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This is part of a fantasy fiction piece I'm working on. As the title says, it's part of the prologue. If you like it, give me some feedback and I'll post more.
It was near midnight, but the mid spring downpour that had started the previous morning showed no sign of letting up. The clouds that bore the storm had settled in around the Tractus mountain range during early November, and had proceeded to shed its excess with huge bout of freezing rain, hail, and mild amounts of snow.
The rain had stopped freezing several weeks ago, but the creatures who lived in this part of the mountains were taking no chances. They stayed out of the weather if possible, living off what they had gathered throughout autumn. Such was the life of mountain creatures.
Throughout the lull in the slope of the mountain, nothing moved of its own accord. The fog had muted all but the roar of the storm
Nothing, that is, except a lone, upright figure striding up the mountain path.
The man was half hidden by his garments, an oilcloth cloak covering what looked like a woolen shin-length robe. Not practical clothes for traveling, but he had not gone far, and the path was wide and clear, and he was almost to his destination. The man smiled to himself. He was nearly there.
The path became rocky and uneven, and the man stumbled in the dark several times before he reached into a pouch at his belt and pulled out a small, round sphere. It was a crystal, and it flared with a bright, steady light.
He had many such pouches and bags, all hanging from a wide leather belt. There were many items in those pouches, much more dangerous than his light crystal; things meant only to be used when no other salvation could be found, things that could incinerate the wielder, or blink him out of existence, never to have the luxury of going to the world of the dead.
Nearly there. He could see the curtain wall, with lights similar to his own dancing along the top, like the candles of spirits. He was not surprised to see the great barrier of ancient stone; he had felt his quarry miles away. He could feel it now, a beacon. It lay somewhere within the walls.
He was at the portcullis, its dull iron bars etched with runes of an alphabet long forgotten. The man knew not the runes, but he knew the spell they carried. When he put away his crystal and gripped the bars, they began to glow, first the runes, then the entire portcullis; a red-hot glow that burned him with an invisible, agonizing fire. The man gripped the bars harder, to help shut out the pain, and whispered a few well-chosen words through gritted teeth. The spell retreated back into the depths of the iron, and the portcullis lifted.
The man smiled beneath the hood of his cloak. Despite the pain it inflicted, the spell had been no great protection from one of the gifted. He walked through the gateway, fully expecting the figures which rose out of the mist, where they had lain dormant.
Two thin humanoid things with bodies of faintly glowing white mist. Constructs. They had lain at this doorway for some eighty years, and were faded. However, they were solid enough to hold weapons; one gripped a battle-axe, the other held a broadsword. It would be simple enough to return them to their dormant state, but his power howled to be released. He raised his hands.
A blue-white fireball lit the courtyard with a harsh light as it screamed across the space between the guardians and the traveler. It hit the twisted creatures and exploded in a flash of light and sparks. The mist-things let out the death-howl of an animal, twisted in on themselves, and disappeared; their weapons fell to the ground and dissolved into ash, shaken to pieces.
Shouts drifted to the mans ears. The voices belonged to guards; they had been too confident in their magic, and had chosen not to attack. With their magic dead, they appeared out in the rain. Nine men dressed in mail hauberks, iron helms, greaves and boots, circled him. Some carried light-crystals similar to the mans own; many had bows. Their longswords were unsheathed from the carrying ring attached to their belts, and they were pointing them at him. One guard, with a circle engraved on his blade to show he was a sergeant, stepped forward.
"What is your business?" He asked in a stammer that betrayed his fear.
"I am a mage and representative. I seek the master of this household, Bane. Where is he?"
"Here," came a voice from behind the sergeant. The sergeant stepped aside and a thin, balding man stepped forward. He was clothed in a crimson tunic over a cream-coloured shirt and black trousers. He was shorthe only came up to the mages shoulderand he carried a large silk umbrella, shredded from the weight of the rain.
"You must be Bane." It was clear from the mage's tone that it wasnt a question.
"Yes, I am. And who might you be?" the balding man replied. "I am a representative of your master. I've come on important business."
With the rank of his guest unveiled, Bane saw fit to look pointedly at the two piles of ash at the mages feet. "Those constructs were extremely old. They would have served us for another twenty years at least." He spread his hands. "Would you leave us without protection?"
"When I leave, I will make you another construct." The mage looked at the ash and sniffed disdainfully. "Something stronger."
"Thank you," said Bane politely, then he turned to the guards. While the two talked, they had clustered a safe distance from the two. "Go back to your stations. Expect no more wagons." Their orders having been given, the guards trotted away. The mage could see the relief in their gait.
Bane ran his hand over his thoroughly soaked tunic and said, "Shall we go in?"
"Yes, I think so." the mage had to shout over a clap of thunder.
Bane set off across the muddy courtyard, the mage following close behind.
They had not walked very far when a stone building appeared out of the veil of mist and rain. The mage judged it to be about sixty feet high; smaller than a castle, but no less well-defended. Two more guards stood on either side of a large oak door, reinforced with an iron frame. When they saw Bane striding toward them, they opened the door quickly to let him through.
Beyond the door was a long corridor; it looked as if it spanned nearly the entire fortress. Bane set off. The mage walked beside him, pausing only to shake himself like a dog at the threshold. As he did, his hood slipped from his head; Bane peered at him, trying to see his eyes, but the hood was back over his face before Bane could get so much as a glimpse.
As Bane walked down the corridor, the mage spoke. "Your guards scare easily, Bane." Contempt dripped from his voice.
"We dont get many visitors up here, much less magic-men," Bane replied. "And all but the sergeant were new recruits."
Bane led the way through three levels of loosely positioned guard-barracks, and part way through a fourth level where ordinary staff was quartered, or so it seemed. Halfway along, Bane opened a door into a very short, narrow corridor; it had doors along both sides, with a design burned into each of them. He stopped at the second-to-last door and opened it. The mage realized that the design on each door was the sameŃthe insignia of the Jailmaster.
(This message has been edited by Cafall (edited 03-24-2002).)
Well, to start off, congratulations for a nice cron! I really enjoyed the subtle hints at the mage's character, the opening part with the fog and the storm, and the minor details about the soldiers' weapons.
Now for the nasty stuff. First, this story cuts off too abruptly, with the part about the Jailmaster. This would be a fine place to leave off, if you don't want the reader to know what happens just after. But to make the end more interesting you can either
a) Provide background about the Jail Master, to create shock when we realize what the mage is heading into, or
Do the cut off more gradually. i.e., describe maybe the characters going behind a door and locking it, or maybe up some stairs and out of sight. I don't know how else to describe this.
Also, when Bane replies to the mage with "Thank you," it just seems... odd. Out of character, out of the story's theme. It seems too pleasant in a hostile atmosphere.
As always, I'll leave the disclaimer up to Ben, and await anything he has to add.
------------------ "I believe in the sun, even when it is night. I believe in love, even when I do not feel it. And I believe in God, even when he does not reveal his prescence." -A survivor of the Holocaust
(This message has been edited by Celchu (edited 03-24-2002).)
a) The story has plenty more in it, I just didn't post the whole thing.
The story has plenty more in it, I just didn't post the whole thing.
Quote
You have a good point, but I think that point was due to the fact that I left out half the prologue. The mage outranks this guy; he has to be polite, or he'll get fried. But you're right, I should do something about that.
------------------ The only sovereign you can allow to rule you is reason Ń Wizard's Sixth Rule, Faith of the Fallen. Ń Cafall
Hmm. I counted this story at 1258 words, you could easily fit twice as much and keep attention. Your decision, though.
As to the outranking, and the resulting timidity, to denote this, use something like
"Thank you," Bane said in a voice that quivered under its own weight.
Just a random passage, sorry if it's bad. Use phrases that hint at or describe a character's hidden feelings.
Sorry, I didn't know how much space the entire prologue would take up.
**As to the outranking, and the resulting timidity, to denote this, use something like
quote: ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Thank you," Bane said in a voice that quivered under its own weight. ------------------------------------------------------------------------
Just a random passage, sorry if it's bad. Use phrases that hint at or describe a character's hidden feelings.**
Thanks. The suggestion needs a tiny bit of work, but it's good.
First Cafall, let me join Robert in welcoming you to the boards here. It's great to see more and more people's work here, both as a showcase of what we can do and as a general community feeling type thing.
Anyway, I'll post a few comments I think are relevant...... I know I told you on IRC that I'd fully reviewed it, but I'm not going to post a full review here, because it's not really appropriate and the review was mostly a collection of salient points anyway.
OK, the beginning off the story has a very nice, moody feel to it, with your description of the spring rainfall, the mountains etc. The only gripe I had with this was small, namely, I felt that just a little bit more punctuation might help. But that's just me, of course.
Now, your description of the character when he's wandering up the mountain: I like it. It shows us what he's going to look like, what he's wearing etc. Of course, it's not as if you've stated that he's 6'4", blue eyes and blonde hair, a scar on his left pinky and a nose the shape of an eagle's beak, but still, you've done what is necessary.
Now, when the mage gets to the portcullis with the runes, he instantly recognises the spell. Just a touch of 'All of a Sudden' syndrome here. Might be a good idea to keep an eye out for sch instances.... but this one isn't too bad.
When I first read it, the attitude of the guards surprised me. Here's a guy who's just waltzed on in and vapourised your guardians..... and you ask his business? It's more likely they'd have pincushioned him with arrows. But still, this is easy fixed, just have one of them recognise him, change it slightly from this:
From Spear of the Sun: Shouts drifted to the mans ears. The voices belonged to guards; they had been too confident in their magic, and had chosen not to attack. With their magic dead, they appeared out in the rain. Nine men dressed in mail hauberks, iron helms, greaves and boots, circled him. Some carried light-crystals similar to the mans own; many had bows. Their longswords were unsheathed from the carrying ring attached to their belts, and they were pointing them at him. One guard, with a circle engraved on his blade to show he was a sergeant, stepped forward.
to this:
Adjusted version: _Shouts drifted to the man's ears. Looking up at the wall, he saw guards pointing at him excitedly, and then dodged as a hail of arrows began from up above. Raising his hands, he cast a shielding spell, upon which the arrows bounced off, skittering into random corners of the courtyard.
"Hold!" came a deep, gruff voice, and the hail of arrows stopped.
"What is your business here, stranger?" demanded the gruff voice, which the man took to be that of an officer._
A bit altered, I'll admit, but it gets rid of fear (which is not really good to see in a professional soldier) and makes the mage seem scarier, and more powerful, which was the impression I got further down. And yes, I have read the part saying that all of the men except the sargeant were new recruits..... but if the sergeant was an old soldier, why was he quavering with fear?
I don't think I'll continue dissecting, I've made this little critique too long already. The only real problem further down was the speed at which the story cuts off, but that has already been mentioned, and yes, I'm aware that this is only the first part of the prologue. Still, might need to post the rest, to 'salve the wound' as it were.
Excellent job Cafall. Really liked it. And of course, the disclaimer, if you haveany questions, comments or criticisms concerning my conduct in this critique (or others, if you like), feel free to drop me a line at (url="http://"http://mailto:andiyar@epitheisterra.com")my email(/url) and I'll make time to discuss them with you.
-Andiyar
------------------ "Any good that I may do here, let me do now, for I may not pass this way again"
All right, I've taken Celchu's and Andiyar's criticisms and generally changed some part of the tiny section I submitteed, for better or for worse. I'm keeping the original post the way it is, in case someone wants to really flame me , but here is the part of SotS as it stands right now:
Throughout the lull in the slope of the mountain, nothing moved of its own accord. The fog had muted all but the roar of the storm.
Two thin humanoid things with bodies of faintly glowing white mist. Constructs. They had lain at this doorway for some eighty years, and were faded. However, they were solid enough to hold weapons; one gripped a battle-axe, the other held a broadsword. It would be simple enough to return them to their dormant state, but his power howled to be released. He raised his hands in front of him.
Shouts drifted to the mans ears. The voices belonged to guards; they had been too confident in their magic, and had chosen not to attack. With their magic dead, they decided what to do. At least fifty guards, turning to face him, squinting through the rain, nocking arrows, pulling back their bowstrings
And the light, cold light, blue-white and ferocious, emerging from the mage, spreading out to form a globe, circling, steaming, burning the wet grass at the mages feet.
And the air, moaning and roaring and tumbling, shuddering from the force of the magic, whistling from the arrows which arced through the fog and turned to ash as they hit the bubble the mage had created. And then the air fell silent, and the night thrust into dark.
Nine men, guards of their prison, appeared out of the rain. Nine men dressed in mail hauberks, iron helms, greaves and boots, circled him. Some carried light-crystals similar to the mages own; many had bows. Their longswords were unsheathed from the carrying ring attached to their belts, and they were pointing them at him. When they could be seen clearly, the mage spoke.
Do not try me, he said. If it was my goal to kill you I would have done so before, though am more than prepared to do so if you attack. I come not as an invader, but a messenger.
What is your business, then? asked one of the guards a sergeant, by the looks of him.
I am a mage and representative. I seek the master of this household, Bane. Where is he?
Here, came a voice from behind the sergeant. The sergeant stepped aside and a thin, balding man stepped forward. He was clothed in a crimson tunic over a cream-coloured shirt and black trousers. He was short he only came up to the mages sternum and he carried a large silk umbrella, shredded from the weight of the rain.
You must be Bane. It was clear from the mages tone that it wasnt a question.
Yes, I am. And who might you be? the balding man replied.
I am a representative of your master. Ive come on important business.
With the rank of his guest unveiled, he saw fit to look pointedly at the two piles of ash at the mages feet. Those constructs were extremely old. They would have served us for another twenty years at least. Bane spread his hands. Would you leave us without protection?
The mages mouth twisted in irritation. When I leave, I will make you another construct. the mage looked at the ash and sniffed disdainfully. Something stronger.
Bane merely nodded, then he turned to the guards. Go back to your stations. Expect no more wagons. Their orders having been given, the guards trotted away.
Bane ran his hand over his thoroughly soaked tunic and said, Shall we go in?
Yes, I think so. the mage had to shout over a clap of thunder.
Embarrassed, Bane led the way through three levels of loosely positioned guard-barracks, and part way through a fourth level where ordinary staff was quartered, or so it seemed. Halfway along, Bane opened a door into a very short, narrow corridor; it had doors along both sides, with a design burned into each of them. He stopped at the second-to-last door and opened it. The mage realized that the design on each door was the same the insignia of the Jailmaster.
There ya go. I submitted the next half of the prologue (for the sake of consistency only I'll submit a chapter or two next time) a week or two ago, so you can expect it to be uploaded in oh, six or seven weeks.
------------------ The only sovereign we can allow to rule us is reason Wizard's Sixth Rule, Faith of the Fallen. Cafall
Nicely done. The edits were good, and it made it easier to understand. Does it really take SIX or SEVEN WEEKS to have your story up? I just submitted one around 5 today. :frown:
Well, I am not going to write Part 2 to my story until I hear what people have to say about Part 1. It may take me a while, because I'll be in school, but I may submit it to my English teacher once I get part 2 up if it's good. Just a warning.
-Look for my story called Shadows of the Past
------------------ Be carefree like the bunny; nibble on grass, prance through fields.
Thanks. As Andiyar said, Chronicles come out weekly. Yours will be up next Monday. And you should probably start Part 2 right now, and revise it when you get critiques from others.
------------------ (url="http://"http://homepage.mac.com/cafall/projects/tfm.html")The Four Mages(/url), an unfinished quest-oriented plug-in for Pillars of Garendall. If passion rules reason, how can you allow only reason to rule you? Cafall
Ok. Thanks