Published November 17, 2006
[Erm... I'm not sure where I want to put what chapters where, so I'm going to label them as A1, A2, B1, B2, C1, C2... to follow the different storylines so yeah. The different letters signify different storylines. It's terribly confusing, I know, but I haven't figured out the proper order yet. Thanks!]
Chapter A1
Obedience to authority, loyalty to self, devotion to the cause. The life of a soldier. The life of this soldier.
Colonel Kiran Raiz balled his right hand into a compacted fist, his nails biting into the skin. He released a warm breath that fogged as it came out. He had been sulking about his quarters, a small improvised tent, for the past hour.
General Yakov’s plans lay on the table in front of him. He threw the parchment aside; this crusade was accomplishing nothing. Their siege on Mannith Tyr was failing, and the general knew it to be true. Yet here they sat.
The bottle to his left was too tempting to resist. He took a large swig, half of the liquor running along his face. It was some god-awful swill, but it went down the way he liked.
The pounding in his head slowly faded as that warm feeling came over him. He fell back against his chair and put his legs up on the table. He couldn’t help but mull over the complaints of his men. They were getting restless situated in this cold, bleak terrain.
A heavy breeze whistled through his makeshift abode whipping the canvas flaps. “Piss off,” he snapped at it.
There were minor skirmishes almost every day now, mostly Tyr military forces who had escaped death. They raided often, draining off what little supplies the Alkarans had. The Seigneur refused to send aid.
Kiran was about to doze off when a stout major stumbled into his quarters. “Colonel Raiz! You must see this.”
The colonel’s head twitched slightly to the side and he gave the Major Diggs a confused look. Diggs glanced at the grungy bottle and the corners of his lips turned down. He passed the colonel yet another piece of parchment, this one tagged with the seal of the Seigneur.
Kiran felt a shiver crawl over him even with the warm blanket of his booze. He broke the seal and read the message.
“Colonel, what news does the Seigneur send? Is it good?”
“We are to end this siege…” Kiran trailed off.
“So the treaty has been signed? We are going home. That truly is good news. I shall spread the word myself.”
“Hold it, major. We’re not going home.” He fell back into his chair and threw his boots onto the table. “Diggs, did I ever tell you what a decent man you are?”
Diggs sighed. “Sir, if we are not going home, then how is the conflict to end?”
The colonel took another swig, the clear liquid spilling onto his muddled uniform. “We take the city, Diggs. We kill them all.” He lifted the parchment for the major to look at. “Seigneur’s orders.”
Major Diggs grabbed the orders. “Colonel, those are not hardened soldiers behind that wall.”
Kiran flung the bottle at Diggs’ feet. It shattered on impact, showering the major’s boots with the stale alcohol. “Don’t you think I know that?”
He shut his eyes and rubbed his temples, the ache in his head returning.
“I should go.”
“No… I just think… Diggs, I don’t know what I think anymore.”
“What choice do we have?”
Kiran hesitated, eventually succumbing to what he knew would be the only answer. “None.”
Kiran pulled a small flask from his pocket and pulled off its cap. He dumped the last few drop into his mouth and erupted into a fit of coughing.
Diggs stepped over the broken glass and slapped his back. He kept his hand on the colonel and voiced his final appeal. “Perhaps Yakov could convince the Seigneur otherwise.”
He left Kiran in the tent to brood over the situation. It would be some time before he was sober enough to talk to the general.
---
He had always found solace in escape. There were few advantages to sobriety, one being the ability to converse with superior officers. Then again, that was hardly advantageous.
It had occurred to Colonel Kiran Raiz that if he were to truly have any hope of sparing lives, he would have to have his wits about him, and not the type that would get him punched in the face. General Yakov could be a forgiving man, yet crossing him would forever brand one. Kiran had done it on several occasions.
He nodded to the two sentries guarding the doorway as he entered the general’s tent, a much larger and more elaborate structure than his own. A hint of jealousy crept up inside him, yet Yakov was a general, and not only that, he was a personal friend of the Seigneur.
That fact, though, was exactly what he was relying on.
The room that housed the general’s main quarters was lit by the eager flickers of torches that had been placed in each corner. A bulky wooden slab sat in the center with maps and other scraps of parchment scattered about it; the shadows of the many advisors blocked the erratic light from reaching the table. The advisors pushed and shouted, the majority attempting to make their way up to the general to express their own version of some interminable rambling. The general sat at the very end of the table in a generous leather chair colored a blood red. He seemed busy, diverting one advisor to a shelf and another to a large piece of parchment. He looked up from the table and met Kiran’s eyes. They shared a brief glance that was immediately understood by both parties. Clear these fools from the tent so we can talk real business.
“Thank you, all,” the general said, raising his hands in the air to silence the crowd. “I have no more need of your services tonight.”
The advisors hesitantly filed out of the tent, bitter that their pedantic offerings were of no use to the general.
After the mass left, Yakov offered the colonel a seat next to him. “I thought you might come by for a visit,” he said.
“Thank you, general, for seeing me on such short notice.”
The general let out a small snort. “Well, considering you just barged on in here. I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, but I believe we have more in common than you might think.”
“And what might you believe that to be, general?”
“Dmitri, please.”
Kiran paused. The general had never allowed the colonel to call him by his first name.
“Okay… Dmitri.”
“Kiran, the Seigneur has asked that we end this skirmishing with the Tyr forces, that we finally overcome Mannith Tyr in one final crushing sweep.”
“But sir, the city is filled with nothing but commoners. They have little to do with what has happened out here on the battlefield.”
Yakov smiled. “I told you we had much in common.” He pulled out two glasses and an elaborate crystal decanter filled with brandy. “Thirsty?”
“Yes, sir.” The general filled the glass and handed it to Kiran. He knew it was likely to relieve some of the pressure of this meeting, but Kiran also suspected Yakov was trying to soften him up for any blows he may entertain later.
“You received the sealed orders of the Seigneur, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Every colonel under my command received the same orders. It seems the Seigneur wished to give the impression that I could not change his mind. He may have thought I would have tried.”
“Would you have?”
“Surely.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“There is nothing I can do to alter his stance. He has already told me as much.”
Kiran took a sip. “General, you command the armies. You could refuse his orders.”
Yakov slammed the glass on the table, spilling brandy over his hand. “Watch your blasphemous tongue, colonel.”
“General--”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“General, please. Lives are at stake. We must do what we can--”
“We must do what the Seigneur commands. He is the messenger of the Creator and He has spoken. We must obey or be condemned.”
“General Yakov, the Seigneur is indeed His messenger, but are His desires also those of the Seigneur’s?”
“Enough, colonel! I believe it is time you left.” The general downed the remainder of his brandy and stood. Kiran did the same.
He left the tent furious at the general and furious that he had only a glass of brandy in him. He scrambled back to his own shoddy quarters, thinking of nothing but getting his hands on another bottle.
The general had denied to countermand the Seigneur’s orders. The attack on the city would commence tomorrow morning. Kiran could do nothing to stop it.
Obedience.
Loyalty.
Devotion.
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141,247 Literary Works • 674,329 Reviews
Hey Tri.
I did promise this weeks ago - and it's been caught, nettling, at the back of mind since then. ^_^''
I'm not going to go line by line; though I'll mention structure, doubtless. The largest difficulty I see throughout and so far is a lack of frame and depth. You have names and the necassary description, dialogue tags and allusions (at times) to previous or distant relationships. But it feels peculiarly divorced from its own reality. Blase`.
Where is the conflict? And where is the character that the reader relates enough to - or is interested enough in - to follow into the rest of the story?
As it is, it is set up somewhat like sketches. But if it were in sketches, it would need a landline, so to speak - meaning a solid connection and definition of character. You've done that best in the final (C1), where your dialogue and character interaction impart some flavour and idiosyncrasy to the place. ^_^
Chp. B1
This is a conversation between...dignitaries then?
A beginning paragraph - but how do its sentences connect? First, you have representatives navigating corridors of Hall. (Mannith Tyr is what? Where? Other than harsh, what is it like and do either of them react to it?) Then you jump to outside the walls to more action and people we don't know.
Rather than introducing names and than obscure or distant action from the first, why not cut off everything about the Seigneur and the outer walls? Use your next paragraph with Arthur's reaction - like so:
All right then... Now immediately we get a sense of Arthur's state of mind; and of his companion's aspect. Which, as you can see, also puts the dialogue in better context.
This is nearly all telling, telling which can be (and is, somewhat) demonstrated once we get to the meeting itself. Not to mention Gaius seems rather to be a tool at this point to narrate, rather than to act. There's nothing inherently wrong with dialogue enlightening the reader - but a character shouldn't, I'm sure you know ^_^, be a mouthpiece for the author. And Gauius seems particularly used at this point.
The brevity of this fits much more smoothly. We get an impression without being force-fed of the atmosphere and etiquette; and a hint rather than a bucket of blunt-told certainty, of who and what this premier is.
Again, above, you go back to a somewhat list-inclined narrative. Both in sentence structure and in perspective.
The tension in this scene, seems undoubtably, to be Arthur's discomfort and lack of experience. What does he see? How does he react to what's around him, and what does he observe of the reactions of others? There's little drama in inanimate objects - though the description is neat enough. ^_^
'Tis good detail, good background. All that comes before it, in its block and breadth, obscure it into a hanging thread. Less said isn't always better. But all that's said ought to be precise and chosen. Why does it matter for it to be enumerated now?
The remainder is similar to what I've already noted. Little definition and no tension. Arthur, who has the most tenuous and perhaps perilous position, is continually relegated to a side-note in the narrative and paragraphs are dedicated to whims of the premier, ad nauseum.
Tighten things. Add what details add, not the superfluous. Naturally, and apparently, Tri, you have the ability to write. ^_^ What is it that matters most in this?
(I'll go on to the next chp. soon as may be. I'll see if I can get to it tonight.)
IMP
[critted for the Cabassi ]
Enjoy?
Ah... a philosophical musing in the beginning. The problem? The following paragraphs don't have the same style. Perhaps you should scrape this first paragraph and try something better. Or redo the following. Your choice. Whatever, it isn't working right now. At all.
Shall we go through this sentence with a fine tooth comb?
The first sentence is ridiculous. It doesn't catch, it doesn't do anything. It just is there. I know you want to have us involved with your character and everything, but by describing his small actions (if it were larger, more seemingly important actions, then it would be okay) you're boring us at the very beginning. Since this looks to be an action, military story, you have effectively made the reader stop reading at the second paragraph, disappointed with what you have so far.
Fun? Yeah.
Even with the philosophical musing, this sentence is supposed to hook the reader in. Right now, it's not doing it. If you want to keep the imagery, first of all, get rid of the word "balled." Seriously. It's a stupid verb and it should be slaughtered, especially with all the connotations of it. If anything, he made his hand into a fist. Less words is always better. Also, by saying compacted fist, you're telling us that he made a fist... but with more words! Don't do this. Interesting description is always good, but DUDE. You don't want to overdo it, especially with nonsensical purple prose.
Next of all, I think you're under the impression that the more interesting verbs you have, the better the story is. So his fingernails "bite" into his flesh. So this means you're using exact language to describe an abstract scenario. Fingernails can't actually bite anything... that would be ridiculous. To highlight this abstraction, you're going to want to use more interesting imagery, which in this case would be hard to do. I suggest going for a more interesting concrete example. Maybe his fingenails are bitten down and can't penetrate his skin? I don't know. Play with it, if you want to keep this beginning.
Note that I said "if you want to keep this beginning." As far as I can tell, this is a boring beginning for an action story. Yes... it might also be a fantasy story, but at the moment, it catches me as a military/action novel, since your main character is a soldier. I would probably opt for a more action-packed beginning to avoid stagnation.
Hahaha... oh dear. We love using fancy verbs that don't make sense, don't we? In this case, fogging requires some sort of noun involved. I can fog up mirrors and windows. But have my breath fogging? That's impossible and it sounds really awkward too. Instead, you're going to want to use more interesting description. Remember what I said about annoying preterite being over-used? Yeah... instead of the "He ____ed" beginnings that you are continually putting in your sentences, you're going to want to change it to something more interesting. What if you wrote something like, "His breath hung out before him"? Obviously, we have different styles and everything, but your style seems a little too bland right now, so experimentation is good. Write a couple of dozen sentences on how you can describe foggy breath and then pick the best one and use it. Don't skimp on the beginning though. Ever.
Hahaha... omg. I hate your character already. That was quick.
So... why do I hate your character? Your verb choice. If you ever intend to be published, you really need to work on your verb choice. What does the word "sulk" remind you of? For me, it's whiny teenagers, spoiled children, and generally adolescents who are whiny.
And your main character is sulking.
One of the first things that you, as a writer want us to do is to make us connect to your character. There's two ways you can do this. You can make us feel sorry for the character, like you're doing now, but that only goes so far and right now, it's making your main character look like a wimp. So, not only do you need to show us why he's sad but you need to show us what he loves or at least some hope. After all, a hopeless story is not that fun to read. And a hopeless story with a whiny character is unbearable.
So! You have a choice. First, you can change the word choice to be slightly less annoying and more true to the character. But that might not help. In fact, it probably wouldn't. Any other synonym might just make it the same.
I would suggest a rewrite. Instead of describing him as a bratty teenager, I would describe something, ANYTHING that makes him manly. Because right now he appears to be a 17-year-old male when he's supposed to be 30-40ish. Yeah. Not good. He's not manly enough. He has to be manly. I don't care if you want to make him seem vulnerable in the beginning, but he has to be manly. Now, I realize that you're not 30-40, but this doesn't mean you can't write for a character like this. You just have to do a bit more research.
Since you seem to want a brooding man to be your main character, you can do several things about it. You're going to want to make him a mysterious character. Let me be absolutely clear: this is NOT making him this stupid person cloaked in black. He's moody, but only when he's alone. When he's not alone, he is a leader. He has to be a leader. He's a military man, for goodness' sakes!
First off you need to do some more research. I would recommend you talk to a lot of men who you admire and ask them what their struggles were, how they overcame them, and so on. People as a rule tend to enjoy writing . Next off, I would recommend you talk to some of our lovely military. True, the circumstances are different, but men are essentially the same. Also, read books by the military.
Some other books you might be interested in:
How to Win Friends and Influence People by Dale Carnegie
This is a wonderful book about leadership and making alliances. Though your character is a moody guy, he must have rose up in the military somehow, and this is probably due to his leadership position. So why not read about motivation and how to inspire?
Sun Tzu: The Art of War
A book on tactics... enjoy.
Ender's Game, by Orson Scott Card
A book about how someone rises up to leadership.
The Iliad by Homer
A very poetic book on war!
Also, you might consider obtaining a leadership position, if you haven't had one already. And if you have had one, then reflect on your past experiences and use them in this story! It'll be good... honest.
And... yeah. Maybe I'll add more to this list later?
Still. Rewrite it. Or else.
*stabs character*
OMG. He is just so friggin' angsty! I mean, I can practically see him screaming in diapers. "It's not fair!" he's probably saying. He's just so angsty... he's having a tantrum like a toddler.
ARGH! IT DOESN'T MAKE SENSE! AND HE'S SUPPOSED TO BE A LEADER? WHY AM I READING THIS???
Oh... yeah. Because you asked.
Okay.
So. Basically, don't make him act like a toddler. Please. Instead of throwing the papers on the table and having a hissy fit, there are so many other things he could do. Some of those things might actually make him seem like a mature adult -- heaven forbid! For instance, what if he folds the plans up with shaking hands and then puts them in his jacket? This makes him seem somewhat responsible for his actions and willing to lead. Instead of a whiny, self-righteous character, you might actually have a character that has some depth!
...I know. Scary, isn't it?
Ah... the plot comes at last!
... just a thought. What if you start with this? Like, instead of the philosophical junk and angsty teen character introduction, what if you started here in the middle of the action? For instance, an introduction like:
"The siege on Mannith Tyr was failing, and Kiran knew it."
That's actually somewhat catchy. Plus, it tells us several things. For one, Kiran is the main character of this mess. For another, he's part of a siege, presumedly the one causing the siege. For another, this siege is failing. Yet, at the same time, it also hints to us that not many people know about this failing, so Kiran must somehow be in the loop.
This makes us ask several questions that are essential to the story. Who is this main character, and what makes him so informed compared to the rest of the people? Why is this siege happening any why is it failing? And what the blazes is going on?
You see, a hook is not a hook because it tells us something. It's a hook because it draws the reader in. The first sentence you have is pretty lame because you just lecture us. There's no readership participation or anything. We don't care about it because you, as the writer, seem more interested in long, drawn-out, internal monologues than including us. Yes, I know you're trying to give us background information and make us want to care about your character by making him act like a self-righteous teenager, but this will end up making the reader put down the book. Make us question your character and story and lead us in that way to the climax and then conclusion of the story.
So there. Play with it.
OMG. Why does every flippin' character have to get drunk? I would like to see just ONE story where perhaps the military bans the use of alcohol during military commands. I mean, really! Alcohol clouds the mind and weakens the senses. Plus, look at some militaries that have been overthrown due to the heavy spirits? (The American Revolution comes to mind.) I would think that it might be restricted. But NO.
*grumbles*
Now why would he do this? Honestly. It would splatter on his uniform and his clothes. He can't likely change out of it very easily since he's doing a war thingy at the moment. Besides, though he has a bottle, the supply for alcohol must still be limited. Why would he waste it here? Or is he an angsty teenager who doesn't care about anything and thinks he owns the place?
*sighs*
Oh... this is a crappy sentence.
How big is this tent anyway? And he has it alone? Colonel or not... yeesh. Besides, you said it was a small improvised tent. Is the table and chair improvised also? Or are you lying to us straight off? Keep your facts straight!
...drinking alcohol and lounging on chairs and tables in his small, improvised tent. Geez. He is SO obviously not a leader. He thinks about his men instead of reacting to the issues that concern them. I realize that you have to have some thinking time, but if his men were so desparate, then they would be bugging him constantly. Hmmm... that's a thought. Maybe that would help liven up the pace a little?
But no. If he is a colonel and colonels are like they are in this world, just below a general, then there would be no men coming to him. He would reside in some commanding headquarters and he would talk to lieutenants. He would know of his regiment's position, but only secondhand. A colonel's is supposed to be fairly detached to his men. They wouldn't bother with that.
Hahaha... the words "piss off" don't seem to match the story. Or matter much either. And, I don't care how drunk he is, he has a total lack of control of the situation. He is irresponsible, he is irritable, and he is a micromanager. This is horrible for a commanding officer, let alone a colonel. The more I know of this man, the more I dislike him.
Is this your intention?
So... this brings up the question again. Why is he wasting this liquor? Or is he really that stupid?
You see, you have written for an extremely unlikable character. He is childish, he is immature, he is wasteful, he is incompetent, he is uninspiring... how many other things can possibly be against it? I'm trying to think of anything likable about him... I think his concern for his regiment is somewhat honorable, but his lack of control and disipline to these troops, not to mention, his lack of action, is simply unforgivable.
Yep... moving on.
Majors don't meet with colonels usually. That's a lieutenant-colonel's job. They usually run the battalions though.
Don't have "the" before a name. That would be like me saying that I gave the Trident a confused look. Just don't put "the" before a proper noun.
Oh come on. The colonel had like... a swig of alcohol. That was it. The bottle may be grungy, but the colonel is NOT DRUNK.
Ahhh... action, at last! Diggs seems to be the first likable character in this story! He brings action to it!
Dang it, he's NOT DRUNK. Would you like me to tell you why? Because you described the bottle as a temptation he was resisting. A TEMPTATION. This means that he has been avoiding it thus far. He broke his temptation by drinking. If he had been drinking, he may have been avoiding the bottle, but it would have ceased being a temptation.
You have to realize that words are VERY important and will shape what your reader thinks about the story. Yeah, he may have been drinking before that, but guess what? You didn't describe it. And, unfortunately (fortunately?) we can't go inside your brain and see what it should have been. So your job, as the writer, is to show us the description so we know enough that is going on and are still intrigued by it. Is this tough? YES. But you can do it. Or die trying.
So yeah. Pay a close attention of what verbs and nouns you use. It is true that the more powerful these verbs and nouns are, the more powerful the story is, but only if these words make sense in the content of your story. Otherwise, it's a horrible piece littered by purple prose and that's BAD.
So there. I don't care what you say: he's not drunk. He's just INCREDIBLY stupid. At least I can believe that within the context of the story.
OMG. HE ACTUALLY DID SOMETHING PRODUCTIVE THAT WILL HELP MOVE THE PLOT ALONG.
This is only getting better and better!
The dialogue is fine the way it is, but you might want to describe what Diggs is doing because he seems to be an important character. And you might also want to show what Kiran's reactions to the letter is. That will help us feel his feelings, if you know what I mean.
First of all, if you are going to use an ellipse, you do NOT have to say "he trailed off." That's already assumed. So yeah. Good, no?
But do you need to use the ellipse anyway? Ellipses should be used for groundbreaking moments in the stories, if used for dialogue, that is. When words fail, mind you. So then, if you can't use ANY descriptions to make this better, I would suggest using these.
At the moment, it seems like there can be descriptions. You can describe how the Kiran's lips tremble, etc., so at the very least you can make us more sympathetic to the character. And this is a good thing.
Describe. We can't see Diggs in our mind. I imagine him to be somewhat like Mandrake in Dr. Strangelove, but I don't know for sure! So just describe and it'll be good. How does he say it? How does he move when he says it?
You need to describe, man! First of all, if this intends to make him appear drunk, then make him appear drunk at the very beginning, if you want this scene. Because otherwise, it doesn't make sense and confuses the reader. We don't know enough about Kiran's character to make conclusions of what is unusual and what is normal for Kiran. And you need more physical reactions! People twitch when they talk. Their voice wavers. They move around. You're only describing the bare minimum, but you have to go beyond this if you ever want to get serious about writing!
This dialogue seems too stiff compared what he's said before.
See? This appears random because you didn't describe enough in the beginning!
This seems like a lame excuse. If I were Diggs, watching an incapacitated colonel drink his liver away, I would say, "Sir, may I state respectively that you're drunk?" Or something of the sort. Why should I pay attention to ravings of a drunken colonel and treat them as anything serious? Or, if I did see this as a threat, then maybe I would get Kiran more drunk and watch him pass out.
Right now, the dialogue is too overblown though.
Yeah, and there's no reaction to this crash by either of the characters? Psh! Describe! You must describe and show us!
Aw... finally we get a reaction from him!
Specify not only that Diggs says this but how Diggs says this.
Description is needed. What is he doing while he's breaking off his sentences?
Gah! Can't you do anything pretty with this dialogue?
Diggs paused, looking over the drunk colonel. "What other choice do we have?"
I don't know... you have to do something though!
The "eventually succumbing..." is fluff and you should take it out. Instead -- ha, you haven't heard this before -- describe what the characters are doing. Since this is an external conflict, then you have to treat the characters externally.
The last few drops.
And yay! Physical description!
Slapped his back? Okay. Now what does Kiran DO about this slap in the back? Maybe he's still coughing? I don't know, but have fun with it! This is a darkly funny scene, so you might as well enjoy it.
The "he" in the last sentence seems to refer to Diggs. You ought to revise it.
So! The cliffnotes version?
1. Develop your characters.
2. Get pickier on word choice.
3. DESCRIBE!
Hope that helped!
Not at all! I thought that was what it meant anyway; I was just making sure. And I definitely like made-up words.
Again, nice work!
--Cass
Yes, fastbreaks was just my neologism for breakfast. Does it sound too out there? Thanks Cass!
So I get to be the first to crit C1? *dances*
This sounds awkward: I would consider cutting the word "people" and seeing how that works.
I like the old man's dialect. Usually those kind of things annoy me, but this worked, at least for me, just fine.
In the third sentence here I assume you mean for the "he" to mean Marion, but it wasn't very clear. And because you were talking about the other man in the previous sentence, it might be best to clarify.
Your description, the setting (or the bits and pieces I grasp from this) and even the food help create a nice picture in my head of Marion's surroundings. You definitely have a talent for this.
It's not a big deal either way, but this might read a little better if you broke up the last bit ("you didn't want no fastbreaks") into a sentence of its own, or else used a semi-colon instead of a comma before it. Just a thought.
The owner let out one last mad scream, releasing a puff of smoke from his charred lungs
I really liked the ending to this, mainly because of the sort of suspense and suspicion you kept up throughout the entire piece. The whole time I felt the dog was sort of eerie, so the ending came off really nicely for me.
Throughout that whole thing, though, I kept wondering what fastbreaks were. Is that their term for breakfast, or...?
Yeah, go ahead, laugh at me. XD
Anywho, nice work. I enjoyed reading this piece and it was fun to critique.
Chapter C1
It was a storage home for death. Large pick-shaped blades, deep-gouging spiked barbs, ragged teethed saws, and several chains linking one tool to another. They littered the aged shed’s walls.
Marion awoke, sore from the straw bed, or rather lack of bed. The owners of the shed had been friendly enough people; they had allowed him to sleep in it after all. But after one night’s rest with all those tools above his head, Marion had his reservations.
He heard barking outside the shed.
A small window, its panes dirtied with years of grime, let in a few patches of sunlight. Marion rose and took his sleeve to it, wiping away some of the dirt, enough to get a good view outside.
A man stumbled out of a farmhouse and went to his dog. He struggled to silence the crazed animal. It was enough to give Marion concern.
He collected up his possessions and stuffed them into his bag. He slung it across his shoulder and rushed out the enormous timber doors.
The dog barked louder now, saliva foaming at the corners of its mouth. The owner looked in his direction.
“Morning there feller, and I’m sure you had a good night’s rest?”
“I did.” Marion moved to quickly pass by the man and get back to the road, which sat a quarter mile to the north, but was blocked.
“Aye, then. The missus would be happy to whip up some fastbreaks, if it please you.” The man winked. “She was a tad peeved about me making yourself sleep in our feedshed. ‘It’s the least we can do,’ she says. Who am I to disagree ‘bout some toast and lard when she’d easily cut me from gettin’ other necessities? Know my meaning?”
“Certainly,” Marion let out lightly. “No reason to upset the missus over fastbreaks.”
“That’s what I says.”
“Unfortunately, my good sir, I need be on my way. Important business, and all. I’m sure you understand.”
The dog started leaping from the ground, barely contained by the rusted chain that held it to an iron bar protruding from the ground. The owner tried to hush him as best he could, but the dog was not heeding his commands.
“No day’s business is started ‘thout fastbreaks, least not in my home. I don’t know where you come from.”
“I assure you, I must go now.” Marion eyed the dog which seemed to have its pupils nearly the full way back in its head.
The owner brought his attention from Marion to his pet and back again. Marion saw the look of suspicion on his face as plain as day. He better get control over this situation and soon.
“Aye, and which man’s sort has business that’s much too important before he can get a good day’s rations in his belly?”
“Point taken. I’ll be partaking in the missus’ fastbreaks. I’d not want you to think me some disregarder of the law.”
The man’s countenance settled. “Aye. She’s a good cook, I say. None like her ‘round these parts.”
He led Marion into the house. It was nicely decorated for such a small structure, likely the efforts of the missus. A table and chairs dominated much of the small kitchen. The owner pulled out a chair for Marion and the missus brought over a meal of toast with lard, and a glass of goat milk. It was meager at best.
Marion took a bite of the toast and smiled, then washed it down with the milk. The owner and his missus began eating after they said a prayer to the Twelve.
“So,” the owner said, “I see that dagger at your hip, and I’m wonderin’ what a man does who carries a dagger such as that.”
Marion looked down at the dagger’s hilt.
“Was a gift.”
“Quite a gift,” the man pushed.
“Yes, it was.” Marion folded his cloak over the dagger, covering it from view.
“So what’s your business ‘round these parts? You seemed rather in a hurry to get someplace, you didn’t want no fastbreaks.”
“My business is my business.”
“Aye, I’ll give you that. Was rather rude of me to ask in the first.”
Marion finished off the milk and toast and rose. “I must be off. Nice to meet you, missus. Superb fastbreaks.”
The missus smiled and nodded.
“I’ll see you out,” the owner offered, and they exited the farmhouse.
The rattle of the chain shook Marion as the owner’s dog choked
itself to get at him. He took a quick step back as the beast jumped for his face.
“Settle, girl,” the owner shouted and grabbed her around the neck. “You know, she never done this with strangers ‘fore. Weirdest thing.”
“Yeah,” Marion chuckled. “Thank you for the accommodations.”
“Welcome any time.”
Marion edged his hand to his coin purse, but the owner shook his head. “No need.”
“I’d like to pay.”
“No need.”
Marion shrugged and started for the road. It wouldn’t be too long before he was in Anziatu, where he would do what he had been commissioned to do.
The stench of manure filled his nostrils and he did his best to put it out of mind. There were few animals left here, some goats and chickens, and Marion wondered if the tools in that feedshed would ever see use again.
Passing through a small ditch filled with mud and tall reeds, he heard a man’s voice yelling. He spun around and watched as the owner’s dog sprinted toward him. The dog’s chain jumped up each time its feet hit the ground, slowing it, but not stopping it. It leapt at Marion’s throat.
There was nothing else he could do. Right as the dog reached him, he let loose the whitefire. The air rippled with heat, a medley of scarcely visible waves reaching every which way. He pushed the heat wave forward . Hair singed and flesh burned as the dog let out an agonizing yelp. It crumpled to the ground, helpless. It was panting slowly, still alive, but Marion knew that would not last long.
He brought up his arm to end its suffering.
The owner of the farmhouse came through a patch of reeds and looked at his dog, and then at Marion. “I knew you was vexed!”
He rushed Marion, pitchfork in hand.
Marion turned and released the whitefire.
The owner broke off his charge and fell to his knees. The wave engulfed him, his clothes slowly burned away and his skin blistered and cracked. He dropped the pitchfork, and landed on his side.
Marion pulled back on the whitefire and brought it under his control. All was quiet.
The owner let out one last mad scream releasing a puff of smoke from his charred lungs. The smell was terrible.
Marion quickly finished off the panting dog and ran for the road, eager to get on his way before the bodies were discovered.
It was several minutes before he heard the missus scream, the echoes of her crazed wail bouncing over the empty land.
Quick note or else my grammar neurons will go crazy.
Don't worry about the active vs. passive. That's not your concern. What you will want to do is vary your forms from the preterite, the imperfect, and the past perfect.
Preterite: I kissed her.
Imperfect: I was kissing her.
Past perfect: I had kissed her.
I might have gotten the names of these forms mixed up with each other, since I learned about them in Spanish, but still.
It's the mark of an experienced writer to vary the tenses in these ways. When I was studying this in Spanish, my teacher told me that these were sophisticated ways of telling what had happened. These different tenses give more variety to the words and ends up creating a richer picture.
Remember: passive tense means that there is no main subject doing the verbs. So it's passive, i.e., out of the way. These other forms can just be as active as the preterite. Plus, it would make your story seem less Dick and Jane.
Play with the tenses a little bit. Read it out loud and edit the sentences to make it smoother. At the moment, it is NOT reading smoothly at all.
Chapter B1
Representatives Arthur Darius and Gaius Linus--beloved brother of the Seigneur--navigated the harsh corridors of the Hall of Mannith Tyr. The armies of Seigneur Linus sat outside the city walls, fending off the several pesky scuffles assailed by committed Tyr nationals . It was the hope of the two to come to an agreement that would benefit both.
“Peace is in sight,” Arthur said. “I can feel it.”
“Perhaps,” was all Gaius offered.
Arthur fidgeted with his hands as he sauntered alongside his colleague. Gaius kept his head high and straight, walked with the dignity one of his office would command, and maintained an arrogance as cold as the corridors they walked. He scratched at his balding scalp; even that was done with poise.
Arthur had trouble keeping up. Diplomatic envoys, negotiation techniques, alliance systems, he knew little of these things. But his tenacity in the Senate had given the Seigneur all he had needed for a reason to send Arthur Darius. And now here he was, negotiating one of the most important treaties in Alkaran history.
Gaius spoke once again, “I suppose I should give you a small warning about the Premier and his aides. They will try to get information out of you through very simple means. They might ask you a question about your life, something completely trivial, but beware. These questions are meant to warm you up to other, more fattening questions that could give away military positions or ways to infiltrate our political structure. Sometimes the personal questions themselves are meant to seep out information they could use.”
“All of this sounds very complicated and quite unnecessary.”
“Well you’re wrong about that. It is terribly necessary.” Arthur and Gaius reached the doors to Premier Ausev’s study. “Oh, and one more thing. When we enter, there will be an enormous, regal-looking gentleman.”
“Premier Ausev?”
“No,” replied Gaius Linus, “that was how Ambassador Felix lost his assignment negotiating this treaty. There’s another tip, Arthur, never assume. The man who Ambassador Felix assumed was the Premier was actually a decoy. Premier Ausev is instead a short, balding redhead. He will be dressed in a simple white robe, something that will attract very little attention.”
“Quite the deception, Gaius.”
“Indeed, one that fooled poor Felix, and now he is off in some godforsaken hole in the desert. I told you the Premier was adept.”
“I see what you mean.”
Gaius and Arthur entered the study. It was an enormous room filled with oak-paneled walls and bookshelves. The shelves were dusty and unkempt, although they seemed to be put to good use by the Premier. Books lay on the floor, some open, some stack several lengths tall. Light poured through a series of stained-glass windows from the right side of the room, casting a colorful display upon the stone ground. In the center of the room was a large oak table scattered with several papers.
The two representatives of Alkar met a waiting delegation. Gaius said nothing, so Arthur did the same. As Gaius had said, there was an enormous man sitting across the table from them. His stature and groomed facial hair gave him the presence of a king, yet Arthur had been warned that he was not the Premier. If he had not heard it from Gaius’ own mouth, he would have not believed it. They waited what seemed like several minutes until Premier Ausev moved over to the other man and whispered in his ear. The short man was indeed not what one would consider very regal. He looked ordinary in every sense, and in some ways, he had a look of incompetence. But Gaius had told him that Ausev was completely the opposite. Arthur already had an appreciation for this man.
The larger man left and Ausev took his place in the chair across from Gaius and Arthur. He folded his hands together and bowed slightly towards the other end of the table. Gaius did the same, and Arthur followed a bit behind. Gaius whispered to Arthur while papers were spread across the table, “It’s the way Tyrs greet. It comes from some ancient superstition. I’m not quite sure of the reason, but they don’t like to shake hands upon greeting. It is a sign of the utmost respect if you have the opportunity to shake a Tyr’s hand. It means you have gained their complete trust.”
“Have you ever shaken the Premier’s hand?”
“No.”
The Premier snatched a couple of papers from his advisors, looking at them intently. He handed one back to his aide, who promptly disappeared behind a bookshelf. He grabbed another sheet, showing some effort at looking busy. Arthur began to sweat and nervously asked Gaius, “Why is it taking so long?”
“You’re playing right in to his trap, Arthur, just be patient. He will begin when he is ready.”
He began. “Greetings Representative Linus, it is good to see you again. I once again regret the missed opportunity to meet with your brother.”
“I truly am sorry, Premier Ausev, but as you know, my brother is busy planning our campaign strategies on our southern front. I fear I am all you will be able to work with.”
“Well it has been a pleasure to work with you so far, Gaius. I am sure we will be able to get this treaty prepared and signed soon enough. Now, who might I have the pleasure of meeting here with you?”
“Premier Ausev, this is Representative Arthur Darius. He is Alkar’s foremost expert on alliance formation.” Arthur gave Gaius a look of confusion and consternation, even slight anger.
“Truly? Well, then this is an honor since we will be allies in the true sense. Tell me Representative Darius, what do you think of the Tenemaru Exchange?”
“Um… the, uh, excuse me?” Arthur cleared his throat.
“The Tenemaru Exchange, you know. Let’s see here, page seven, clause fifteen. Yes, right here.” He pointed to a page on the mess of papers sitting on the oak table.
Gaius interrupted. “I apologize, Premier Ausev, but I am afraid that my dear friend here has not had the chance to so much as lay eyes upon the treaty. He was just newly appointed by my brother, you see.”
“Yes, I do. A pity, really. I was looking forward to discussing that with one so qualified as yourself.”
“Well, yes, Premier, we have discussed it several times before and you know we stand firm on that matter.”
“I suppose an old man can only hope that you change your mind, but alas, I am sure that you will not. Very well, we shall move on.” The Premier grabbed the treaty and flipped through a few of its pages. “If you will, please look at page fifteen, clause twenty-seven and you will see the new addendum we added…” The Premier handed the page to an aide who delivered it to Gaius. He read it intently, his eyes moving along with each line.
He came to one section of the clause and started grunting in disapproval. He cleared his throat, “No, no, this is no good. The Seigneur and the Kingdom of Alkar cannot accept this section of the treaty right here. It says ‘thus, it shall be noted that the city of Mannith Tyr and its outlying provinces shall be granted the choice to retain their current religious convictions or those of their choosing and that the city of Mannith Tyr and its outlying provinces only may enforce the peace against those religious convictions that are not considered acceptable in accordance with Tyr law.’”
The Premier stared at Gaius, speechless. Gaius stared him back. The brief silence in the room made Arthur uncomfortable.
He tried to calm the situation. “Gaius… please explain to the Premier why this addendum is not acceptable.”
Gaius broke his stare from the Premier and looked at Arthur with bitter disdain. “What the Premier needs to know,” he looked back at Ausev, “is that we cannot accept the free reign of false adulation. When Mannith Tyr becomes our ally, they will have to accept the Seigneur as the divine ruler. He is the word and the hand of the Creator.”
Premier Ausev gauged Gaius’ words for a brief moment before he spoke. “Gaius, surely you know that Mannith Tyr’s past has long been racked by the religious intolerance of the Trydians. Our very foundations are based upon the fundamental belief in freedom of religion. We are a people dedicated to free worship, and would never force our people to make the religion of Alkar our only religion. We would be quite happy to allow your religious supporters to worship along with the rest of our people, but we could never compel the rest of Mannith Tyr to follow in those convictions.”
“Premier, you do not have a choice in this matter. This mandate came from the Seigneur himself and is not negotiable by any means. Mannith Tyr will bow to the will of the Seigneur or we can consider these diplomatic sessions over.” There was an alarming finality to Gaius’ words and Arthur was almost convinced that the two would be taken prisoners right there as a bargaining chip to prevent a conflict with Alkar.
“My advisors and I shall discuss this over the night, Gaius, but I am afraid that we will most likely come to the same conclusion. It is just too much to ask of us.”
“It is the only thing we ask of you. This treaty, if signed, reaps you more benefits than you could possibly imagine. The question is, Premier Ausev, are you a believer?”
With that, Gaius rose and stuck out his hand for Ausev to shake. “We should be on our way now, Premier.”
Premier Ausev looked at the outstretched hand with contempt. With nothing else to say, he folded his hands together and bowed to the two representatives of Alkar.
First chapter--first piece.
Well, more than to return the favour, I was curious to read something you'd written, Tri--other than the brief Fools' Duel entry a few months ago.
In dialogue and action, on its own, I got a practical sense of the men--rather military, naturally. Dialogue felt on point. But the sentence structure broke the flow entirely. Similar length and almost the same structure--subject/verb; he did, it was...etc.
Impression of the colonel is immediate with that opening. ^_^ Second sentence falters--if he opens his eyes, he sees a tent. If he opens them and reveals a tent, to whom is he revealing it? To himself?
'He exhaled[...]and opened his eyes; [in the dusk? in the dim light?] the inside of the improvised tent was revealed'
My suggestion, scattered, above. It is, in the end, a rather passive sentence--and that may be what strikes a dissident chord as much as the 'reveal' difficulty.
Above, an example of the subject/verb repetition. It works well for tension; for emphasis--but it's consistent throughout.
Perhaps paragraph after his dialogue? And 'aches' might be more easily 'ache' unless he has different sorts of pain in his head? Vaguely picky, on that point.
Kiran and 'Raiz' threw me off for a moment--the same person apparently. And Diggs seemed a little slap-dash, as if his character were there to ask the right questions, so that Kiran could answer and explain the story.
If Kiran speaks like so with contractions--
Why does Diggs speak so very precisely?
Those are my thoughts, a little off-the-cuff. The opening sentence is engaging at first; and I like the scene. But the litany of listing action drags it all down to less than involving...hard to keep at what seems so blase.
--I'll get to the second half soon as may be. ^_^
Well, small skirmishes normally do nothing but rack up casualties. That's why the Seigneur wanted them to finally end the small, useless battles by taking the city.
And by the way, the Seigneur is a religious leader, so I suppose you could say he is a priest in some way.
Skirmish.
I noticed that word, this time through reading it.
Aren;t skirmishes small battles? Why is it that big of a problem then?
Dee-mee-tree. It's a russian name.
Shouldn't these been in quotes?
D-e-r-i-m-i-t-wha? (Hard to pronounce, so hard to remember).
Aha! Seigneur is a priest! (Jumps with joy for having discovered something that has not been directely slapped into my face!) I'm right, right?
Must drink brandy! Gasp! Need brandy! (Anyways...)
I only sidetracked because there was nothing else wrong with this peice of work.
Keep on writing!!!
[reposted above]
Thanks you two for the comments. And I especially appreciate your professionalism vampirewolf after I had a lot of criticism on your piece. (I suppose that leet at the bottom isn't as professional
)
I've fixed up the story a bit, hopefully it will be a bit clearer and not so detail-happy.
Oh, and Sureal, it was meant to be inside the tent... I tried to make that clearer this time around too.
I agree with Vampirewolf3's points.
Also,
‘The wind whistled through his makeshift abode scattering the tent flaps and giving this place a feeling of emptiness.’
- This place? It gives the impression that the narrator is in the tent, which is out of place with the rest of the piece. ‘The place’ would work better.
‘“Colonel Raiz! You must see this.”
Kiran’s head twitched slightly to the side and he gave the major a confused look.’
- Kindda confusing, because you first refer to the Colonel by this surname, and then immediately use his first name, leaving the reader (or me at least) rather confused on who you’re talking about.
But for the most part, this seems okay, and is a good start for the story (it certainly works in bringing in the readers attention - very important for any story with multiple chapters).
Confusing. Too much sensory details, because it because superflous.
Awkward change from past to present tense. Try something like: General Yakov’s plans lay on the table in front of him.
(W007! f1r57 p057!)