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crystalwizard
Forum Moderator
      
Date Joined Nov 2006
Total Posts : 6088
| Posted 3/15/2007 7:44 PM (GMT -5) |   | Comments are welcome.
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Chapter One
Darkness covered the city, flowing down the streets and collecting in the alleys. Silence sat heavily on the sleeping town, buildings swathed in thick fog while orange light pooled in liquid puddles under the occasional street lamp.
The town drunk stumbled down a cobbled road, his head spinning from the pots of ale that he'd guzzled in the pub. Reaching the nearest alley, he slumped against the wall, slid to the ground, threw his head back and began singing loudly off-key. A brief flash of light a few feet further down the alley startled him and he peered into the darkness. "Who's der?" he slurred, trying to make out anything in the inky blackness. No answer was forthcoming, so he shrugged and went back to singing.
The reason for the flash stood silently several feet away, his eyes adjusting to the sudden darkness. He wrinkled his nose at the putrid smell of rotting garbage and tried not to throw up.
Wonderful, he thought sourly. A backwater planet in the middle of nowhere and where do I materialize? In the middle of their garbage dump! He closed his eyes and settled his nerves. Well, it could be worse I guess. I wonder just how primitive these people are.
He picked his way slowly through the darkened alley, avoiding the larger concentrations of refuse. By the time he reached the street, the drunk was happily snoring in the stupor produced by the ale.
At least, he thought as he inspected the drunk, I look like they do… physically.
He squatted beside the drunk and carefully pulled the man’s tattered cloak aside then frowned.
Clothing... that's another matter. He dropped the cloak and glanced down at his seamless, black jump suit. I'll never fit in dressed like this.
He studied the drunk's ratty attire then stood and glanced around the street.
The fog drifted past swirling in the faint breeze and no other signs of life were evident.
Satisfied things were relatively safe, the man stepped out of the alley and turned left, making his way up the deserted street. He hugged the rough brick wall of the buildings, trying to stay well out of the light as he made his way past silent storefronts.
The buildings ended and the street turned into a lane running out into the open land. The man stopped, sighed and turned around.
Better and better, he thought, shaking his head. Backwater planet, primitive culture, local inhabitants who appear to have all the civility of poorly bred pigs and now this. He stared back up the street at the few buildings visible through the fog. Maybe it's bigger if I go the other way. I need clothes.
He studied the buildings, and then shook his head. No, I need a farm. With a clothesline. And a sympathetic farmer. He grimaced, remembering the drunk's singing. A farmer whose language I probably don't speak. Why me?
The man glanced over his shoulder at the lonely countryside and started back towards the alley. If there was a farm out there, it certainly didn't show up in the middle of the night.
When I get my hands, he thought vehemently, on the idiot that opened that warp…
Light spilled out of a doorway a few feet ahead of him and he froze.
A couple strolled out waving behind at a crowded, smoke filled room and wandered off down the street arm in arm.
The man waited until they were lost in the fog before breathing a silent sigh of relief. Clothes now, he reminded himself. And food. And sleep. Retribution later. After my powers come back. He glanced around and continued up the street.
The alley came in sight and he spotted a dark figure bent over the drunk. He froze, watching as the figure drew a knife from a sheath and cut the strings of the drunk's pouch.
The man narrowed his eyes.
Trained reflexes took over and he advanced, little more than a shadow, as the thief opened the pouch and began rummaging through it.
The man stepped forward, one hand around the thief's throat, the other grasping the knife hand. In a single fluid motion, he bent the thief backwards, lifted it off the ground to its toes and forced the knife hand open.
The knife hit the ground with a dull thud and he twisted his prisoner's arm up behind its back.
The thief struggled but stopped when the man's hand tightened around its throat.
"You know, for a thief you're not very observant," he growled, his voice low. His captive struggled and he applied more pressure to the arm.
"Ow!" came the unhappy protest.
"Not only that but your choice of targets is lousy.”
"Let me go!" the thief managed to gasp.
Well, the man thought. Language will evidently not be a problem. That's one positive aspect to this.
"Let you go?" he asked in a low, dangerous voice. "And then what? Wait while you pick up your knife and try to kill me? I think not." He tightened the hand on his captive’s throat.
"No! Just let me go and I swear I won't…”
"No, you're right," the man interrupted. "You won't. Because you really won't like what I'll do if you try. I'll let go," he said, his voice dark and threatening. "But you move and you die. Understand?"
"Yes," came the acknowledgment through tightly clenched teeth.
He let go and the thief stumbled forward, whirled around and stood uncertainly before him, rubbing its wrist.
The fog drifted past behind the man diffusing what light the street lamp shed and giving him an unearthly backdrop.
The thief looked up into a pair of brown eyes that appeared faintly to glow and gulped, his blood running cold.
"Your name?" the man asked, looking down at the thief and crossing his arms.
"Why?" came the hesitant response.
"Because I asked."
"Kheri," the thief answered after a moment.
The man nodded, bent over and picked up the knife.
Kheri's eyes darted to the street but prudence kept him from moving.
"You can call me Dale," the man said, straightening up and handing back the knife.
Kheri looked at the knife suspiciously and took it, sheathing it quickly. "So now what?" he asked nervously, looking back up at the man who towered a full twelve inches over his slight, five and a half feet.
Dale pointed at the drunk. "First, give him back his pouch. Second, you just became my guide to this place. To start with, I need other clothing. You're going to help me find some."
Kheri opened his mouth to protest, caught the look on Dale's face, nodded once and dropped the pouch next to the drunk. "What kind of clothes do you want," he asked, his gaze wandering over Dale's strange attire.
"Normal stuff. What any average, working man would wear."
Kheri stared at the jump suit for a couple more seconds then nodded. "All right," he decided hesitantly. "I know where you can get something but we'll have to leave town. The only stuff around here is either on someone's back or in a store, and those're locked."
"And stuff outside town isn't?"
"Well..." Kheri fidgeted and tried not to feel frightened. "My aunt's got a farm. It’s several miles out. I can try to get you some of my uncle's old things… unless you object to a walk?"
Dale caught his eyes and held them until Kheri shivered and looked away. "All right," he replied, satisfied that Kheri was telling the truth. "Which way?"
"Uh…” Kheri stammered, his heart pounding, "T… this way." He moved cautiously past the larger man, stepped out of the alley and started up the street toward the center of town.
Dale followed silently behind him.
Kheri's thoughts raced as he walked past the wooden buildings. The desire to dash off into the fog filled him and he fought it down, certain he would fail in the attempt. His arm still ached and he had no desire to find out just how strong Dale really was. He rubbed his throat, feeling the ghostly impressions from Dale's fingers, and shivered.
Clothes... he thought, trying to control his overly active imagination. I gotta tell her something... He pictured the ancient steamer trunk locked away in his aunt's attic, full of his uncle's rotting clothing and frowned. Maybe I can just offer to clean up, he thought and shook his head. She'll have it locked. I gotta get her to give 'em to me.
The brief events in the alley sprang back to the front of his mind and overpowered his shaky attempt at planning. He forced himself to swallow, took a deep breath and tried to consider what his aunt might accept. He was still deep in thought when the last few buildings came in sight. Dale dropped a firm hand on his shoulder, shattering his concentration and he jumped.
"Stop,” came the soft command behind him.
Kheri froze instantly and glanced around. A movement in the shadows a short way up the street caught his attention and he flattened against the wall next to Dale, holding his breath.
A figure detached itself from the shadows and crossed the street, visible now as one of the town guards.
They stood motionless, waiting as the guard glanced around, and then made his way on down the street.
"All right, let's go," Dale hissed after the guard had vanished into the fog and his footsteps were no longer to be heard.
Kheri nodded and looked curiously at Dale as they started walking again.
Dale returned his gaze and lifted an eyebrow in question. "Yes?
"How'd you know he was there?"
"I heard him.”
Kheri blinked. "You heard him?"
"Yes.”
A shiver ran up Kheri's spine and he stopped, took a deep breath and turned to face his captor. "Who... I meant what...,” he stammered, unable to translate thoughts into words.
Dale sighed, crossed his arms and looked down into Kheri's eyes. "Are you sure you want the answer to that question?"
Kheri nodded, his eyes locked on Dale's face.
"At the moment," Dale told him. "I'm just a stranger who would prefer not to be noticed. You get on my bad side; I might turn out to be your worst nightmare."
Kheri swallowed nervously, unable to look away.
"You do as I ask and behave, and I may turn out to be a valuable friend,” Dale continued, still holding Kheri's gaze with his own. “You want more explanation than that, earn it. How far is it to your aunt's farm?”
“Uh...” Kheri shook his thoughts free from the somewhat frightening flight of fantasy they'd taken. “About three… four miles… not far. A couple hours walk.”
"She get up early?"
"Usually yes," Kheri nodded. "And this is market day too. There'll be traffic coming into town in a while."
Dale watched the younger man fidget for a few seconds. "In that case," he said softly, a flinty edge to his voice. "I suggest you turn around and we get going."
Kheri broke into a sudden sweat and turned quickly around, leading the way out of town.
Never meddle in the affairs of a wizard unless you are soggy and hard to light!
Visit my art gallery on art wanted at
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cussedness
Adept
Date Joined Apr 2005
Total Posts : 903
| Posted 3/21/2007 7:08 PM (GMT -5) | | Overall, I like this. And since you're soliciting comments/crits, I thought I would poke my nose in. I see that you're using third omni and switching POV in the middle. You do that very skillfully.
I had a problem only with the opening lines. The rhythm is off.
"Darkness covered the city, flowing down the streets and collecting in the alleys. Silence sat heavily on the sleeping town, its buildings swathed in a thick fog, light pooling in liquid puddles under the occasional street lamp. "
You have two sentences here with identical rhythm in succession. It helps to alter that a bit. Also when doing very short paragraphs, it helps to have an uneven number of sentences. For some odd reason, a certain kind of flow is more comfortable to readers.
That's something that I struggle with myself.
Janrae Frank
I have no skeletons in my closet, they are all hanging from the yardarm.
Once there were three brothers, Brandrahoon the vampire, Isranon called the Dawnhand, speaker to spirits, and Waejonan the Accursed, first of sa’necari. Isranon defied his brothers and was destroyed, his descendants forced into the darkness.
Blood Rites
www.fictionwise.com/ebooks/eBook29989.htm
website
www.janraefrank.com
Darkzone
www.janraefrank.com/Vanilla.1.0.1/ | | Back to Top | | |
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cussedness
Adept
Date Joined Apr 2005
Total Posts : 903
| Posted 3/22/2007 12:55 PM (GMT -5) | | While I can't remember names at the moment, I do know that several pros have gone back and re-written their novels and shorts.
When my collection came out from Wildside, I left most of the stories in tact, but one of them The Ruined Tower just turned my stomach looking at it again after nearly 30 years. So I revised it for the collection. I am not certain how that applies to reprint sales.
Janrae Frank
I have no skeletons in my closet, they are all hanging from the yardarm.
Once there were three brothers, Brandrahoon the vampire, Isranon called the Dawnhand, speaker to spirits, and Waejonan the Accursed, first of sa’necari. Isranon defied his brothers and was destroyed, his descendants forced into the darkness.
Blood Rites
www.fictionwise.com/ebooks/eBook29989.htm
website
www.janraefrank.com
Darkzone
www.janraefrank.com/Vanilla.1.0.1/ | | Back to Top | | |
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tchernabyelo
Adept
Date Joined Oct 2006
Total Posts : 548
| Posted 3/28/2007 8:10 AM (GMT -5) | | For my money; nice imagery (though in a fantasy world you have to be careful of metaphor - is the darkness really flowing?), but the rhythm is still too similar. And first you say city, then town - these are not really synonyms. Is there a reason you don't actually name the town? You're in first-paragraph-is-free external POV, so you can easily go with something like:
"Darkness covered Simlar, flowing down the streets and collecting in the alleys. Silence sat heavily on the sleeping town. Thick fog swathed the buildings, while orange light..." and so on. Incidentally, street lamps? Street lighting feels anachronistic, since everything else is giving me a mock-medieval impression - if that impression is wrong, let me know.
A few other comments - clotheslines? If it's cold and damp enough to be foggy, nobody would be leaving clothes on lines, they'd be in front of the fire. And one sentence in particular hit me as overly adverbial - "Kheri looked at the knife suspiciously and took it, sheathing it quickly. "So now what?" he asked nervously". Just a few too many in rapid succession, there.
"The Box Of Beautiful Things" - IGMS#3
"The Man Who Was Never Afraid" - Abyss and Apex #19 | | Back to Top | | |
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Lyn
Rocinante
Date Joined Sep 2007
Total Posts : 2042
| Posted 4/16/2008 6:55 PM (GMT -5) | | Attention Sojourn Fans:
I'm starting a 'virtual book club' for the month of May in the 'what I'm reading now' thread up the board a ways:
http://forum.sfreader.com/default~f~41~m~77253.html
And anyone is welcome to read Wizard's Bane: Book One of the Sojourn Chronicles with me. (Free PDF version available if you know where to look! lol) Or if you've already read it, feel free to participate in the discussion each week, starting next Saturday.
Here's a possible reading/discussion schedule based on about 80 pages a week:
by Apr 26, chapters 1-6, pages 1-84
by May 3, chpts 7-11, pgs 85-172
by May 10, chpts 12-15, pgs 173-260
by May 17, chpts 16-20, pgs 261-342
by May 24, chpts 21-25, pgs 343-418
by May 31, chpts 26-30, pgs 419-501
by June 7, chpts 31-35, pgs 502-583 (end)
Of course, I have no idea where the actual "story breaks" occur - so if chapter 7 just begs to be read before it's scheduled to appear, then go with the flow. 
See you up the boards some time next week!
Lyn from ResAliens
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crystalwizard
Forum Moderator
Date Joined Nov 2006
Total Posts : 6088
| Posted 4/16/2008 7:11 PM (GMT -5) | | tchernabyelo said...
Is there a reason you don't actually name the town?
Yep. There is. Without a name it's whatever your imagination wants it to be. With a name I'm forcing you into a locale that doesn't matter. If I give it the name of Quwarmbuck, does that center your location on the map any better than just calling it 'town' ? It's a non-existant place, on a non-existant planet, in a non-existant galaxy that is earthlike. It's dark, foggy and the MC doesn't know what the town name is, why should you the reader expect to?
tchernabyelo said...
You're in first-paragraph-is-free external POV, so you can easily go with something like:
"Darkness covered Simlar, flowing down the streets and collecting in the alleys. Silence sat heavily on the sleeping town. Thick fog swathed the buildings, while orange light..." and so on. Incidentally, street lamps? Street lighting feels anachronistic, since everything else is giving me a mock-medieval impression - if that impression is wrong, let me know.
I dislike the name Simlar, because I don't know what it is. Neither do you. However you DO know what 'a town' is. It generates images in your mind, does it not? Simlar generates nothing except ????
tchernabyelo said...
A few other comments - clotheslines? If it's cold and damp enough to be foggy, nobody would be leaving clothes on lines, they'd be in front of the fire.
True. However you're referring to the main character's thoughts, not my description of what is actually there. People aren't always realistic in their assumptions of what's there and he didn't say he could see clothes lines, either. He said he needed clothes lines. What's more, the fog is in the town. Fog tends to clump. There's nothing to say that it has to be foggy 5 miles away from town, or even half a mile. Which is where the clothes lines would be, if they existed at all. And he doesn't know that they do.
tchernabyelo said...
And one sentence in particular hit me as overly adverbial - "Kheri looked at the knife suspiciously and took it, sheathing it quickly. "So now what?" he asked nervously". Just a few too many in rapid succession, there.
Why? It's tense, action oriented and that's what he did. | | Back to Top | | |
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Nathan Jerpe
Acolyte
Date Joined Nov 2007
Total Posts : 256
| Posted 4/18/2008 9:33 AM (GMT -5) | |
crystalwizard said...
tchernabyelo said...
Is there a reason you don't actually name the town? Yep. There is. Without a name it's whatever your imagination wants it to be. With a name I'm forcing you into a locale that doesn't matter. If I give it the name of Quwarmbuck, does that center your location on the map any better than just calling it 'town' ? It's a non-existant place, on a non-existant planet, in a non-existant galaxy that is earthlike. It's dark, foggy and the MC doesn't know what the town name is, why should you the reader expect to?
If you want to be intentionally vague about where the action is happening, leaving it nameless is OK by me. But one might consider this a missed opportunity; you can really convey a lot with a well-chosen name. Even better (IMHO) this meaning is subject to the reader's interpretation, thereby furnishing a mental kickstart for the imagination you've described above.
Not all names have to be like Quwarmbuck or Simlar (although I think these have some potential with some tweaking :) Consider, say, Turniptown, or Gull. Silly names both, but they get my imagination going because they imply certain meanings without forcing the matter. They have me asking questions. I guess the trick is to come up with a name that gets the reader asking the questions you want them to ask.
But I'd say no name is better than a bad one.
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crystalwizard
Forum Moderator
Date Joined Nov 2006
Total Posts : 6088
| Posted 4/18/2008 12:20 PM (GMT -5) | | Nathan Jerpe said...
If you want to be intentionally vague about where the action is happening, leaving it nameless is OK by me.
That is the point, yes.
Nathan Jerpe said...
Not all names have to be like Quwarmbuck or Simlar (although I think these have some potential with some tweaking :) Consider, say, Turniptown, or Gull. Silly names both, but they get my imagination going because they imply certain meanings without forcing the matter. They have me asking questions. I guess the trick is to come up with a name that gets the reader asking the questions you want them to ask.
Yes. And I would use such names if that's the effect I was going for :) However, as you said, they imply certain meanings as do any names, and sometimes you don't want that reaction in your readers. You know? You want them to visualize 'anytown' or even visualize their own town. If you hang a name on the place your action is set in, you lose that.
Same goes for characters. The current mindset in the writing community is 'NAME THAT CHARACTER!'
bunk
name the character when/if it's appropriate to name them. It is NOT always appropriate to give a character a name. | | Back to Top | | |
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cussedness
Adept
Date Joined Apr 2005
Total Posts : 903
| Posted 4/18/2008 12:40 PM (GMT -5) | | I name my minor characters when there appears to be a likelihood of confusion. Even though John Donnegal only shows up a few times, all the references to his candy store by the children in my Lycan Blood series made me think that it would be best to actually have a name for the children to refer to him by. On the other hand there are a lot of minor folks who do not rate a name.
C. S. Lewis, in his book on writing, suggested that many things worked better when left to the reader's imagination and that appears to go with names as well.
Janrae Frank
I have no skeletons in my closet, they are all hanging from the yardarm.
Once there were three brothers, Brandrahoon the vampire, Isranon called the Dawnhand, speaker to spirits, and Waejonan the Accursed, first of sa’necari. Isranon defied his brothers and was destroyed, his descendants forced into the darkness.
The Shadowed Princes
www.fictionwise.com/eBooks/eBook64690.htm?cache
website
www.janraefrank.com
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