Fantasy opening. 1st draft.

[anthorn]

This is the bulk of Chapter one, although I have missed out the beginning scene with Nish and the whore because of word length and not having problems with said section. Does it flow, or does it just feel like a gluing of scenes together. Whole chapter is 1'983 words in length. It's kind of an introduction chapter where we meet just one of the points of view. ​

#​

There were some days that Nish didn’t even feel alive and these were the days he viewed everyone with suspicion. He would look at them as he walked by and dissect each nuance of their expression for hours afterwards. He would look at them and think: Do they know something I don’t? Do they laugh at me when my back is turned? Nish wondered if they judged him not because he was a Guardian but because they assumed he believes in their mission. He is a Guardian, they think. He does not see that their days of glory are behind them now. He does not see that their power is waning. They were wrong. Nish saw all these things because they were his own thoughts and his own fears. They were the nightmares that kept him awake at night. The Guardians no longer held the power they had held during the days during and after the Great War. The Guardians no longer commanded the fear they once had-respect yes-but no longer fear.




And yet the world still needed them. It still needed them for those disputes that could not be dealt with by sword and armies alone. It needed them because unlike the golden warriors of Juppa or the warrior monks of Drakovia they stood outside the world of politics and religion. Only the Guardians could bring peace absolute. These were facts and to Nish they often seemed pointless when he saw the looks on people’s faces-when he heard their unspoken question: Does he know? Does he not see? Can he not understand?


Nish had been five when the Guardians came for him. The son of a blacksmith in a small village by the River Orin he had been no stranger to the Guardians, had seen them come through his village no more than a year earlier. His mother would spend those days when the night was long by the fire telling him tales of their past glories until Nish would relive those stories with the other kids using sticks for swords. To children the Guardians were Gods in the way things spoken about by their parents always seemed to be more somehow. Those children old enough to be taken were marched into the village square where the Guardians asked question after question though only one seemed to have any real significance. Why do you want to become a Guardian?

‘Because to be a Guardian is to be a hero,’ he answered. The Guardians simply smiled in response and then things were different. He was different. It had only been later when he’d earned his cloak and when the Commander had patted him on the shoulder saying ‘well done,’ that he realised the futility of his childhood fantasies. The Guardians were not Gods. They were not mythic beings who fought for the freedom of the underprivileged. They were just men whose time of greatness had passed centuries earlier.


I am a Guardian. I am a protector of the weak, he thought bitterly, turning back to look at the painted red door of Mya’s lodgings and was struck melancholy by childhood dreams. There was only one place he could go now.

#​

The Great Library of Caraksand stood on the edges of the Temple District, a simple building of red marble and pillars of granite cut with attention to the minute detail. Inside, piled carefully and high upon shelves reaching toward the domed roof were books and scrolls rumoured to contain the complete history of Onchara. There was really no way to tell if this rumour was true or not, no one had the time to check and Nish wasn’t going to try. He instead contented himself with reading one of the five books dedicated to the history of the Guardians. It was a thick volume and covered in a layer of dust so thick he knew no one had read it since it found its way here. A quick glance told him the others hadn’t either. You would never catch Emmett or Marapeth here. Maybe Anastasia but never those two. Tonight they were all busy joining in the last celebrations before everything returned to normality and wouldn’t be caught dead here.


“A good volume that,” said a voice from the shadows.


“Who’s there?” He looked up sharply and Nish could just about see the outline of a figure in the shadows.


“Forgive me,” the man said, stepping forward with his arms clasped behind his back. “My name is Alwyn Swift.”


“The Spymaster of Caraksand.” Nish now understood why he’d not heard him creep up close. The Spymaster was said to move through shadows as a cat hunted a mouse. He was a dangerous man and an uncertain friend to many.
“Is that what they called me,” Alwyn replied with a wry smile. “I’ve been called worse. As you know who I am then that saves me the time of having to explain why I know you are called Nisharin Trell. Why you are a Guardian. And that you grew up in an orphanage not far from here. Why are you so interested in history, Guardian?”


“I thought you knew everything.”


“I am sad to say that I cannot read minds,” Alwyn said. “It would make my job easier if I could though. Answer my question now, please.”


“Because I enjoy reading about it,” he answered. “And I believe that to understand our future we must understand what came before. If we understand what has come before then we won’t repeat our past mistakes.”


“And yet even when we do understand we still repeat those same mistakes, ah the curse of being human,” Alwyn chuckled. “No. You read history because you can see how things were and still believe they are the same to this day, am I right? No, do not answer this because you will disagree, I know you will because you are young and idealistic because you are young. Come stand beside me and look out this window. Come. Come.”


Unsure, Nish did as he was told, keeping a wary eye on this Spymaster.


“What do you see?”


Nish looked. They were on the third floor of the library and through the half circle window he could see one of the seven towers of Caraksand, the temple of the Father, and a couple of the older temples still used by minor cults to this day. “I see what you see.”


“Do you?”


Nish nodded. “What do you see?”


“I see contradiction.” Alwyn did not look at him but he could see a thin smile upon his lips. His eyes however, held a touch of wistfulness. “Our current King is one of the most fervent worshipers of the Father I have ever known, a man who follows His word to the T. His soldiers, the Clerics are the same. They do not brook harlots or sinners in any shape of form and yet even though prostitution is a sin and a crime they still let it carry on in small pockets across this city and in those very temples. Do you know why?” Nish shook his head. “Because even the most fanatical of fanatics know sooner or later that blind idealism gets you killed.”


“What’s this got to do with me?”


“The Guardian mantra, repeat it for me.”


He did so without thinking, reciting the words written in the citadels Great Hall. “A Guardian shall serve no King or Queen or Parliament. A Guardian will serve only the people of Onchara. A Guardian shall protect the weak and defenceless while keeping watch for the long night. A Guardian I shall be until the day I die.”


Turning back to him Alwyn’s face was expressionless save for the twitching of his lower lips. Slowly, he began stepping back into the shadows. “Sometimes the best Guardians are those who recognise their limitations, Nish. Do not forget that.”


Nish stared at where the Spymaster had stood seconds before.


Does he know? Does he not see? Can he not understand?

 

[Brian G Turner]

I have to admit I did generally like this. I think this is one of the better pieces you have posted for Critique over the years. There were little flourishes I thought showed a real competency and I found myself visualising Nish, and then the library.

On the critical front - Nish's conflict seems vague. There's obviously an idea of lost grandeur, but I didn't get a sense of personal conflict - of personal engagement with problems in the present.

A couple of minor editing points:

- to a T - too modern an expression IMO
- library - just the history? This must be an awfully long-lived empire. What about all the works of art - plays and novels, essays, etc, that will have been written?

Until you finish the first draft then none of these are an immediate issue, though.

Best of luck with it!

 

[Bowler1]

There were some days that Nish didn’t even feel alive and these were the days he viewed everyone with suspicion. He would look at them as he walked by and dissect each nuance of their expression for hours afterwards. He would look at them and think: Do they know something I don’t? Do they laugh at me when my back is turned? Nish wondered if they judged him not because he was a Guardian but because they assumed he believes in their mission. He is a Guardian, they think. He does not see that their days of glory are behind them now. He does not see that their power is waning. They were wrong. Nish saw all these things because they were his own thoughts and his own fears. They were the nightmares that kept him awake at night. The Guardians no longer held the power they had held during the days during and after the Great War. The Guardians no longer commanded the fear they once had-respect yes-but no longer fear. – In red is still needed but I felt 4 (I think) lines repeat a bit and you pushed it a little too much for me. Otherwise, a good opening.

And yet the world still needed them. It still needed them for those disputes that could not be dealt with by sword and armies alone. It needed them because unlike the golden warriors of Juppa or the warrior monks of Drakovia they stood outside the world of politics and religion. Only the Guardians could bring peace absolute. These were facts and to Nish they often seemed pointless when he saw the looks on people’s faces-when he heard their unspoken question: Does he know? Does he not see? Can he not understand?
Fine, not quite repeating but close.

Nish had been five when the Guardians came for him. The son of a blacksmith in a small village by the River Orin he had been no stranger to the Guardians, had seen them come through his village no more than a year earlier. His mother would spend those days when the night was long by the fire telling him tales of their past glories until Nish would relive those stories with the other kids using sticks for swords. To children the Guardians were Gods in the way things spoken about by their parents always seemed to be more somehow. Those children old enough to be taken were marched into the village square where the Guardians asked question after question though only one seemed to have any real significance. Why do you want to become a Guardian?

‘Because to be a Guardian is to be a hero,’ he answered. The Guardians simply smiled in response and then things were different. He was different. It had only been later when he’d earned his cloak and when the Commander had patted him on the shoulder saying ‘well done,’ that he realised the futility of his childhood fantasies. The Guardians were not Gods. They were not mythic beings who fought for the freedom of the underprivileged. They were just men whose time of greatness had passed centuries earlier.


I am a Guardian. I am a protector of the weak, he thought bitterly, turning back to look at the painted red door of Mya’s lodgings and was struck melancholy by childhood dreams. There was only one place he could go now.
I’d have had less back story at this point, leaving more for later. A little tighter too, but if I’m honest, if I read this opening in a book I’d have carried on beyond this point no worries. It was short enough to pass muster.

#​

The Great Library of Caraksand stood on the edges of the Temple District.A simple building of red marble and pillars of granite cut with attention to the minute detail. Inside, piled carefully and high upon shelves reaching toward the domed roof were books and scrolls rumoured to contain the complete history of Onchara. There was really no way to tell if this rumour was true or not, no one had the time to check and Nish wasn’t going to try. He instead contented himself with reading one of the five books dedicated to the history of the Guardians. It was a thick volume and covered in a layer of dust so thick he knew no one had read it since it found its way here. A quick glance told him the others hadn’t either. You would never catch Emmett or Marapeth here. Maybe Anastasia, but never those two. Tonight they were all busy joining in the last celebrations before everything returned to normality and wouldn’t be caught dead here.

“A good volume that,” said a voice from the shadows.

“Who’s there?” He looked up sharply and Nish could just about see the outline of a figure in the shadows.

“Forgive me,” the man said, stepping forward with his arms clasped behind his back. “My name is Alwyn Swift.”

“The Spymaster of Caraksand.” Nish now understood why he’d not heard him creep up close. The Spymaster was said to move through shadows as a cat hunted a mouse. He was a dangerous man and an uncertain friend to many.
“Is that what they called me,” Alwyn replied, with a wry smile. “I’ve been called worse. As you know who I am then that saves me the time of having to explain why I know you are called Nisharin Trell. Why you are a Guardian. And that you grew up in an orphanage not far from here. Why are you so interested in history, Guardian?”

“I thought you knew everything.”

“I am sad to say that I cannot read minds,” Alwyn said. “It would make my job easier if I could though. Answer my question now, please.”

“Because I enjoy reading about it,” he answered. “And I believe that to understand our future we must understand what came before. If we understand what has come before then we won’t repeat our past mistakes.”
I would have like more internal thoughts/worry from Nish as he just ran into a well know and possible dangerous person. Opportunities to develop character are being missed.

I removed the rest as it’s fine really. Very good writing. The odd comma issue but these are just nit-picks. I’d have liked more actions/thoughts etc. mixed in with the dialogue, to lift this writing another notch or two. Possibly more background, but for this section that was not really a problem. The plot point or the reasons why I should read on into your developing story are not clear. It lacks that gripping element, but was smooth and flowing enough that I kept on going. The first section while fine, has questionable plot value. As in, the information in this section could have been drip fed in as you went along while you took the reader straight to the storyline. Always question the value of any section you do, no matter how good. I’m currently cutting three sections off an opening ten sections (one of these sections was very good (or so I thought), but distracted from the overall plot, so it had to go) just to get my plot going faster at the start. Be super critical, you first and foremost, then your Beta’s and then with luck the general public.

This is good strong writing in my humble view. I would say have a little more confidence in your own developing skills and put a little more of you into the writing. Take it from that good to that special the agents want (I’m still working on that one myself, so I can’t answer any questions on the how you do this), something that is distinct to you. But still, this is good stuff. Good luck with it.

I’m picky and pushy in this review, but only because I think you can really up the quality of the writing yet again.

 

[tinkerdan]

Hi,
I don't believe I've had the pleasure of seeing your past work in respect to critiquing it so I'll start with just an impression of the first paragraph.
The thoughts in here a good but I wondered why I kept pulling myself away from it and digging myself out of the narrative. I think in part it's because there are many words that my mind tells me I don't need. But this is just my opinion and it might go counter to what other's have previously advise. So you may skip my attempt if you want. I hate to rewrite other peoples work so I'll try to maintain as much of it as I can.

There were some days that Nish didn’t even feel alive and these were the days he viewed everyone with suspicion. He would look at them as he walked by and dissect each nuance of their expression for hours afterwards. He would look at them and think: Do they know something I don’t? Do they laugh at me when my back is turned? Nish wondered if they judged him not because he was a Guardian but because they assumed he believes in their mission. He is a Guardian, they think. He does not see that their days of glory are behind them now. He does not see that their power is waning. They were wrong. Nish saw all these things because they were his own thoughts and his own fears. They were the nightmares that kept him awake at night. The Guardians no longer held the power they had held during the days during and after the Great War. The Guardians no longer commanded the fear they once had-respect yes-but no longer fear.

There were days Nish didn't feel alive and days he viewed everyone with suspicion. He would observe them as he walked and dissect each nuance of expression for hours afterwards. He would look at them and wonder. Do they know something and do they laugh at me? Do they judged me as a Guardian or because they assumed I believe in their mission. Do they think. He doesn't see the days of their glory are behind them and their power is waning. If so they're wrong. After the Great War, the Guardians no longer commanded all they once had: respect yes-fear no.

There is a lot of fat in the narrative and redundancy in what looks like a summation at the bottom. It might be because someone asked for more detail because they thought they wanted to know everything all at once. Overreaction to that usually ends up to TMI. Things the reader doesn't need to be told that they can fill in as they go even at the risk they might have it slightly wrong at the beginning.

You know the story and could do this better than I have or if you really feel all those words are needed you can ignore me.

 

[anthorn]

Thanks for the comments, guys. I took into consideration what you said and added some dialogue and inner monologue. Not sure about the added dialogue.









The Great Library of Caraksand stood on the edges of the Temple District, a simple building of red marble and pillars of granite cut with attention to the minute detail. Inside, piled carefully and high upon shelves reaching toward the domed roof were books and scrolls rumoured to contain the complete history of Onchara. There was really no way to tell if this rumour was true or not, no one had the time to check and Nish wasn’t going to try. He instead contented himself with reading one of the five books dedicated to the history of the Guardians. It was a thick volume and covered in a layer of dust so thick he knew no one had read it since it found its way here. A quick glance told him the others hadn’t either. You would never catch Emmett or Marapeth here. Maybe Anastasia, but never those two. Tonight they were all busy joining in the last celebrations before everything returned to normality and wouldn’t be caught dead here.


“A good volume that,” said a voice from the shadows. “Though I much prefer operas to books because they’re easier eyes you know.”


“Who’s there?” He looked up sharply and Nish could just about see the outline of a figure in the shadows.


“Forgive me,” the man said, stepping forward with his arms clasped behind his back. “My name is Alwyn Swift.”


“The Spymaster of Caraksand.” Nish now understood why he’d not heard him creep up close. The Spymaster was said to move through shadows as a cat hunted a mouse. He was a dangerous man and an uncertain friend to many. Nish found himself viewing the man with the same scrutiny he viewed those on the streets.


“Is that what they call me?” Alwyn replied with a wry smile. “I’ve been called worse. As you know who I am then that saves me the time of having to explain why I know you are called Nisharin Trell. Why you are a Guardian. And that you grew up in a little village not far from here. Why are you so interested in history, Guardian?”


“I thought you knew everything.”


“I am sad to say that I cannot read minds,” Alwyn said. “It would make my job easier if I could though. Answer my question now, please.”


“Because I enjoy reading about it,” he answered. There was a game being played here, he knew. The Spymaster did not reveal himself to random people unless there was purpose. Have I done something wrong? “And I believe that to understand our future we must understand what came before. If we understand what has come before then we won’t repeat our past mistakes.”


“And yet even when we do understand we still repeat those same mistakes, ah the curse of being human,” Alwyn chuckled. “No. You read history because you can see how things were and still believe they are the same to this day, am I right? No, do not answer this because you will disagree, I know you will because you are young and idealistic because you are young. Come stand beside me and look out this window. Come. Come.”


Unsure, Nish did as he was told, keeping a wary eye on this Spymaster. Do they know my doubts? He had no weapons to hand-no hidden blade tucked in his boot. If this man wanted to arrest me he could have done so already. He could run, but how far would he get?


“What do you see?”


Nish looked. They were on the third floor of the library and through the half circle window he could see one of the seven towers of Caraksand, the temple of the Father, and a couple of the older temples still used by minor cults to this day. “I see what you see.”


“Do you?”


Nish nodded. “What do you see?”


“I see contradiction.” Alwyn did not look at him but he could see a thin smile upon his lips. His eyes however, held a touch of wistfulness. “Our current King is one of the most fervent worshipers of the Father I have ever known, a man who follows His word to the scripture. His soldiers-the Clerics-are the same. They do not brook harlots or sinners in any shape of form and yet even though prostitution is a sin and a crime they still let it carry on in small pockets across this city and in those very temples. Do you know why?” Nish shook his head. “Because even the most fanatical of fanatics know sooner or later that blind idealism gets you killed.”


“What’s this got to do with me?”


“Because war attracts fanatics just like religion.”


“War is different.”


The Spymaster shook his head in a manner that reminded Nish of a teacher disappointed with the misunderstanding of his lesson. “No Nish. War is no different to religion. Religion demands belief and if that belief errs from what has been decided your beliefs should be then the only way to make you believe is through violence. With war Kings and Queens see a land they do not own, perhaps people whose culture deviates from theirs, and they believe that this different land should be theirs. They believe that this other land would be much better served with them ruling.”


“But that’s not true, is it? Wars aren’t fought because the King decides he can rule a country better than his neighbour. They’re fought because they covert the lands,” Nish said.


Alwyn grinned, raised a finger. “And religion coverts belief, lad. It is undeniable truth that religion bases its validity on how many people believe. They don’t care if it’s a forced belief so long as they can claim superiority over the religion that was there before. Do you see my point?”


“Eh? I think so.”


“We’ll soon see I suppose. Are you afraid of war Nish?”


“No.” He lied.


“What will you do if war with Drakovia is finally declared? Sooner or later the Guardians will have to step in and sort the issue out. We cannot keep accepting refugees into our lands forever.”


Nish swallowed hard, looked over his shoulder in case someone was waiting to seize him and disguising the motion by pretending to wipe dust from his shoulder. “I’ll do my duty,” he said.


Alwyn nodded. “The Guardian mantra, repeat it for me.”


He did so without thinking, reciting the words written in the citadels Great Hall. “A Guardian shall serve no King or Queen or Parliament. A Guardian will serve only the people of Onchara. A Guardian shall protect the weak and defenceless while keeping watch for the long night. A Guardian I shall be until the day I die.”


Turning back to him Alwyn’s face was expressionless save for the twitching of his lower lips. Slowly, he began stepping back into the shadows. “Sometimes the best Guardians are those who recognise their limitations, Nish. Do not forget that.”


Nish stared at where the Spymaster had stood seconds before, wondering if there had been some hesitation in his answer he had not picked up on. Had the Spymaster somehow sensed his apprehension?


Does he know? Does he not see? Can he not understand?

 

[Bowler1]

It's better, you know it is. So Nish is off to war. Much clearer this time, but where is your suspense and tension?


I can poke a stick at anything, so don't let it bug you too much. You have the writing, you now have a more immediate start which is always a good idea, now it's time to focus on getting a good opening hook. There are a million threads on opening hooks forming their own gravity well to suck you in somewhere on Chrons, and what makes a hook is different for everyone. Your opening is your statement of intent, so get the first punch in and keep kicking the reader when their down after that, don't let up.


We're a hard bunch to please.
Alright... just me then.

 

[anthorn]

Thanks Bowler. The tension and suspense is introduced in the next chapter with the rumours about the country being united by the first Sorceress in 500 years. Story is set in a world where there hasn't been magic in centuries allowing technology to progress to a steampunky era.


And thanks I, Brian and tinkerdan

 

[Mischov]

You're writing an interesting story and I look forward to seeing where it goes, but I can't help noticing that your opening finds the hero in a frank and open discussion with a spymaster.

... A frank and open discussion with a spymaster....

Any alarm bells going off?

The language of most spymasters is going to be full of subtext, half-truth, and misdirection - but here we find Nish grunting out one-liners and the spymaster waxing eloquent.

Maybe there's a reason for this we haven't yet learned: maybe Swift is unswerving honest and it's only through his great motivation to ... that he managed to climb into his role as spymaster even as he ignored nearly all of the tools of the trade. Maybe Nish is his son. Maybe Swift had a really lousy day and has been tying them on for the past five hours and his better judgement took off a while back. Who knows.

What's important is that if you introduce a loquacious and honest spymaster, your readers are going to have questions and you better be providing answers right then.