Short Intro. Alternate reality fantasy setting Anglo-Saxon Britain and Viking Invader

[Grimbear]

Aart was crying and Putnam had been sick. I couldn't do either. I couldn't do anything. Only observe in a numb, distant way, how Aart's face was angry red, his tears streaming, his shoulders and chest heaving with sobs; how flecks of vomit streaked Putnam's chin. Terror held me so tight I could hardly breathe, like a pair of strong hands that gripped my shoulders, fingers reaching to press against my throat.

We'd woken to the choking smell of smoke and sounds of battle. While we were still dazedly getting to our feet, rubbing sore eyes and coughing, the door to our small dormitory had opened with a bang. Men, indistinct in the haze, smelling of blood, smoke and sweat, came in. Tamar, most alert, had picked up a stool. I saw him throw it, and next moment he lay motionless on the floor, his head canted at an angle that meant he must be dead. Wend they killed too, for hitting out with nothing but his bare fists. Useless and pointless as they were tall warriors, armed and shielded. Iron helmets hid their faces, and their swords were longer than any of us could reach. Wend and Tamar were kicked into the corner of the room and the rest of us kicked into the passage. They hustled us along with cuffs and shouts, out into the cold.

Now we stood under guard in a terrified huddle, not knowing why we were alive. Perhaps they kept us for a later treat, like Lords who waited a while after supper for their pudding, so they could savour it.

I watched the monastery burn. Tar-black smoke, thick and heavy, rising up to stain the sky. Flames so hot I could still feel them, even from so far. The fire ate through straw and wood and men with furious hunger. Bother Norian, the chief scribe, burned there. Brothers Ord and Sherwyn, the cellarers. Bother Finan the archivist. The Lord Abbot. All our masters. Everyone.

They'd killed them all. Butchered them, left them headless, limbless, or disembowelled and made to crawl in mindless pain. I'd stepped on entrails in the refrectory. Felt them sag under my bare foot, warm and slick. I didn't want to think of it, but knew I always would. That was when Putnam puked, his bile was now decorating the refrectory floor, in a puddle around Brother Bayen's severed head.



Please let me know if this is effective or deficient?

Thanks

 

[HareBrain]

Re: Short Intro. Alternate reality fantasy setting Anglo-Saxon Britain and Viking Inv

Generally effective, I think, but you're too free and easy with your (not-)sentence structure for my taste. Sentence fragments can be useful, but some of yours felt clumsy, and one caused me to misread what you meant at first.

Aart was crying and Putnam had been sick. I couldn't do either. I couldn't do anything. [comma] Only observe in a numb, distant way, how Aart's face was angry red, his tears streaming, his shoulders and chest heaving with sobs; how flecks of vomit streaked Putnam's chin. Terror held me so tight I could hardly breathe, like a pair of strong hands that gripped my shoulders, fingers reaching to press against my throat. [already pressing against the throat rather than reaching, if he can hardly breathe? Also, the "terror" seems too far before the "like" for the connection, with "I could hardly breathe" in the middle. I'd rather it were something like this: "Terror held me so tight I could hardly breathe, as though a pair of strong hands gripped my shoulders", etc]

We'd woken to the choking smell of smoke and sounds of battle. While we were still dazedly getting to our feet, rubbing sore eyes and coughing, the door to our small dormitory had opened with a bang. Men, indistinct in the haze, smelling [the haze smelling or the men? If haze, leave out comma] of blood, smoke and sweat, came in [I'd rather "came in" was straight after "men"; this is too disjointed]. Tamar, most alert, had picked up a stool [You've already gone into past tense with "came in"; the "had picked up" therefore implies he's done it before the men entered]. I saw him throw it, and next moment he lay motionless on the floor, his head canted at an angle that meant he must be dead. Wend they killed too ["Wend they killed" has an archaic feel to it, which is at odds with the modern feel of the rest of your prose, but I'm in two minds as to whether it works or not], for hitting out with nothing but his bare fists. Useless and pointless as they were tall warriors, armed and shielded [Don't like this sentence fragment; I found it especially disruptive] . Iron helmets hid their faces, and their swords were longer than any of us could reach. Wend and Tamar were kicked into the corner of the room and the rest of us kicked into the passage. They hustled us along with cuffs and shouts, out into the cold.

Now we stood under guard in a terrified huddle, not knowing why we were alive. Perhaps they kept us for a later treat, like Lords who waited a while after supper for their pudding [I don't know for sure, but I think pudding (i.e. dessert) is too modern a concept for Saxon times], so they could savour it.

I watched the monastery burn. Tar-black smoke, thick and heavy, rising up to stain the sky. [Either join these two into one sentence or use "rose" to make a proper sentence] Flames so hot I could still feel them, even from so far. [Another non-sentence; why not "Even from so far away, I felt the flames' heat"] The fire ate through straw and wood and men with furious hunger. Bother Norian, the chief scribe, burned there. Brothers Ord and Sherwyn, the cellarers. Bother Finan the archivist. The Lord Abbot. All our masters. Everyone. [These are all sentence fragments, but here they work; it suggests a kind of breaking down.]

They'd killed them all. Butchered them, left them headless, limbless, or disembowelled and made to crawl in mindless pain. [Same here: again, it works] I'd stepped on entrails in the refrectory. Felt them sag under my bare foot, warm and slick. [But I didn't like that one; I would prefer a comma or semi-colon rather than a full stop after "refectory", though I know others would argue differently] I didn't want to think of it, but knew I always would. That was when Putnam puked, [suggest semi-colon; this is a comma splice, which you should use with caution. Here, I don't think it really works] his bile was now decorating [suggest "now decorated"] the refrectory floor, in a puddle around Brother Bayen's severed head.



Please let me know if this is effective or deficient?

Thanks

 

[Grimbear]

Re: Short Intro. Alternate reality fantasy setting Anglo-Saxon Britain and Viking Inv

Thanks Harebrain that's seriously helpful - appreciate it. I agree with pretty much all you've said. Will make those changes

Re pudding - they had courses in a meal - at least the aristocracy did. The pudding wasn't necessarily sweet though - could be a meat pudding? Hmm - maybe this is confusing. I'll try to think of another simile I can use.

 

[David B]

Re: Short Intro. Alternate reality fantasy setting Anglo-Saxon Britain and Viking Inv

Aart was crying and Putnam had been sick. I couldn't do either. I couldn't do anything. Only observe in a numb, distant way, how Aart's face was angry red, his tears streaming, his shoulders and chest heaving with sobs; how flecks of vomit streaked Putnam's chin. Try something shorter like: Only observe in a numb, distant way, Aart's angry face, streaming with tears, and Putnam's chin flecked with vomit.

Terror held me so tight I could hardly breathe, like a pair of strong hands that gripped my shoulders, fingers reaching to press against my throat. This sentence didn't work for me. I can't see terror having hands. I'd prefer: Terror held me rigid, closing my throat.

We'd woken to the choking smell of smoke and sounds of battle. For greater immediacy I'd us We Woke instead of We'd woken.

While we were still dazedly getting to our feet, rubbing sore eyes and coughing, the door to our small dormitory had opened with a bang. I'd cut dazedly as it tells what you show in the next phrase. Banged open has more impact then 'had opened with a bang'.

Men, indistinct in the haze, smelling of blood, smoke and sweat, came in. Men describes nothing. What about warriors. 'Came in' is a weak end to the sentence (maybe barged in, charged in...)

Tamar, most alert, had picked up a stool. 'Had' detracts from the sentence, which works without it.
I saw him throw it,and next moment he lay motionless on the floor, his head canted at an angle that meant he must be dead.
He threw it, and next moment lay dead on the floor, head canted at an unnatural angle. 'That meant he must be dead' drops a reader out of the action.
Wend they killed too, for hitting out with nothing but his bare fists. Useless and pointless as they were tall warriors, armed and shielded. Useless and pointless against armed warriors.
Iron helmets hid their faces, and their swords were longer than any of us could reach. ...and their swords reached longer than our arms.
Wend and Tamar were kicked into the corner of the room and the rest of us kicked into the passage. 'Were kicked' makes the sentence passive. Try something like: One of the beasts kicked Wend and Tamar into....
They hustled us along with cuffs and shouts, out into the cold.

Now we stood under guard in a terrified huddle, not knowing why we were alive. Perhaps they kept us for a later treat, like Lords who waited a while after supper for their pudding, so they could savour it. The second sentence drops me out of the scene. I think you would get a stroner emotional response from your reader by dropping it. Say: Huddled under guard, not knowing why we were alive, I watched the monastery burn.

I watched the monastery burn. Tar-black smoke, thick and heavy, rising rose up to stain the sky.
Flames so hot I could still feel them, even from so far. Flames so hot I could feel them from afar.

The fire ate through straw and wood and flesh with furious hunger, burning Bother Norian, the chief scribe,Brothers Ord and Sherwyn, the cellarers, Bother Finan the archivist and The Lord Abbot. All our masters. Everyone.

They'd killed them all. Butchered them, left them headless, limbless, or disembowelled and made to crawl in mindless pain. I'd stepped on entrails in the refrectory. Felt them sag under my bare foot, warm and slick. I didn't want to think of it, but knew I always would. That was when Putnam puked, his bile was now decorating the refrectory floor, in a puddle around Brother Bayen's severed head. I'd drop the final paragraph and leave the implication that the monks burned alive. The readers imagination is sometimes more powerful that lots of gory description.

Please let me know if this is effective or deficient?

Thanks

Getting the balance right on emotional action scenes is very difficult. It often takes several rewrites.

 

[Brian G Turner]

Re: Short Intro. Alternate reality fantasy setting Anglo-Saxon Britain and Viking Inv

I thought it read really well - good pacing, dramatic introduction, good atmosphere.

It reminds me very much of Guy Gavriel Kay's writing, though in a different POV use - specifically, the use of sentence fragments for dramatic effect.

Looking forward to reading more.

 

[Grimbear]

Re: Short Intro. Alternate reality fantasy setting Anglo-Saxon Britain and Viking Inv

Thanks both.

@ David B. Thanks for those suggestions. Am working on the next draft right now - have already included some of what you've said.

@ I, Brian. Thanks. Have never read GGK - will maybe get hold on one of his books.

 

[Jo Zebedee]

Re: Short Intro. Alternate reality fantasy setting Anglo-Saxon Britain and Viking Inv

Aart was crying and Putnam had been sick. I couldn't do either. I couldn't do anything. Only observe in a numb, distant way,no comma how Aart's face was angry red, his tears streaming, his shoulders and chest heaving with sobs; how flecks of vomit streaked Putnam's chin. Terror held me so tight I could hardly breathe, like a pair of strong hands that gripped my shoulders, fingers reaching to press against my throat.

We'd woken to the choking smell of smoke and sounds of battle. While we were still dazedly getting to our feet, rubbing sore eyes and coughing, the door to our small dormitory had opened with a bang. Men, indistinct in the haze, smelling of blood, smoke and sweat, came in. Tamar, most alert, had picked up a stool. I saw him throw it, and next moment he lay motionless on the floor, his head canted at an angle that meant he must be dead. Wend they killed too, for hitting out with nothing but his bare fists. Useless and pointless as they were tall warriors, armed and shielded. Iron helmets hid their faces, and their swords were longer than any of us could reach. Wend and Tamar were kicked into the corner of the room and the rest of us kicked into the passage. They hustled us along with cuffs and shouts, out into the cold. good paragraph.

Now we stood under guard in a terrified huddle, not knowing why we were alive. Perhaps they kept us for a later treat, like Lords who waited a while after supper for their pudding, so they could savour it. stood under guard for some reason read awkwardly. The term pudding wouldn't have been used then, but the concept was probably there, although not in the conventional we have sweet stuff; sugar woudl have been a rarity. So, maybe we were the final course? or change the analogy?

I watched the monastery burn. a little passive, but I'm a bit obsessed with taking out I watched at the moment. The monastery burned can be used if you want the active voice; up to you.Tar-black smoke, thick and heavy, rising up to stain the sky. Flames so hot I could stillstill indicates a passage of time, is this what you meant? feel them, even from so far. The fire ate through straw and wood and men with furious hunger. Br? otherwise I wanna know why he got his moniker. other Norian, the chief scribe, burned there. Brothers Ord and Sherwyn, the cellarers. Bother Finan the archivist. The Lord Abbot. All our masters. Everyone.

They'd killed them all. Butchered them, left them headless, limbless,no comma or disembowelled and made to crawl in mindless painI think they're going to struggle to crawl in any of these states. Or if you meant they were forced in other ways.. I'd stepped on entrails in the refrectory. Felt them sag under my bare foot, warm and slick. I didn't want to think of it, but knew I always would. That was when Putnam puked, his bile wascouldn lose the was? now decorating the refrectory floor, in a puddle around Brother Bayen's severed head.



Please let me know if this is effective or deficient?

Thanks [/QUOTE]

pretty effective, a good picture painted - well not good, but clear - a few bits and pieces above, but all pretty minor.

 

[alchemist]

Re: Short Intro. Alternate reality fantasy setting Anglo-Saxon Britain and Viking Inv

Nothing I can do will compete with the critiques you've gotten already, so I won't even try. I agree with Harebrain on overuse and appropriate use of fragments.

Just one point though...

While we were still dazedly getting to our feet...

I think this is one example of where a good verb trumps verb+adverb. I'd suggest "While we were still staggering to our feet..."

Otherwise, it's good stuff; it's tweaking that needs to be done, really.

 

[Grimbear]

Re: Short Intro. Alternate reality fantasy setting Anglo-Saxon Britain and Viking Inv

Thanks Folks. This is all v much appreciated.

Here it is hopefully improved with a bit extra added:


Aart was crying and Putnam had been sick. I couldn't do either. I couldn't do anything, only observe in a numb, distant way how Aart's face was angry red, his tears streaming, his shoulders and chest heaving with sobs; how flecks of vomit streaked Putnam's chin. Terror held me so tight I could hardly breathe, as though a pair of strong hands gripped my shoulders, fingers pressing against my throat.

We'd woken to the choking smell of smoke and sounds of battle. While we were stumbling to our feet, rubbing sore eyes and coughing, the door to our small dormitory opened with a bang. Men charged in, indistinct in the haze, smelling of blood, smoke and sweat. Tamar, most alert, picked up a stool. I saw him throw it, and next moment he lay motionless on the floor, his head canted at an unnatural angle. Wend they killed too, for hitting out with nothing but his bare fists. Iron helmets hid their faces, and their swords were longer than any of us could reach. They tossed Wend and Tamar into the corner of the room and hustled the three of us into the passage. They drove us along with cuffs and shouts, out into the cold. Now we stood under guard in a terrified huddle, not knowing why we were alive.

The monastery burned - tar-black smoke, thick and heavy, rising up to stain the sky. The flames were so hot I could feel them, even from where we stood. The fire ate through straw and wood and men with furious hunger. Brother Norian, the chief scribe, burned there. Brothers Ord and Sherwyn, the cellarers. Brother Finan the archivist. The Lord Abbot. All our masters. Everyone.

They'd killed them all. Butchered them, left them headless, limbless or disembowelled. I'd stepped on entrails in the refrectory, felt them sag under my bare foot, warm and slick. I didn't want to think of it, but knew I always would. I could still feel it on my skin and it made me shudder. I wanted to wipe my foot, but when I made to bend down the warrior who guarded us growled a warning so I straightened, trembling in misery and cold.

The treasures of the sacristy and scriptorium were piled nearby. The invaders, finished with their slaughter, now took the time to sort through their plunder. Books that had taken years to copy and colour were tossed onto the muddy ground, pages loose and tearing in the damp. They wanted gold, and silver, worked metals, only the most priceless tomes. I saw a chest a pilgrim had brought with him. I supposed he was dead now, burning with the rest, past caring that his polished oak box, so finely carved, was emptied of coin and thrown to one side. What they wanted to keep they stowed away in large sacks, the rest strewn as rubbish on the hillside. I watched, fear turning to hate inside me as they congratulated one another, gloating. Their language was strange, more alien than any dialect I'd heard, but it was obvious they were pleased.

One of them looked up at where we stood and shouted at our guard, gesturing that we should be brought near. He was very tall, his cloak darkened with streaks of soot, fair, matted hair sticking out in long clumps from under his helmet. Our guard didn't wait for us to obey. I was kicked so hard I stumbled, would have fallen had not a hand grabbed the back of my nightshirt and dragged me to my feet again, pressing me forward. Aart did fall, flat to his face in the mud and was kicked four times before he could scramble up and move away. Once we were all lined up, the fair-haired warrior studied us for a moment before yelling more orders. Another warrior, hair plaited into four thick, black braids, his right arm red with blood up to the shoulder, came forward with rope and iron collars. We were tied together like pack horses, sacks thrust into our arms. The metal collar was cold and hard. It was not cleanly made, but rough-edged, the jagged metal bit into my skin and I shivered.

They made us run, tripping over stones and slipping on wet grass and mud since we couldn't see the ground over the large sacks we carried. My arms and legs were soon aching, but I knew better than to drop my sack after watching what happened when Putnam dropped his. I was at the end of the line, dragged along by the others, Putnam in the lead and Aart in the centre. I don't know which of us was worse off.

 

[Gumboot]

Re: Short Intro. Alternate reality fantasy setting Anglo-Saxon Britain and Viking Inv

I really liked it the first time, and I really like it now. I am quite a fan of fragments for this type of scene. My comments are rather minor. Some of them are really just sentences that jumped out as being a bit unnecessarily long given the terse tone of the piece. There's also a few factual tid bits that you are welcome to ignore (except perhaps the "refectory" one, I think you probably want to spell that correctly)

Thanks Folks. This is all v much appreciated.

Here it is hopefully improved with a bit extra added:


Aart was crying and Putnam had been sick. I couldn't do either. I couldn't do anything, only observe in a numb, distant way how Aart's face was angry red, his tears streaming, his shoulders and chest heaving with sobs; how flecks of vomit streaked Putnam's chin. Terror held me so tight I could hardly breathe, as though a pair of strong hands gripped my shoulders, fingers pressing against my throat.

We'd woken to the choking smell of smoke and sounds of battle. I aren't sure about "battle". That, to me at least, suggests someone is fighting back, which seems unlikely given these are priests. "Sounds of slaughter"? Maybe that's too much. Hmm... While we were stumbling to our feet, rubbing sore eyes and coughing, the door to our small dormitory opened with a bang the first of my "take it or leave it" historical tid-bits. The sleeping quarters of a monastery were called the "Dorter", however this generally referred to the entire building - individual rooms would be called "cells" (I would probably just use "room" though or you might think it's a prison!). Men charged in, indistinct in the haze, smelling of blood, smoke and sweat. Tamar, most alert, picked up a stool. I saw him throw it, and next moment he lay motionless on the floor, his head canted at an unnatural angle. Wend they killed too, for hitting out with nothing but his bare fists. Iron helmets hid their faces, and their swords were longer than any of us could reach. They tossed Wend and Tamar into the corner of the room I feel like "of the room" is redundant and hustled the three of us into the passage. They drove us along with cuffs and shouts, out into the cold. Now we stood under guard in a terrified huddle, not knowing why we were alive. Instead of "not knowing...", perhaps "wondering why we lived"?

The monastery burned - tar-black smoke, thick and heavy, rising up to stain the sky. The flames were so hot I could feel them, even from where we stood. The fire ate through straw and wood and men with furious hunger. Brother Norian, the chief scribe, burned there. Brothers Ord and Sherwyn, the cellarers. Brother Finan the archivist. The Lord Abbot. Another nitpick, if you want historical accuracy the correct mode of address for an Abbot is simply "Father" or "Father Abbot" ("The Right Reverend" for written address) All our masters. Everyone.

They'd killed them all. Butchered them, left them headless, limbless or disembowelled. I'd stepped on entrails in the refrectory, refectory rather than refrectory, and again, this may not matter but the typical layout of a monastery would make it very unlikely you'd pass through the refectory to get from the dorter to the outside...sorry I am getting stupidly picky now... ignore this one... felt them sag under my bare foot, warm and slick. I didn't want to think of it, but knew I always would. I could still feel it on my skin and it made me shudder. I wanted to wipe my foot, but when I made to bend down the warrior who guarded us growled a warning so I straightened, trembling in misery and cold.

The treasures of the sacristy and scriptorium were piled nearby. The invaders, finished with their slaughter, now took the time to sort through their plunder. Books that had taken years to copy and colour were tossed onto the muddy ground, pages loose and tearing in the damp. They wanted gold, and silver, worked metals, only the most priceless tomes. I saw a chest a pilgrim had brought with him. I supposed he was dead now, burning with the rest, past caring that his polished oak box, so finely carved, was emptied of coin and thrown to one side. What they wanted to keep they stowed away in large sacks, the rest strewn as rubbish on the hillside. I watched, fear turning to hate inside me as they congratulated one another, gloating. Their language was strange, more alien than any dialect I'd heard, but it was obvious they were pleased.

One of them looked up at where we stood and shouted at our guard, gesturing that we should be brought near. He was very tall, his cloak darkened with streaks of soot, fair, matted hair sticking out in long clumps from under his helmet. Our guard didn't wait for us to obey. I was kicked so hard I stumbled, would have fallen had not a hand grabbed the back of my nightshirt and dragged me to my feet again, pressing me forward. Aart did fall, flat to his face in the mud and was kicked four times before he could scramble up and move away. Once we were all lined up, the fair-haired warrior studied us for a moment before yelling more orders. Another warrior, hair plaited into four thick, black braids, his right arm red with blood up I'd lose "up" to the shoulder, came forward with rope and iron collars. We were tied together like pack horses, sacks thrust into our arms. The metal collar was cold and hard. It was not cleanly made, but rough-edged, the jagged metal bit into my skin and I shivered. Would you shiver if rough metal dug into your skin? Or perhaps wince?

They made us run, tripping over stones and slipping on wet grass and mud since we couldn't see the ground over the large sacks we carried. I can't rightly say why, but "since" doesn't sit right with me. I think I might split this into two sentences and change "we" to "I" My arms and legs were soon aching, but I knew better than to drop my sack after watching what happened when Putnam dropped his. I was at the end of the line, dragged along by the others, Putnam in the lead and Aart in the centre. I don't know which of us was worse off.

Really liked this piece, and it's refreshing to see a monk as a protagonist!

 

[David B]

Re: Short Intro. Alternate reality fantasy setting Anglo-Saxon Britain and Viking Inv

The treasures of the sacristy and scriptorium were piled nearby. The invaders, finished with their slaughter, now took the time to sort through their plunder. Books that had taken years to copy and colour were tossed onto the muddy ground, pages loose and tearing in the damp. They wanted gold, and silver, worked metals, only the most priceless tomes. I saw a chest a pilgrim had brought with him. I supposed he was dead now, burning with the rest, past caring that his polished oak box, so finely carved, was emptied of coin and thrown to one side. What they wanted to keep they stowed away in large sacks, the rest was strewn as rubbish on the hillside. I watched, fear turning to hate inside me as they congratulated one another, gloating. Their language was strange, more alien than any dialect I'd heard, but it was obvious they were pleased.

One of them looked up at where we stood and shouted at our guard, gesturing that we should be brought near. He was very tall, I don't like 'He was very tall.' I'd prefer: He stood tall, his cloak darkened with streaks of soot,Shouldn't this be a semi colon fair, matted hair sticking stuck out in long clumps from under his helmet. Our guard didn't wait for us to obey. I was Instead of 'I was' try: He kicked so hard I stumbled, and would have fallen had not a hand grabbed the back of my nightshirt and dragged me to my feet again, pressing me forward. Aart did fall, flat to his face in the mud and was kicked four times before he could scramble up and move away. Once we were all lined up, the fair-haired warrior studied us for a moment before yelling more orders. Another warrior, hair plaited into four thick, black braids, his right arm red with blood up to the shoulder, I think his bloody arm would make an impact on the frightened watcher before his hairstyle. came forward with rope and iron collars. We were tied Passive try: He tied us together like pack horses, sacks thrust into our arms. The metal collar was cold and hard. It was not cleanly made, but rough-edged, the jagged metal bit into my skin and I shivered. I found the last two sentences less smooth. How about: The rough-edged collar bit into my skin, its cold metal making me shiver.

They made us run, tripping over stones and slipping on wet grass and mud since we couldn't see the ground over the large sacks we carried. Get's clumsy after mud. try: '...mud; the sacks hiding our footing on uneven ground. My arms and legs were soon aching, instead of 'were soon aching' I'd prefer ' soon ached' but I knew better than to drop my sack after watching what happened when Putnam dropped his. I was move the 'I was' infront of dragged at the end of the line, dragged along by the others, Putnam in the lead and Aart in the centre. I don't know which of us was worse off. I don't know which position was worse.

The whole thing read much smoother with your changes. Good luck.

 

[ctg]

Re: Short Intro. Alternate reality fantasy setting Anglo-Saxon Britain and Viking Inv

Aart was crying and Putnam had been sick. I couldn't do either. I couldn't do anything, only observe in a numb, distant way how Aart's face was angry red, his tears streaming, his shoulders and chest heaving with sobs; how flecks of vomit streaked Putnam's chin. Terror held me so tight I could hardly breathe, as though a pair of strong hands gripped my shoulders, fingers pressing against my throat.

To be honest I think there's a bit too much going. Too much of detail that contradict what you're trying to say. You could have written:

Aart was crying and Putnam were sick. I couldn't do either. I couldn't but just observe numbly Aart's shoulders heaving in the rhythm of sobs, while Putnam's plastered corner of a table with vomit. It was pure terror. A feeling that'd gripped all three of us.

What I don't understand is the end of the paragraph. Where did this person come and where did he go? Or is it that you're trying to convey something else?

We'd woken to the choking smell of smoke and sounds of battle. While we were stumbling to our feet, rubbing sore eyes and coughing, the door to our small dormitory opened with a bang. Men charged in, indistinct in the haze, smelling of blood, smoke and sweat. Tamar, most alert, picked up a stool. I saw him throw it, and next moment he lay motionless on the floor, his head canted at an unnatural angle. Wend they killed too, for hitting out with nothing but his bare fists. Iron helmets hid their faces, and their swords were longer than any of us could reach. They tossed Wend and Tamar into the corner of the room and hustled the three of us into the passage. They drove us along with cuffs and shouts, out into the cold. Now we stood under guard in a terrified huddle, not knowing why we were alive.

Again, I think you're trying to fill in too much and it causes you to repeat the details that has been already conveyed. Then there is the previous chapter that denotes terror, and in this one you change the details to something else when you should have dived straight into the action.

What I highligted are the detail that are way too confusing, or out from the place. I'll let you to figure out which are which. In the meanwhile you could had written the beginning this way:

Aart was crying and Putnam were sick. I couldn't do either. I couldn't but just observe numbly Aart's shoulders heaving in the rhythm of sobs, while Putnam's plastered corner of a table with vomit. It was pure terror; a feeling that'd gripped all three of us as we watched thick black smoke pouring in the room. [note: black smoke indicates oily material or that the fire isn't burning very well.]

The only thought that did rounds in my mind was that the monastery was in fire. Then the door came crashing down. Tamar, picked up a stool and managed to throw it before he dropped on the floor; his head canted at an unnatural angle. Wend didn't had better luck. Not with his bare fist against iron glad warriors, that grabbed us up and hustled us out in the frosty yard.


What I want to illustrate here is that when you go in the first person fast-action-scene is that there are so much that you don't have to say to drive up the tension. Everything happens so fast that there is no time for you to write in all the details and ones you write in should be all down to the point.

The monastery burned - tar-black smoke, thick and heavy, rising up to stain the sky. The flames were so hot I could feel them, even from where we stood. The fire ate through straw and wood and men with furious hunger. Brother Norian, the chief scribe, burned there. Brothers Ord and Sherwyn, the cellarers. Brother Finan the archivist. The Lord Abbot. All our masters. Everyone.

They'd killed them all. Butchered them, left them headless, limbless or disembowelled. I'd stepped on entrails in the refrectory, felt them sag under my bare foot, warm and slick. I didn't want to think of it, but knew I always would. I could still feel it on my skin and it made me shudder. I wanted to wipe my foot, but when I made to bend down the warrior who guarded us growled a warning so I straightened, trembling in misery and cold.

Very nice detail and much better writing then in previous two chapters. The only nickle I have is in the last sentence as you can see. Maybe you could shorten it some how.

The treasures of the sacristy and scriptorium were piled nearby. The invaders, finished with their slaughter, now took the time to sort through their plunder. Books that had taken years to copy and colour were tossed onto the muddy ground, pages loose and tearing in the damp. They wanted gold, and silver, worked metals, only the most priceless tomes. I saw a chest a pilgrim had brought with him. I supposed he was dead now, burning with the rest, past caring that his polished oak box, so finely carved, was emptied of coin and thrown to one side. What they wanted to keep they stowed away in large sacks, the rest strewn as rubbish on the hillside. I watched, fear turning to hate inside me as they congratulated one another, gloating. Their language was strange, more alien than any dialect I'd heard, but it was obvious they were pleased.

I'd like you to keep the details gritty and grim. The readers can get what you don't write in, and that is the detail about the treasure that doesn't serve a function in here. The readers want to know more about the character and his feelings than the objects. And if you're going to bring in the object, then think about the chekov's guns and what sort function they serve in the art of story-telling.

One of them looked up at where we stood and shouted at our guard, gesturing that we should be brought near. He was very tall, his cloak darkened with streaks of soot, fair, matted hair sticking out in long clumps from under his helmet. Our guard didn't wait for us to obey. I was kicked so hard I stumbled, would have fallen had not a hand grabbed the back of my nightshirt and dragged me to my feet again, pressing me forward. Aart did fall, flat to his face in the mud and was kicked four times before he could scramble up and move away. Once we were all lined up, the fair-haired warrior studied us for a moment before yelling more orders. Another warrior, hair plaited into four thick, black braids, his right arm red with blood up to the shoulder, came forward with rope and iron collars. We were tied together like pack horses, sacks thrust into our arms. The metal collar was cold and hard. It was not cleanly made, but rough-edged, the jagged metal bit into my skin and I shivered.

Half of this paragraph is written active and other half falls down to passivity. Think what you want to convey and rewrite those bits in different light, please.

They made us run, tripping over stones and slipping on wet grass and mud since we couldn't see the ground over the large sacks we carried. My arms and legs were soon aching, but I knew better than to drop my sack after watching what happened when Putnam dropped his. I was at the end of the line, dragged along by the others, Putnam in the lead and Aart in the centre. I don't know which of us was worse off.

Nice. Allow me to say this: it would be better for the readers to guess that it's the loot in those sacks than you writing in much of detail at before hand. When and if they find out what exactly are in those bags, you can use those details to create nice drama to convey anger and so on.

 

[Grimbear]

Re: Short Intro. Alternate reality fantasy setting Anglo-Saxon Britain and Viking Inv

Thank you all for your time and patience - I can see this needs a bit of work! I seriously appreciate all the help.

Thanks

I have a problem with active and passive voice. I find it hard to see what I'm doing - until someone points it out to me. This is obviously something I need to work on.

Gumboot - how do you know all that stuff? I'm impressed. See, I know nothing about it - except what I garnered from wiki and google to write this. I had the ides for this, but don't know why as historical stuff is not usually what I write.

Maybe will be visiting the library today! - do my homework properly.

Thanks again.

 

[crystal haven]

Re: Short Intro. Alternate reality fantasy setting Anglo-Saxon Britain and Viking Inv

I got quite involved in this. Packed with emotion it carried me through, and left me wondering about the characters afterwards.

The bit about the collar - I agree with Gumboot, that 'shivered' doesn't feel right.