To all who read my short-lived piece "Jonah In the Night", I'm sorry for cutting it short. General Fiction just isn't adventurous enough for me! Endless Fantasy, though, is my attempt at completing a novel. It is set in the "fantastic" world of Agath, and will be massive-scale. I'll consider any character suggestions you throw out there, and any setting ideas that may help contextualize the novel.
You may notice that this isn't a "chapter", is it? It's an "epoch." Welcome to my way of thinking!
An "epoch" is defined as "a period of time in history or a persons life, typically one marked by notable events or particular characteristics. I thought it would be cool if this first-person story were divided into significant frames of time, rather than traditional plot-line chapters. This is Miska's first epoch.
So, be honest, take your time, and enjoy!
First Epoch
The sky was open, and yellow rays of sun splashed the city streets with light. This is not my city. I have no city.
My name is Miska, an old Keeria term for anger. All my life, I’ve been trapped in servitude, but finally... I escaped, although it was bitter. Listen well, for I cannot tell stories but with ears to hear them.
* * * * * * * *
I held his head in my hands. Hijmid was my master since the day of my birth, until now- until the arrow hath torn his side.
Blood heaped in pools and flowed in little brooks on the wet, sooty ground. Scorch marks bored into the tumbled white walls of the city. I’m alone.
Thousands huddled in the crevices and rubble-flooded alleyways, swords drawn, shields at the ready, waiting. I did not. Through the streets I walked unarmed, for I could not bear to take my master’s mace. The arrows ceased long ago, and I could not find him for a long time.
Now, his body lay in the well; I had not the strength to bury him under stony walkways. He was a jester of sorts, but not officially, although he would have wished it. Instead, he was a tradesman, carrying things from one city to the next, never stopping, with me by his side. Even for a wanderer, Hijmid was strange.
He told me once, “If ever I die, Miska, take my body and throw it in the well, so others will die of poisoning and give me more company in the Afterlife, if there is one.”
Hijmid roared in laughter, and had another swig of ale. He nodded ferociously, the long dreadlocks of gray hair covering his haggard face. His sulfur-black eyes flicking back and forth, he had me swear it: I do so swear to place your body in a well, should you ever die.
… Should you ever die. It was very presumptuous of me. I suppose I worshipped him in a way. To me, the old sage was immortal; he had never changed his appearances or his ways. I was proud to serve him. He claimed to have the strength of fifty men, and I believed it wholeheartedly.
They say he rode a wild griffin once. Allegedly, the mighty lion-eagle beast reared its head and bellowed, wherein my master grappled him and held its mane fast. From Agathine’s gates to the rocky cliffs of Tejou where the herders dwell, he rode atop the writhing creature, strangling it and finally alighting on the mantle of the highest place in our land, where there is no air to breathe.
He then tore its head from its shoulders and lifted it up to the gods. It is said that the god of anger himself- Miskouani, my namesake- descended to dine on the griffin’s body with my master Hijmid. He retold this story at every inn we visited.
I asked him if it was true and he said it was. So, it must have been. He rarely lied, and when he did, it was to others, not me.
And now Hijmid is gone. The man I served is dead, rotting in a well! It was the stuff of legends. Perhaps he will never decay. Or if he does, some explorer will find him and ground his bones into an elixir of immortality.
The battle cries of Thithers sounded ahead.
I have no weapon- servants do not carry swords or spears or maces or halberds or staffs. I cannot slay griffins, for I have not the strength of fifty men. I cannot read or write; I am not a citizen of the Protectorate, a union of city-states that rules the Land. Hijmid travelled, so I know no one; I’ve forgotten my family, and they’ve forgotten me.
The clock tower swayed in the wind and gonged to the citizens one last time. Thithers, as they are called, rushed through the shredded gates, eyes blazing and armor clanging. The people of the city fell from the sides of the road, screaming in agony and grief. Thousands of them crowded the streets to fight.
Although there were weapons strewn across the dead, I did not fight. Instead, I ran. The city castle is the last bastion. The commoners will rush through its doors, only to die or be sold into servitude as I once was.
Servitude. Slavery. I remember being bought as a little boy.
My head spins- my master is dead, my life is my own. The sky lit up, or so it seemed. If Hijmid is dead, then I am free!
And suddenly, amidst the clamber of war, as my gut fluttered and blood flew around me- as I ducked under a swinging halberd, I knew that glorious freedom. I have no master. I am my master.
A soldier rushed me in the madness of the street’s bloodshed. I feinted from his sword. He swung, and I lunged at his arm. With both hands I twisted his whole body downwards. He flipped onto the rocky pavement, and I grabbed the sword. With a kick to his gut I was free!
He fell away as I plunged the sword into the city street. Without looking back I sprinted for the crowded alleys. Men, women, and children jostled each other to get to the castle before its gates closed. Animal skin clothing brushed up against the back walls of the street’s cottages.
Thithers dragged anyone they could onto the main street. Most of the crowd was streaming along the wall, as far from the Thithers as possible.
Already, hundreds of women and children were being led in long lines to the Thithers’ camp. The heads of countless men rotted in giant piles. Many of these piles were the size of hay bales.
I went to the edge of the crowd, where the people were being dragged onto the main street, so I could find a chance of escape. I saw a nearby Thitherian horseman pulling a woman by her hair. I gripped his spear in my sweaty hands.
Not intending to kill him, I wrenched hi off the beast and fiercely struck his head. Bloud spouted from a gash over his brow, and the woman ran away wailing. Several Thitherian footmen noticed me and called orders to the horse, but too late.
Frenzied, I urged the steed onward. And for a few boggling minutes, I wove between crowds of panicking commoners and lustful Thithers, trying to avoid anyone who might pull me down into the crowds.
A military base was already set up in the market, with Thithers going in and out. It was the perfect location, since the market was the crossroads of the city. I steered clear of that entire area. Now galloping in the opposite direction of the castle, I was nearly fearful, but not quite. There was too much adrenaline in me. All was frenzy.
I passed through a gaping hole in the city wall- through mobs of Thithers still rushing in. Hands pounded the steed and threatened to topple me, but I held fast and ducked low. The horse became fearful and ran ever faster. Eventually, though, the poundings ceased, Thitherian hands no longer pulling. The closeness of the city and the mobs of Thithers at the city wall were over with.
It was all over. There were no noises, except the beating of hooves beneath me. Their camp was ahead. And I knew I had to enter it.
Now out of the city, everything was serene around me. Nature was at its simplest: clumps of dead grass, upturned roots, and old trees with knotted trunks.
But it was a wasteland out here, with arrowed Thithers littering the ground, some still bleeding, but most nearly covered in the plain’s dusts. There are many dusts in the plains- brown, red, yellow. Nature had painted the bodies with these colors, and I was here to see it. The sky was cloudless and bluer than usual. An orange sun flickered behind the clock tower back at the city. I looked back, so relieved, yet so nervous.
Another escape yet to be made was waiting for me ahead. It was the Thithers’ camp. Already, I was making plans as the thousands of brown tents loomed ahead, forming a semicircular, westward trap.
I considered my alternative, the Eastern Waters. It was hundreds of miles to the next continent, of course. Even if I went back and stole a boat from the city’s dock, I wouldn’t have the seafaring skills required for such a journey. And, I didn’t know the world well of enough to navigate into an isle if I attempted that venture anyway.
Instead, I leaned into the horse, urging him westward. I had nowhere else to go. In my mind, a hostile camp was less frightening than the Eastern Waters.
* * * * * * * *
I slinked among the clumps of unorganized tents, testing the air. All seemed well. Sneakily, I pressed my ear against a taut canvas. No one was inside.
The front flap parted silently for me, and I milled around the tent’s inners, searching for anything useful- food, water, a map. Because the places between city-states are wild, maps of landmarks are priceless companions. A chest under one of the many sleeping cots captured my attention. I had to leave soon, lest I be enslaved once more, or killed. So, I conducted my investigation quickly.
The chest opened with an aged groan. Trembling nervously, I studied its contents. Most of the chest’s contents were clothing, but in one corner was a leather pouch. I tested its weight. It swished… water!
In itself, water would be a sufficient find, especially a whole pouch of it, but I wanted to be extra safe. Under the clothes were several binders, which I opened to find logs and records. Nothing was of use. I suspected that the camp’s food would be kept in a storage tent of some sort, but I knew I didn’t have the time to look into it. Already, the camp was buzzing with Thithers coming back from the city.
I stood, and noticed a set of Thitherian armor lying next to the closed chest. My heart skipped a beat. A dangerous idea entered my mind, something much better than roaming alone.
* * * * * * * *
Dressed in Thitherian armor, with a Thitherian sword hinged to my Thitherian belt, greaves fastened to my legs, boots strapped up to my knees, and a breastplate on my chest, I stepped lively to the center of the camp. I convinced myself that I was one of them. If I truly believed it and if I was wary, this charade would feed me till I was in a peaceful city-state.
And so I was from servant to soldier, and would remain so for a little while. However, time would give me an escape, and I would find myself a life, if the gods have it.
In other words, I was free. Nothing could stop me from reaching my dreams and seeing the world of Agath. Thus began my adventure- my endless fantasy.
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125,018 Literary Works • 672,855 Reviews
I'm so excited to start reading!! *jumps up and down*
This is so cool! The beginning was my favorite, when you were talking about his old master.
Excellent grammar, nothing to complain about there. You have great vocabulary as well, which I always love to see. The pace was great throughout. So this just means keep writing the way you’re writing! You have great style.
The only thing that I think would amp this up would be if you would add in some more tangible descriptions. I liked when you said something about him grabbing the spear in his sweaty hands, and the part about the blood coming out of the guy’s head, those parts really brought me right there into the scene. Later, when he’s traveling the barren landscape, you have him tell us that there was often dust, instead of having him coughing from the dry atmosphere. If it was so dusty, wouldn’t his eyes be itchy? Or maybe some of it was collecting on his own clothes. At least that’s what I was imagining. Maybe you can have him tell us how he could feel the muscles of the horse moving beneath his thighs, or the sweat in his eyes, or the ache in his chest, or the repulsion he felt while watching all that bloodshed. Just a few more details can really make us connect to his character, since right now I’m feeling like I know more about his old master than him.
Any questions, don’t be shy to ask me! I’ll be glad to help.
See you for the next part!
I read it. Thanks!
I agree that the second half of this chapter isn't up to par with the first half. It seems that everyone who reads this says the same. Should I rewrite it?
Well, hello there!
"Grind" his bones. Verb tense was a little wonky there.
Mmmkay, so I really liked this. At first, the sort of weird old-time language sort of grated on me, but after a bit of it, it actually grew on me. It could very quickly get annoying if overused, but with the spare amount here, it was effective. It managed to convey, as Rach pointed out, a great sense of control. I liked how the narration felt with that control. It was a fantastic insight to his character and I liked it a whole lot.
I didn't like the second half of the chapter quite as much though. The action scenes felt... slow. Like it was interrupting the thoughts rather than being a central focus in and of itself. I think part if was that it was sort of slow and written much in the same style as the thoughts themselves and that effectively killed a lot of the punch. Action is best written when it's mainly written somewhat more short and choppy than the main. Break it up with the occasional longer sentence, and it will end up being far more effective.
But it still felt somewhat disconnected from the rest of the chapter. The first half was filled with the lovely musing on his master, while the second chapter felt empty comparatively. It was straight plot moving forward, as opposed to us getting into his head at all. It just didn't have the same feel and it was kind of disappointing.
I did really like this though. The character managed to hook me and I want to see more about him, even if I'm still somewhat at a loss as to what exactly is going on bigger-situation-wise. But I'm interested in following him, so I imagine that the bigger situation will reveal itself in time.
Feel free to drop me a line if you have any questions!
~GryphonFledgling
I read both.
Thank you Rach for this:
Thank you Djinn for this:
I hope to see you both in the Second Epoch!
Yo, Formslipper. I'm Rach, here to review for ya.
What I liked about this was its control. It was a very controlled narrative. It flowed well and with direction. It was tight and the narrator had a distinctive voice. The names were great, too.
As Djinn said, the beginning was a little slow going, but I'm always cautious with first person narratives...and really anything when I first start reading it.
When you got me, though, was here:
It was a fantastic characterization of his master. I heard that voice, and I saw the whole scene go down in my head. My imagination was all over it. Not to mention, as far as I know, it's an original idea, that. Said so much about the relationship between him and his master.
And indeed, the entire part where he's going through his city afterward, thinking about this master... I was captivated. You've got this narrator down, and again--the characterization was great. Not heavy-handed or "telly" or overt. Subtle and smooth like it ought to be.
I am a little bit confused, though. Your narrator almost seemed like two different characters. I got a scared, sad, lonely boy at first... and then suddenly, he might as well have grown up five years. In the matter of a few minutes.
I think the problem there is with the transition:
It's so... sudden, and the emotion you conveyed with the sadness isn't quite here. If you add more substance to this period, and then make the prose on the far side match the level of emotion on the previous side, you'll be golden.
What I mean by that is this: When he's wandering through the streets, we can feel his sadness and the weight of his loss and the depth of his loneliness. From a writer's perspective, it's awesome. But then suddenly he realizes he's free, and even though he tells us he's frenzied or whatever, we don't feel it.
One thing you might consider (after you strengthen that transition to make it more of an event) is making your sentences shorter. They'll increase the pace, which will give the feel of a faster, frenzied, hectic...-ness. Think of the character's heartbeat as the metronome for your story.
Another thing you could do (or do both) is split this chapter/epoch up into two, ending it with where he realizes he's free. Though that'd break up your epoch scheme, it'd help create the division of him being mentally a slave and him being mentally free, if that makes sense.
Or, you could just use the * * * to do something similar. *shrug*
Something else that didn't work for me: occasionally, your narrator would use outdated words and structures. I understand you wanting to give the story the old, other-wordly feel and such, but... they didn't work. They tripped me up while I was reading, didn't fit naturally:
Those were the two offenders I remember. Put them in the normal English phrasing. The rest of your sentences and the narrator's voice already give the old, storyteller air. This was a bit like overkill.
Finally... my last comment would be that it annoyed me as a reader that I wasn't privy to the narrator's thoughts in the second half. He was doing all sorts of things, but, he was distant. In the first half, we know what he was thinking and feeling, and we got it without him telling us. He seems to have a fairly high awareness of the reader, so why isn't he sharing more? It's frustrating that I don't get to know more about why he has to go into the camp, or why he takes this or that. Feels like he's snubbing me, and I don't like that as a reader.
In the end, this was good work, and I look forward to more. Let me know if you have any questions!
Rach
So, the name cought me and i was interested. the text bored me at first, but towards the middle it started to get interesting. only a few of gramatical mistakes.one:
"Not intending to kill him, I wrenched hi off the beast and fiercely struck his head." i asume you meant high and not the greeting hi.
"A military base was already set up in the market, with Thithers going in and out. It was the perfect location, since the market was the crossroads of the city." when you first said this, i though the boy thought it was the perfect location because the Thithers were there, which, obviously, didn't make sense in my head.
"Several Thitherian footmen noticed me and called orders to the horse, but too late." for this, perhaps say 'but it was too late' or 'but it was futile' the way you have it now is too informal for the writing you had before.
"Already, I was making plans as the thousands of brown tents loomed ahead, forming a semicircular, westward trap." either put 'a westward trap' or put a semicolen instead of the third comma-run on and incomplete sentence.
on a happier note, i really like your names for races and places in your world. i'm sorry this is a very harsh critique, i usually do happier ones. i actually really liked it. i hope to read more of your story and it seems like a good idea to have it divided into significant time periods. keep writing!