusual for Casi to dwell on such sadness, but maybe the peace and quiet had dredged up a few unwanted memories.

And then Casi noticed the silence was more like an absence of noise. She coughed happily.

Grappling onto a higher branch, her Canon HD camera swinging on her wrist, almost banging the tree, she lifted herself higher, trying to get part of some interesting brickwork into her next picture.



Click.



The mist slammed into Top Tree, shaking Casi like a weedy skyscCritique on opening chapter, i cant find my 2nd draft atm, but 1st ones here. thanks!?
Sorry, but this got posted in fantasy sports. I don't believe that is where you intended it so you may wish to repost elsewhere. I found it hard to follow but it is early in the story.



Good luck.