Beginning of first chapter - Fantasy - circa 1200 words

[JDP]

Hi,

Some time ago, I posted a short story (I'm talking flash fiction short) here entitled 'At Oaks Ford'. I said I'd like to turn it into a longer piece, and it has since become the prologue for a longer work (in progress). Here is the first part of the first chapter of that wip.

Please crit for spelling, grammar etc, as well as general thoughts about the piece; what works, what doesn't, what is too cliché etc.

~*~
​

The rain was a grey, icy slush that scoured the outrider's face. It soaked his hair and crept down past his collar, freezing undershirt to puckered flesh. One of his boots was gone and he stumbled often, the road being cut through with tangled roots and chunks of Kynne Valley's blue-grey flint. His lack of boot would not have mattered had he been ahorse, but his mount was dead and it seemed more than likely he would be soon to follow.

But Willard Gryff was not a man to dismiss a boon were it passed to him; the cold soothed his swollen face at least, and numbed the red raw flesh where the ropes bit into his wrists.

"Won't grow your fingers back though, will it, freeman?" he muttered.

The gaeman turned and struck him square across the jaw with the butt of his spear. Gryff's lip split, spattering his chin with blood. A second blow fell, and a third. The road took the wind out of him as he hit it, eyes blinkered with pain and a bellow of agony bitten back behind clenched jaws. Gryff choked it down like a mouthful of bile and struggled to his knees. The butt of the spear caught him just below a kidney, sending a wave of nausea through him, and then again between his shoulder blades. He fell flat, gnarled roots digging into his chest.

"Enough."

The blows stopped and Gryff slowly raised his head. The gaeman stepped back, bandaged hand flexing on the shaft of the spear. His eyes demanded bloody murder, and yet...

Rhainyr Fingarron was an apparition in the downpour, fathomless grey eyes peering from beneath a sodden tangle of fringe. His beard was thin, barely more than a youth's fancy, but his shoulders were broad and he stood an inch or so taller than the gaeman. He extended his hands, bound as Gryff's own, to help the outrider to his feet. Gryff took the proffered help gladly, his legs unsteady beneath him.

"You're lucky I've not got steel in my fist, freeman," Gryff muttered.

"If I were lucky, you'd have steel in your gut and I'd be the one put it there," the gaeman retorted.

Gryff could not help but laugh; the man had quick wits, give him that. Had he been as quick with his spear, he would likely not have lost those fingers. But Rhainyr seemed not to appreciate the jest.

"Aye, like you put it in my brother's? He was three and ten and won't see another summer." His voice was cold as steel, his eyes dark as winter. He stepped toward the gaeman, his voice dropping to a whisper too low for Gryff to hear over the hiss of the rain.

Gryff watched the gaeman's hands loosen on the spear. Rhainyr stepped closer, still whispering softly. The gaeman's face grew slack and his eyes began to wander. Nine Hells, could the lad really do it? An icy shiver ran down Gryff's spine. He spotted a splintered piece of flint and stepped towards it, ready to snatch it up. The other gaemen walked with their heads down against the rain. Rhainyr took another step as a peal of thunder split the air. Quick as that, the moment was lost.

Gryff watched the gaeman's brows knit as he came to his senses. The spear whipped round in a tight arc, connecting with Rhainyr's brow with a sound that rivalled the thunderclap. Rhainyr fell to his knees and the gaeman bent low and spat full in his face.

"Try that again and I'll ***king gut you; that I swear, Dark Rain or no. I'll take my chances that they'll believe you went for my spear."

Ahead, someone called a halt and gave the order to make camp. As the gaeman moved away, Gryff took the lad's head in his hands.

"You go too far, Rhainyr," he said. "The day you can make a man hand you his spear to gut him with is the day I'll take your head myself. You go too far."

"He killed my brother, Will. He killed Rhowen." Rhainyr's voice was strained.

"Half brother," Gryff snapped, too harshly. "Always half brother, your father saw to that. Besides, how could that man have killed Rhowen when he was busy having his fingers taken by me? We were nowhere near the lad. It could have been any of them bastards killed him, but it wasn't. It was you. Your pride and that damned silk voice of yours."

"'Tis you go too far, outrider." Rhainyr's eyes snapped into focus, drawing Gryff to him. His lips moved rapidly, though Gryff could not have said what words spilt forth from them. Of a sudden, he was kneeling beside Rhainyr, rain puddling beneath him. His throat grew tight.

"You know it as well as I, lad. Save your strength for Odern. 'Tis he who plans to take our heads," Gryff wheezed. Rhainyr blinked.

"Aye. We're freemen and our voice will be heard. The people's voice."

It had had to be said, no matter how it hurt the lad; Rhainyr functioned better in a state of cold fury, moreso than most men. Gryff had seen men who could rage like gods, fierce and fell and unstoppable. But the Dark Rain was not one of them. The lad was rash when vengeful and the people needed him cold; he was their voice.

Darkness came swiftly and the rain grew heavier. Gryff huddled in the meagre shelter of a diseased oak. In the black of night, he reached out in the darkness but Rhainyr did not respond. At last, he fell into a fitful sleep born of exhaustion and despair. Oblivion claimed him.

 

[ValerieJLong]

I'm probably not the one to spot mistakes in the language.

I had to re-read twice to understand where that Rhainyr came from - yes, he's bound as well, so he has been next to Gryff and Gaeman all the time. I just missed it first.

What I did not understand was the motivation of the Gaeman to strike out again and again - one blow would have sufficed for discipline - and why he stopped at the word of another prisoner, once he had taken to the task of beating one to death.

Even less I understood why someone with a magic voice isn't instantly gagged once discovered. And why this one only receives one blow and not another long series. What self-control does this Gaeman have or not have?

After the first few words I thought - see, he's starting with weather, but there were only a few words. However, after the first paragraph the cold rain didn't serve any more purpose.

"Dark Rain" seems to be some term someone of that world should know. Again, if it's famous, I don't understand the treatment of these men. Also, this specific term sounds cliché to me - except if you later explain, why "Dark" and why "Rain".

Hope that helps.
Cheers
Val

 

[daisybee]

I enjoyed this JDP.

Couple of things that may clear up confusion:

The initial description had me instantly imagining a lone man, where as he is obviously part of a group of prisoners, or perhaps it is just him and Rhainyr? If so, a line about the overall scene may establish the setting, because although it reads nicely, the reader is allowed too long to make their own scene, only to have that shifted as we discover more people, and that it is a walking party of prisoners and guards.

Are the guards on horses up ahead? Just wondering where all the gear for camp is.

I read it as though the Dark Rain is not perhaps in full control of his abilities, or that these are limited-the part about saving his strength makes me think that there is a reason that they are going where they are going, and that remaining prisoners suits this end almost. Is it to gain an audience with this Odern character?

Without some sort of explanation, it does seem odd that he has this power and yet they remain at the mercy of the gaemen.

I liked the descriptive side of the writing, and would certainly like to read more, to discover who Odern is, why they are wanted dead, what the Dark Rain is and why he is the peoples voice-so you raise enough questions and interest in that regard.

Perhaps just addressing those areas that confuse rather than intrigue is do able without giving the whole thing away too early. I would also have liked to know what Will and Rhainyr's relationship is. This would establish lots of stuff without you having to go into too much detail.

A line to explain this could have multiple uses, as it can be the same line in which you describe the boys limitations and how they were captured too?

I would offer an example, but without knowing the answers its a bit hard.

 

[Nik]

I, too, was a bit confused why a savage kicking didn't follow the head-blow: Either he's been marked out for special treatment, or he's Much More Dangerous when riled aka 'Don't make me angry-- You *really* wouldn't like me when I'm angry...'

No doubt 'Dark Rain' will be explained in context. I'd hope that opportunity would arrive fairly soon, but I'll give it the benefit of the doubt.

That's one problem with posting a modestly sized excerpt. I'm happy to have gaps engage my curiosity, but a very few more words to set the scene could make a lot of difference.

Though this isn't a preferred genre, I'd be happy to read more.

 

[Culhwch]

This is a fairly strongly written piece, technically sound on the whole, and it flows well. I found myself agreeing with many of the comments above, though, particularly concerning the setting of the scene and establishing who is there and where they are in relation to one another. I, too, thought he was alone at first. A few bits and pieces that weren't covered by earlier critiquers...

But Willard Gryff was not a man to dismiss a boon were it passed to him; the cold soothed his swollen face at least, and numbed the red raw flesh where the ropes bit into his wrists.

I'm not sure about anyone else, but in my experience cold doesn't numb pain, it heightens it. Ever kicked your toe on a cold winter's morning?

"You're lucky I've not got steel in my fist, freeman," Gryff muttered.

Gryff refers to himself as 'freeman' earlier, and himself and Rhainyr as 'freemen' later, and the gaeman is only ever referred to as 'gaeman', so was this just a slip? Or are they all freemen, and some of them are also gaemen?

"Aye, like you put it in my brother's? He was three and ten and won't see another summer."

The '...and won't see another summer...' seems redundant to me, and not somethign one would say in a fit of rage.

"The day you can make a man hand you his spear to gut him with is the day I'll take your head myself. You go too far."

The first sentence is clumsy. It's a hard one to rework, though.

"'Tis you go too far, outrider."

I really don't like the 'tis's - it feels like a really forced way to say, 'Hey, this is a fantasy world!' to me - but if you insist on using them, I believe you are missing a 'who' here.

"You know it as well as I, lad. Save your strength for Odern. 'Tis he who plans to take our heads," Gryff wheezed. Rhainyr blinked.

Hmm, two 'tis's in quick succession. I'd suggest using them sparingly if you're going to use them. Also, I get the impression that Gryff, as an outrider, would be of a much lower class than Rhainyr, who seems to be a lord - yet they tend to sound the same when they speak.

 

[kurzon]

Hi JDP.

On a general prose level, I found this quite readable. Occasionally the flow stumbles, or gets rather tangled in description, but overall I was pulled along.

However, the events of the scene didn't capture me overmuch since it's basically a pause on the road in between the exciting stuff. Before the opening, these people were captured, and a brother died. After this section (which ends with the pov going to sleep) we will get somewhere dangerous and stuff will happen. But here we really just have backstory and no significant event. And this still leaves me fairly confused as to who these people are, where they're going, why they've been captured, etc.

Given that you apparently have a prologue before this opening, some of my feedback may be addressed there.

>The rain was a grey, icy slush that scoured the outrider's face.

Recommend:

The rain was a grey, icy slush scouring Willard Gryff's face.

[Since this appears to be from Gryff's pov, hiding his name till the third paragraph doesn't appear to achieve a great deal. And he's an outrider? Does that mean that when they were attacked they were part of a travelling convoy or something? Your heroic young lad later addresses Gryff as "outrider" as well - does he not know his name? I found the emphasis on a job position (which is possibly not even a permanent thing, but simply what a lord's guardsman happened to be doing as part of his duties) to be distracting.]

My other point with the opening paragraphs is that, while a little involved, it was very evocative. However, it evoked an image of a man stumbling alone and then suddenly in the fourth paragraph something called a 'gaeman' pops up and hits him. It may be worth your while making clear in the first paragraph that Gryff is one of a group of people.

>"Won't grow your fingers back though, will it, freeman?" he muttered.

>The gaeman turned and struck him square across the jaw with the butt

It would help to give readers a better idea of what 'freeman' and 'gaeman' mean, especially since Gryff calls the gaeman a freeman. 'Freeman' to me suggests classes of people - slaves and not slaves. This sentence, since you hadn't introduced any other characters, had me thinking Gryff was addressing himself as 'freeman' and that his fingers had been cut off.

'Gaeman' appears to be a neologism which will be derided by sniggering, small-minded boys - even if you intend it to be pronounced differently, I would weigh up the advantages and disadvantages of naming a group of people "Gay Man" - unless of course they are, and embrace that, but then you get into a tangle of modern word usage in a fantasy setting.

>fell, and a third. The road took the wind out of him as he hit it, eyes >blinkered with pain and a bellow of agony bitten back behind clenched >jaws. Gryff choked it down like a mouthful of bile and struggled to his

Strikes me as over-describing and also contradictory. If the wind's knocked out of him, bellowing does not need to be bitten back. [Oh, and if this gaeman has recently lost fingers, he _really_ won't be wanting to use his hands overmuch for things like swinging spears - and probably will do so less than competently.]

Plus, I keep thinking, "It's raining - needs more mud" All through this you mention the noise of the rain, and the cold, but I never once felt anyone was _wet_ (even with the gaeman's dripping fringe).

>Gryff could not help but laugh; the man had quick wits, give him that. >Had he been as quick with his spear, he would likely not have lost those >fingers. But Rhainyr seemed not to appreciate the jest.

A humour reaction here seems inappropriate. The gaeman was acting with open hatred moments ago, so his words come across as angrily heart-felt, not as a jest.

Plus Gryff has a split lip - laughing will hurt.

>"Aye, like you put it in my brother's? He was three and ten and won't see >another summer." His voice was cold as steel, his eyes dark as winter. He

This is the second strong description of eyes in your opening page - fathomless grey eyes for the gaeman, and eyes dark as winter for our hero here. Now I'm not generally a person who complains about eye description - in that I like to know what the characters look like and have had many a 'discussion' with writers who tell me it's far better not to describe characters so that people can picture the characters as however they want - but I do recommend that you spread out 'fancy' descriptions of eyes, or they risk taking on a purple tinge.

>Gryff watched the gaeman's brows knit as he came to his senses. The

General style recommendation: pov watched, pov looked, pov turned around to see - avoid these phrases if you can. The sentence reads more powerfully as "The gaeman's brows knit as he came to his senses."

>spear whipped round in a tight arc, connecting with Rhainyr's brow with a >sound that rivalled the thunderclap. Rhainyr fell to his knees and the

Recommending "the shaft of the spear" since spears to me bring to mind pointy bits of metal. And a sound that rivalled a thunderclap for a short move against _wet_ flesh in hissing rain? I'm surprised any noise was audible.

>"'Tis you go too far, outrider." Rhainyr's eyes snapped into focus, drawing

I have to admit that I don't like the odd phrasings of their speech. Especially because it only rears its head occasionally.

Anyway - sorry for the relatively negative feedback.

 

[J Riff]

Like everyone said, it needs a few sentences set up re: where it's taking place.

The rain was grey, icy slush that scoured the outrider's face.
( T'isn't A slush - it's slush.)
It soaked his hair and crept down past his collar, freezing undershirt to (puckered- trouble visualizing his puckered chest) flesh. (One boot was missing) and he stumbled often, the road being cut through with tangled roots and chunks of the Kynne Valley's blue-grey flint. His lack of boot would not have mattered had he been ahorse, but his mount was dead and it seemed likely he (would soon follow.)

(But) Willard Gryff was not a man to dismiss a boon were it passed to him; the cold soothed his swollen face (at least) and numbed the raw red flesh where the ropes bit into his wrists.

Maybe here put in some reference to where they are, before any action starts.

 

[Droflet]

Hello JDP, this is the problem with being caught between time zones. Everyone has covered what I was going to say. This will be a great read if you can clear up some of the confusion. I look forward to rereading it down the track. Cheers, T.

 

[Blackrook]

The rain was a grey, icy slush that scoured the outrider's face. It soaked his hair and crept down past his collar, freezing undershirt to puckered flesh. One of his boots was gone and he stumbled often, the road being cut through with tangled roots and chunks of Kynne Valley's blue-grey flint. His lack of boot would not have mattered had he been ahorse, but his mount was dead and it seemed more than likely he would be soon to follow. (an outrider rides a horse, is he still an outrider while walking?)

But Willard Gryff was not a man to dismiss a boon were it passed to him; the cold soothed his swollen face at least, and numbed the red raw flesh where the ropes bit into his wrists. (he's wet too, wouldn't that make him pretty miserable?)

"Won't grow your fingers back though, will it, freeman?" he muttered. (who's he talking to?)

The gaeman turned and struck him square across the jaw with the butt of his spear. (what's a gaeman? is this the same guy as the freeman?) Gryff's lip split, spattering his chin with blood. A second blow fell, and a third. The road took the wind out of him as he hit it, eyes blinkered with pain and a bellow of agony bitten back behind clenched jaws. Gryff choked it down like a mouthful of bile and struggled to his knees. The butt of the spear caught him just below a kidney, sending a wave of nausea through him, and then again between his shoulder blades. He fell flat, gnarled roots digging into his chest.

"Enough." (who's speaking?)

The blows stopped and Gryff slowly raised his head. The gaeman stepped back, bandaged hand flexing on the shaft of the spear. His eyes demanded bloody murder, and yet...

Rhainyr Fingarron was an apparition in the downpour, fathomless grey eyes peering from beneath a sodden tangle of fringe. His beard was thin, barely more than a youth's fancy, but his shoulders were broad and he stood an inch or so taller than the gaeman. He extended his hands, bound as Gryff's own, to help the outrider to his feet. Gryff took the proffered help gladly, his legs unsteady beneath him.

"You're lucky I've not got steel in my fist, freeman," Gryff muttered.

"If I were lucky, you'd have steel in your gut and I'd be the one put it there," the gaeman retorted. (freeman or gaeman? Same guy?)

Gryff could not help but laugh; the man had quick wits, give him that. Had he been as quick with his spear, he would likely not have lost those fingers. But Rhainyr seemed not to appreciate the jest.

"Aye, like you put it in my brother's? He was three and ten and won't see another summer." His voice was cold as steel, his eyes dark as winter. He stepped toward the gaeman, his voice dropping to a whisper too low for Gryff to hear over the hiss of the rain.

Gryff watched the gaeman's hands loosen on the spear. Rhainyr stepped closer, still whispering softly. The gaeman's face grew slack and his eyes began to wander. Nine Hells, could the lad really do it? An icy shiver ran down Gryff's spine. He spotted a splintered piece of flint and stepped towards it, ready to snatch it up. The other gaemen walked with their heads down against the rain. (first time you mentioned there were other people) Rhainyr took another step as a peal of thunder split the air. Quick as that, the moment was lost.

Gryff watched the gaeman's brows knit as he came to his senses. The spear whipped round in a tight arc, connecting with Rhainyr's brow with a sound that rivalled the thunderclap. Rhainyr fell to his knees and the gaeman bent low and spat full in his face.

"Try that again and I'll ***king gut you; that I swear, Dark Rain or no. I'll take my chances that they'll believe you went for my spear." (what did he do?)

Ahead, someone (who?) called a halt and gave the order to make camp. As the gaeman moved away, Gryff took the lad's head in his hands.

"You go too far, Rhainyr," he said. "The day you can make a man hand you his spear to gut him with is the day I'll take your head myself. You go too far."

"He killed my brother, Will. He killed Rhowen." Rhainyr's voice was strained.

"Half brother," Gryff snapped, too harshly. "Always half brother, your father saw to that. Besides, how could that man have killed Rhowen when he was busy having his fingers taken by me? We were nowhere near the lad. It could have been any of them bastards killed him, but it wasn't. It was you. Your pride and that damned silk voice of yours."

"'Tis you go too far, outrider." Rhainyr's eyes snapped into focus, drawing Gryff to him. His lips moved rapidly, though Gryff could not have said what words spilt forth from them. Of a sudden, he was kneeling beside Rhainyr, rain puddling beneath him. His throat grew tight. (how is this happening?)

"You know it as well as I, lad. Save your strength for Odern. 'Tis he who plans to take our heads," Gryff wheezed. Rhainyr blinked.

"Aye. We're freemen and our voice will be heard. The people's voice."

It had had to be said, no matter how it hurt the lad; Rhainyr functioned better in a state of cold fury, moreso than most men. Gryff had seen men who could rage like gods, fierce and fell and unstoppable. But the Dark Rain (who?) was not one of them. The lad was rash when vengeful and the people needed him cold; he was their voice. (who are the people?)

Darkness came swiftly and the rain grew heavier. Gryff huddled in the meagre shelter of a diseased oak. In the black of night, he reached out in the darkness (black and darkness is repetitive) but Rhainyr did not respond. (are you implying a homosexual relationship?) At last, he fell into a fitful sleep born of exhaustion and despair. Oblivion claimed him.[/QUOTE]

 

[JDP]

Hi all,

Thanks for all the feedback, great stuff! I'll try to address some general points below, apologies if I miss anything. A lot of people's comments are due to things that are set out in the prologue (as someone mentioned, this is a drawback of critiquing piecemeal).


Who is present?/ clarifying the setting - Yes, I've obviously dropped the ball on this one. It was my intention to start off focusing on Gryff, then almost 'panning out' to take in the rest of the scene (with the spearbutt to the face snapping him out of his introspection). Events preceding this, that Rhainyr and Gryff were involved in a skirmish with Odern's men are outlined in the prologue, so it may be a little clearer in context.

Dark Rain - Again, mentioned in the prologue. This is the name given to Rhainyr by the ruling caste against whom he is fighting, to paint him badly in the eyes of the common folk.

Freeman? - Freeman is a general term, and can be attributed to anyone. Used by fighters for a 'Free North', it says more about the person using the term rather than who they're referring to. In their eyes, everyone is (or should be) a free man (or woman); free from the oppression of the ruling caste.

Gaeman? - this is a term from the general footsoldier of a Laird of Rhynneár. Taken from the Old Irish gáe meaning spear. Basically one of a group of heavies, rarely formed into anything close to a formal military.

Why Gryff gets a beating (and Rhainyr doesn't - so much anyway)? - Rhainyr is a reknowned leader of a 'Free North' cell, and as such is much more of a prize to be returned alive to face a 'trial'. Gryff is an important underling, but eminently more expendable. The reason that Gryff gets a beating is that he has taunted the gaeman about having cut off a couple of his fingers. The gaeman is none to happy about having lost those fingers, and less so about being reminded of it, hence the beating. I thought this was made clear later on, but perhaps needs more work to clarify.

Where does gear for camp come from? - Yes, there are some 'saddled gaemen' ahead, though there's not a lot of gear as it's just a soldiers camp in (supposedly) friendly territory.

Rhainyr's abilities/Why are they still prisoners? - Rhainyr is a young man and his abilities are just coming to fruition. Even Gryff, his closest confidant, is shocked at what he is managing to do here (and he doesn't like it). Further knowledge of Rhainyr's abilities are not widely known, and have only manifested themselves in making him a charismatic leader. Rhainyr's band have just been defeated in a skirmish near his home town.

Relationship between Rhainyr & Gryff - Rhainyr is a reknowned freedom fighter (or outlaw, depending on your point of view) and Gryff is his second in command. Gryff is deeply in love with Rhainyr, but Rhainyr largely ignores this fact, except for knowing that Gryff's loyalty is unwavering. Despite this potential awkwardness they are good friends and each has a huge commitment to their shared ideology.

'Tis or 'Tisn't? - It's a fair cop, Gov. I was trying to give a different speech pattern to the Rhynneárin; a bit more 'olde' and more rural than characters in other parts of the world. Looks like I've got more work to do

Should Gryff's name be introduced earlier? - He is mentioned in the prologue. He is described there as an outrider (a sort of scout-come-light-cavalry unit - perhaps outrider should be capitalised?). Hence, in wider context, I think it'll be clearer who it is.

More mud - Yep, you're quite right, there needs to be more mud

General language points - Thanks, will take these on board when reworking.

Thanks to everyone who offered a crit; it's given me lots of food for thought.

Cheers,
JDP

 

[J Riff]

One last little nitpick... The first sentence is verrry important.
The rain was a ( ) slush ... hmmm. Slush isn't really rain ...
Gray windblown slush (rain) scoured the outriders face, as.. ?
Gray rain. Icy slush. The right turn of phrase is in there somewhere.