(Novel) Trial by Fire

[Manbatapus]

Here is the beginning section of a novel that I have started work on, presently going by the title "Trial by Fire". It is a fantasy novel based in an entirely fictional world. All characters and places belong to me.

Feedback and constructive criticism are appreciated. Thank you for your time.

***
The wild waters of the Ebony Sea threw the ship back and forth like toy, but the Azakul held true. The large figures on the deck ran wildly from station to station, keeping the ship from ruin. The Azakul was a hundred foot wooden ship, propelled by sail and oar. The prow of the ship was carved in the caricature of a Dragon of ages past, its jaws open wide to devour any that stood in its way. At the prow of the ship, the largest of the beings on board stood there absent-mindedly, despite the torrential downpour that assailed them. He stood with a proud gait, his gore-red scales glistening with moisture, one back-jointed leg on the deck, the other on the prow, idly running his clawed hands over the long black lance he held, his fingers running over the engraved dragon that coiled around it. “Chieftain.” He turned his head to meet the reptilian visage of one of his crew. A fledgling, whose horns had barely begun to sprout, whereas his were fully grown, curled like that of a goat. “Our destination is visible. We should arrive soon.” The chieftain nodded in approval. The crewman stood only eight feet, whereas the chieftain stood at a towering ten feet, though the blood-line of the chieftain was much stronger than that of a simple crewman. Also, where the chieftains scales were red, the crewmans’ were a bright silver, akin to metal.
“Will we make it by daybreak?” The chieftain rumbled, his voice similar to that of a landslide.
“We would have to push the crew to the extreme, chiefain.” A gust of wind punished the ship, knocking the smaller Drakkarin to his knees, while the larger remained straight.
“Make anchor. We will continue at daybreak.” The crewman nodded, but seemed hesitant to leave the chieftains side.
“What else?”He asked, turning to face the whelp fully. “I do not mean to insult you, mighty Kharaddon, but the weather out here is not suited for the captain of a ship, much less the chieftain of-“
Kharaddon roared to the sky, releasing a plume of harsh, crimson flame that turned the rain to a mist in an instant. The deckhand stumbled backwards, his eyes fearful at such a display of power. The chieftain grabbed the Drakkarin by the neck and drew him up, holding him in a grip two feet above the ground. “Relay my orders.” Kharaddon growled, throwing the deckhand to the deck. “And bring me Balgor. We have matters to discuss.”

***​

 

[DogOfHavoc]

Pretty good, but there's really not much here to judge. However, I do think you could include more description. Describe the ship, the storm, the crew, anything to help the reader paint a more vivid mental picture.

Also, the title is cliche. I'd give some consideration to something a little more original.

 

[Ninva]

I agree with DOH. Once you provide more material, we can judge your story.

 

[Sneakster]

I really like all of the adjectives used in this short segment, but I think a better description of the ship's surroundings would make this little segment a little less confusing. Other than that, nice writing!

 

[Manbatapus]

This is the next part of the chapter. I tried to elaborate on previous suggestions, but still constructive criticism is welcomed.

***​

The interior of the Azakul was massive, a great hall extending half the length of the deck. The area was mostly delegated to eating and gatherings, with all the supplies were stored in the hold below. Torches were lit all along the length of the room with no chimney present, to achieve the smoky air that Drakkarin favoured. Kharaddon sat at the end of the hall, his special table carved from the rare wood of the Emherra tree found only in the realm of the Anu’brith, with the feet of it braced in iron moulded to look like dragons claws. The double doors at the end of the hall creaked open, and a hunched figure entered. Nobody but Kharaddon noticed; it was common-place for Drakkarin to enter the Hall, whereas he was waiting for someone. The Drakkarin was covered in a myriad of different metal contraptions; his chest was covered by a metal rib-cage contraption, his arms sheathed in plate. His muzzle had a metal jaw-plate that was hinged to the jaw itself, covering most of his face. The most prominent thing, however, was the series of long pointed spines cresting off of his back. Almost all flesh was covered in some armour or another, and where it wasn’t, it was burned horrifically. The Drakkarins’ skin had originally been silver, but was now all burnt to black.
“Kharaddon.” The newcomer wheezed, as if it took all his effort to make that simple sound. “You called?” Kharaddon nodded, gesturing at the seat across from him. “Please sit, Balgor.”
Balgor shook his covered head, creating a distinct scraping noise of metal on metal. “Things to do. What do you need of me?” Kharaddon relented in the face of his senior engineer. It must be painful to sit in such armour. “I have heard that you and the chieftain of the Frostreaver clan used to be acquainted.” Kharaddon spoke, playing with a small spark of flame in his right claw.
“That was over a century ago, Kharaddon.” Balgor replied. “I do not even know if Raszal is still alive.”
Kharaddon nodded, his attention now drawn to the flame he toyed with. “So he was alive during the War of Re-Unification?” Balgor cocked his head to the side. “He led the Frostreaver clan in the War against Razul’s Chosen, against Chauros. Why do you ask?”
“So does Raszal resent the outcome of the War?”
Balgor paused before he replied, clearly confused as to where this was going. “I would not know, chieftain. You could ask him upon our arrival.” Kharaddon closed his hand, extinguishing the flame. “Very well. May Razul’s eye watch your path, chieftain of the Sons of Iron.”
“And yours, chieftain of the Firemaw.”