Bastian Baird and the Brigand's Banjo.

[VKALFIERI]

Welcome ladies and gents to my latest offering to the Gods of Writing: Bastian Baird and the Brigand's Banjo.

Here's a brief synopsis: A magical bard, working for an agency that controls the proliferation of magical objects into the ordinary world, is on the hunt for one of a set of seven magical artifacts, collectively known as the Celestial Seven. Four of them have been discovered. The (bad guys) League has two. The (good guys) Magency has the other two. Three are still out there, in the world. Whoever finds the remaining objects could hold the fate of the world in their hands; they have the power to create great good, or the potential for heinous evil.

Clones, gnomes, doubling gypsies, giants and bandits co-star.

I've edited this chapter once or twice, and would like some feedback on the style, flow, and whether or not you feel if something works. If you find a glaring grammar error, then please also point those out; but they should be (mostly) already dealt with.

Ready to dive in?
Here it is:

Bastian Baird and The Brigand's Banjo:

1.

The late morning breeze brought the kinds of smells that don’t immediately help with concentration. For example, a waft of dog poop, mingled with exhaust fumes, is not quite as easy to block out as say, the sweet scent of freshly mown grass, or the fragrant smell of roses. Nevertheless, Agent Baird sat in quiet meditation, trying to filter out the smells and noise of the city park around him. The vibrations of his silenced cell phone in his pants pocket momentarily broke his concentration. He ignored it; he needed to focus if he was going to locate the Banjo.

The vibrations ceased and he tried again. He slowed his breathing and focused his mind, feeling the magic surround him. It was like a thin tendril that wrapped around his midsection, waiting for him to act. It wasn’t a choking tendril of magic, it was simply a tendril that he’d chosen to call forth and it had chosen to wrap itself around him; all he had to do was push back against the tendril and send it out into the world.

The phone in his pocket vibrated once more and his concentration was broken once more; and the tendril disappeared, off to help someone who wasn’t constantly getting interrupted. Bastian unfurled his legs from the lotus position, stood up, and grabbed his phone from his pocket to see who it was. It was Desmond. He knew not to call this early into a mission; so Bastain could only assume he had some vital information.

“Desmond? I hope you’re not just calling to see how I am?”

“Agent Baird, I’m glad I caught you, I need you to return to base ASAP! We have some new information that you’re going to want to hear in person.”

“Anything to do with the chatter I read about earlier?”

“No, well, not directly,” Desmond replied, stalling.

“It’s a yes or no question, Des, either you have something for me about this morning’s chatter or you don’t, which is it?”

“Well, we have a person in custody related to the chatter from this morning, and he has some information for you, but the information is not to do with the chatter, this is about the mission.”

“He has info on the artefact?”

“He does, and he says he’ll only tell you and only if you agree to meet him here and show him some of your bardic power. He says he’s never met anyone like you, and would like to see how you tick.”

“How I…? Oh nevermind! I’ll be there shortly, gimme a few minutes to gather myself,” Baird answered, hitting the end call button.

How I tick, that’s rich, that is. Who does this guy think he’s dealing with? Some street performer doing cheap parlour tricks? Well I’ve got news for him, Bastian thought, placing the phone back inside his pants and brushing off some of the grass and leaves that had stuck there while he’d tried to meditate. At this rate, the Banjo would never be found.

After a quick check around to see that he was alone in the park Bastian grabbed out his doorframe (a pocket-size portable portal) from his other pocket and after unfolding it to its full size and activating it, causing the air to tingle as the portal stabilized, agent Baird stepped through to the other side of the doorframe.

It lead to the foyer of HQ; sitting behind a sturdy looking grey marble reception desk was Wendy Wilkins-One. She looked so much like the original Wilkins that whenever Bastian saw her, he had to remind himself that she was a clone.

“Morning One!” Bastian said, as he passed by her desk. “Good day for a stroll in the park if that’s your thing…”

“Morning Agent!” She replied, amicably. “Desmond is waiting for you in Room 5.”

Bastian thanked Wendy Wilkins-One, and made his way down the corridor to the left of her desk and found his boss, Desmond Dyson, leaning on one side of a small interrogation table in front of him, staring coldly at his informant.

His informant, a middle-aged man, in a 3-quarter length khaki trench coat, brown trousers, and black shoes, stared back, blankly; the black shoe closest to the outside leg of the table beat a steady rhythm on the floor.

“Morning Des, who’s this then, I assume it’s the man wanting to see ‘how I tick’?” Bastian asked, joining Desmond at his side of the table.

“Bas, this is Frank Germaine. Says he has info on the Banjo for you and only you,” Des said, gesturing toward his witness.

Bastian took another look at Germaine; he seemed harmless enough, and had no discernible tattoos or markings that would link him to the League.

“Well? What’s this info you have for us? I do hope you haven’t wasted our time just to see ‘how I tick’…”

“Quite the contrary Agent Baird, you see, I know exactly what you’re looking for, and I know where to find it. However, if you’d like that information, I’m going to need to see some magic. Show me what you can do and I’ll tell you what I know,” Germaine replied, smugly folding his arms in front of himself on the table.

Bastian smiled. This guy just doesn’t get it, he thought. Bastian decided to show him some magic that will have him talking in no time. One of the perks of being a bard with Magency training is that Bastian knew a how to get people talking, simply by changing the tone of his voice and keeping eye contact.

Leaning forward so he could keep Germaine’s gaze Bastian lowered his voice and spoke softly, ensuring he kept his voice level and crisp.

“You know, Mr. Germaine, I have a different idea, why don’t you tell me what I want to know and at the end if you’re feeling up to it, I’ll show you some of what I can do, ‘how I tick’ if you will.”

It didn’t work. Germaine simply laughed, and then began chanting a series of curses under his breath. Billows of black smoke rose from his fingertips, and the smell of rotting flesh filled the room.

“What is he….?” Desmond started to ask.

Bastian caught the final verse of Germaine’s quiet curse chant and ducked into a roll for the door. He ran from the room as an army of undead ghouls and zombies spilled out into the corridor.

As he ran he yelled down the corridor to Wendy Wilkins-One, “One! Put us in lock down and grab a doorframe tuned to backup HQ, we’re under attack!”

Just as Wendy Wilkins-One grabbed the doorframe, the tide of undead spilled out into the foyer, Frank Germaine at their rear, herding them like cattle.

“Now, Wendy!”

Bastian grabbed his pan flute from its clip on his belt and cast a quick protection spell melody, which would create a barrier of sorts to stem the tide of undead until they were clear of Head Office. A barely visible barrier shimmered forth from the pipes of the pan flute and white smoke wisped out as the spell took hold.

Wendy activated the doorframe, and they stepped through to the safety of backup HQ.

At a desk identical to the one at Head Office sat Wendy Wilkins-Two.

“Morning Agent Baird!” Two said, hurriedly. “I can see you’ve had a raiser problem. I’ve sent a clean-up crew to head office ahead of your arrival; the Council would like a word.” She finished, with a concerned look.

 

[tinkerdan]

I like this; however it needs some tightening at the beginning if you want to begin here. Sometimes where we start is not always the place the story starts; although I can see a bit of what you might be trying to do here I’m just not sure world building and magic building are always the best..

1.

The late morning breeze brought the kinds of smells that don’t immediately help with concentration. For example, a waft of dog poop, mingled with exhaust fumes, is not quite as easy to block out as say, the sweet scent of freshly mown grass, or the fragrant smell of roses. Nevertheless, Agent Baird sat in quiet meditation, trying to filter out the smells and noise of the city park around him. The vibrations of his silenced cell phone in his pants pocket momentarily broke his concentration. He ignored it; he needed to focus if he was going to locate the Banjo.

The vibrations ceased and he tried again. He slowed his breathing and focused his mind, feeling the magic surround him. It was like a thin tendril that wrapped around his midsection, waiting for him to act. It wasn’t a choking tendril of magic, it was simply a tendril that he’d chosen to call forth and it had chosen to wrap itself around him; all he had to do was push back against the tendril and send it out into the world.

The phone in his pocket vibrated once more and his concentration was broken once more; and the tendril disappeared, off to help someone who wasn’t constantly getting interrupted. Bastian unfurled his legs from the lotus position, stood up, and grabbed his phone from his pocket to see who it was. It was Desmond. He knew not to call this early into a mission; so Bastain could only assume he had some vital information. .

In this first part above there seems to be a lot to get us nowhere and I know it is in part to set the scene and try to introduce a bit of world building, but it’s not much of a hook. You don’t need to have a lot of action but you need to find a way to get the reader involved. One thing you might do is to try to tack most of this into a quick paragraph. Also in the first paragraph you have a few smells but you mention sounds and smells as distractions yet there are no sound distractions: the phone is vibrating. Also I’d give the full name of the character at the start so when you switch to just Bastian it makes immediate sense who Bastian is.

Just as a quick example here’s what I’d do; keeping in mind that I like long sentences and not everyone is happy with those at the beginning of a story, unfortunately they are better when used in world building and some exposition.

Ignoring the vibrations of a silenced cell phone, agent Bastian Baird sat in quiet meditation trying to filter smells and noises of the city park, a waft of dog poop, a sweetness of freshly mown grass, a pungency of exhaust fumes, a fragrance of roses, a din of voices barely discernable, a whisper of wind through leaves, all conspiring against his attempts to locate the Banjo. The vibration ceased. Slowing his breath, feeling the magic, a thin waif strand around his midsection, tentative as though waiting, he called forth a simple tendril, pushing it lightly, sending it out into the world. The phone vibrated; everything collapsed. It was as though the curse under his breath, between his lips and tongue, devoured the magic and purpose he had so lovingly brought forth, carefully nurtured and urgently sent upon its mission: now gone to assist someone with better focus.

He thought, this better be important, as he grasped his phone to see that it was Desmond, who should know better than to interfere this early in a mission; so maybe it was. He lifted up from his meditative lotus pose before answering, knowing that clearly his focus was a lost cause.

This next is a lot of dialogue, which works for me here in that it is easy to see who is speaking with few dialogue tags. I would still like to see and feel a few things from what you could show us about the characters. This whole piece doesn’t show us much about Bastian and that is something that I think it should do.

“Desmond? I hope you’re not just calling to see how I am?”

“Agent Baird, I’m glad I caught you, I need you to return to base ASAP! We have some new information that you’re going to want to hear in person.”

“Anything to do with the chatter I read about earlier?”

“No, well, not directly,” Desmond replied, stalling.

“It’s a yes or no question, Des, either you have something for me about this morning’s chatter or you don’t, which is it?”

“Well, we have a person in custody related to the chatter from this morning, and he has some information for you, but the information is not to do with the chatter, this is about the mission.”

“He has info on the artefact?”

“He does, and he says he’ll only tell you and only if you agree to meet him here and show him some of your bardic power. He says he’s never met anyone like you, and would like to see how you tick.”

“How I…? Oh nevermind! I’ll be there shortly, gimme a few minutes to gather myself,” Baird answered, hitting the end call button.

How I tick, that’s rich, that is. Who does this guy think he’s dealing with? Some street performer doing cheap parlour tricks? Well I’ve got news for him, Bastian thought, placing the phone back inside his pants and brushing off some of the grass and leaves that had stuck there while he’d tried to meditate. At this rate, the Banjo would never be found.

Finding the Banjo might be considered the main plot point at this point and his difficulty in concentrating to do that may be the conflict.

In the next part you introduce the portal, which seems important. There seems to be a hole in this though because there is little if any explanation of what happens to that portal after he walks through. Is it still there, is it always there till he retrieves it: or what?

After a quick check around to see that he was alone in the park Bastian grabbed out his doorframe (a pocket-size portable portal) from his other pocket and after unfolding it to its full size and activating it, causing the air to tingle as the portal stabilized, agent Baird stepped through to the other side of the doorframe.

It lead to the foyer of HQ; sitting behind a sturdy looking grey marble reception desk was Wendy Wilkins-One. She looked so much like the original Wilkins that whenever Bastian saw her, he had to remind himself that she was a clone.

“Morning One!” Bastian said, as he passed by her desk. “Good day for a stroll in the park if that’s your thing…”

“Morning Agent!” She replied, amicably. “Desmond is waiting for you in Room 5.”

Bastian thanked Wendy Wilkins-One, and made his way down the corridor to the left of her desk and found his boss, Desmond Dyson, leaning on one side of a small interrogation table in front of him, staring coldly at his informant.

A couple things here: one is the fact of Wendy Wilkins being a clone. There might be a better way of making that obvious without just telling us. And it might just work to call her One as you have and mention how remarkable it is that she looks like the original, but if you do say that, then you might want to have him also say ‘as would be expected’.

The next thing is Bastian Baird, Wendy Wilkins, Desmond Dyson; we’re traveling down the road to weirdness’s coincidence that all the MC associates have the same name affliction.

His informant, a middle-aged man, in a 3-quarter length khaki trench coat, brown trousers, and black shoes, stared back, blankly; the black shoe closest to the outside leg of the table beat a steady rhythm on the floor.

“Morning Des, who’s this then, I assume it’s the man wanting to see ‘how I tick’?” Bastian asked, joining Desmond at his side of the table.

“Bas, this is Frank Germaine. Says he has info on the Banjo for you and only you,” Des said, gesturing toward his witness.

Bastian took another look at Germaine; he seemed harmless enough, and had no discernible tattoos or markings that would link him to the League.

“Well? What’s this info you have for us? I do hope you haven’t wasted our time just to see ‘how I tick’…”

“Quite the contrary Agent Baird, you see, I know exactly what you’re looking for, and I know where to find it. However, if you’d like that information, I’m going to need to see some magic. Show me what you can do and I’ll tell you what I know,” Germaine replied, smugly folding his arms in front of himself on the table.

Bastian smiled. This guy just doesn’t get it, he thought. Bastian decided to show him some magic that will have him talking in no time. One of the perks of being a bard with Magency training is that Bastian knew a how to get people talking, simply by changing the tone of his voice and keeping eye contact.

Leaning forward so he could keep Germaine’s gaze Bastian lowered his voice and spoke softly, ensuring he kept his voice level and crisp.

“You know, Mr. Germaine, I have a different idea, why don’t you tell me what I want to know and at the end if you’re feeling up to it, I’ll show you some of what I can do, ‘how I tick’ if you will.”

It didn’t work. Germaine simply laughed, and then began chanting a series of curses under his breath. Billows of black smoke rose from his fingertips, and the smell of rotting flesh filled the room.

“What is he….?” Desmond started to ask.

Bastian caught the final verse of Germaine’s quiet curse chant and ducked into a roll for the door. He ran from the room as an army of undead ghouls and zombies spilled out into the corridor.

As he ran he yelled down the corridor to Wendy Wilkins-One, “One! Put us in lock down and grab a doorframe tuned to backup HQ, we’re under attack!”

Just as Wendy Wilkins-One grabbed the doorframe, the tide of undead spilled out into the foyer, Frank Germaine at their rear, herding them like cattle.

“Now, Wendy!”

Bastian grabbed his pan flute from its clip on his belt and cast a quick protection spell melody, which would create a barrier of sorts to stem the tide of undead until they were clear of Head Office. A barely visible barrier shimmered forth from the pipes of the pan flute and white smoke wisped out as the spell took hold.

Wendy activated the doorframe, and they stepped through to the safety of backup HQ.

At a desk identical to the one at Head Office sat Wendy Wilkins-Two.

“Morning Agent Baird!” Two said, hurriedly. “I can see you’ve had a raiser problem. I’ve sent a clean-up crew to head office ahead of your arrival; the Council would like a word.” She finished, with a concerned look.

Kind of a blasé letdown at the end and Desmond seems to be a throwaway here, I’m not impressed that our hero seems to have forgotten about him: at least he doesn’t have his welfare present in his mind. There might be a good reason for this, but right now it taints the MC’s character a bit in my mind. This might just be me. The Wendy Wilkins’s seem unaffected and business as usual and that might be how they are.

Over all with the thin start at the top there might need to be more tension and more character involvement in the action part to keep me reading.

It’s an OK beginning but definitely needs a bit more work.

 

[VKALFIERI]

In this first part above there seems to be a lot to get us nowhere and I know it is in part to set the scene and try to introduce a bit of world building, but it’s not much of a hook. You don’t need to have a lot of action but you need to find a way to get the reader involved. One thing you might do is to try to tack most of this into a quick paragraph. Also in the first paragraph you have a few smells but you mention sounds and smells as distractions yet there are no sound distractions: the phone is vibrating. Also I’d give the full name of the character at the start so when you switch to just Bastian it makes immediate sense who Bastian is.

Just as a quick example here’s what I’d do; keeping in mind that I like long sentences and not everyone is happy with those at the beginning of a story, unfortunately they are better when used in world building and some exposition.

Ignoring the vibrations of a silenced cell phone, agent Bastian Baird sat in quiet meditation trying to filter smells and noises of the city park, a waft of dog poop, a sweetness of freshly mown grass, a pungency of exhaust fumes, a fragrance of roses, a din of voices barely discernable, a whisper of wind through leaves, all conspiring against his attempts to locate the Banjo. The vibration ceased. Slowing his breath, feeling the magic, a thin waif strand around his midsection, tentative as though waiting, he called forth a simple tendril, pushing it lightly, sending it out into the world. The phone vibrated; everything collapsed. It was as though the curse under his breath, between his lips and tongue, devoured the magic and purpose he had so lovingly brought forth, carefully nurtured and urgently sent upon its mission: now gone to assist someone with better focus.

He thought, this better be important, as he grasped his phone to see that it was Desmond, who should know better than to interfere this early in a mission; so maybe it was. He lifted up from his meditative lotus pose before answering, knowing that clearly his focus was a lost cause.

This next is a lot of dialogue, which works for me here in that it is easy to see who is speaking with few dialogue tags. I would still like to see and feel a few things from what you could show us about the characters. This whole piece doesn’t show us much about Bastian and that is something that I think it should do.

Finding the Banjo might be considered the main plot point at this point and his difficulty in concentrating to do that may be the conflict.

The next thing is Bastian Baird, Wendy Wilkins, Desmond Dyson; we’re traveling down the road to weirdness’s coincidence that all the MC associates have the same name affliction.

Over all with the thin start at the top there might need to be more tension and more character involvement in the action part to keep me reading.

It’s an OK beginning but definitely needs a bit more work.

Thanks for the insights.

I'm still very much in the process of writing this; so there's room for improvement.

I must confess to loving alliteration, hence the name choices.

As for Desmond, it's a situation where Bastian doesn't particularly have time to make sure his boss is okay before running off. This will be dealt with later.

I like your idea for the beginning; but I also don't want it as one long sentence.

I'll definitely take your advice on board and look at tightening my chapter.

Thanks again,
VK.

 

[Droflet]

Okay, VK, (that my nick name for you) I'll get the caveat out of the way. This is your book and your choice to accept or reject my suggestions. The comment are meant to be positive and supportive.

So, firstly, your style and grammar aren't bad at all. That's a good start. So on with the show:

Anything marked in red I believe should be cut. Other suggestion will be in red.

The late morning breeze brought the kinds of smells that don’t immediately help with concentration. For example, a waft of dog poop, mingled with exhaust fumes, is not quite as easy to block out as say, the sweet scent of freshly mown grass, or the fragrant smell of roses. Nevertheless, Agent Baird sat in quiet meditation, trying to filter out the smells and noise of the city park around him. The vibrations of his silenced cell phone in his pants pocket momentarily broke his concentration. He ignored it; he needed to focus if he was going to locate the Banjo. Perhaps: His cell phone vibrated within this pants, breaking his concentration. Ignoring it, he focused on locating the Banjo.

The vibrations ceased and he tried again. Perhaps: When the vibration ceased he He slowed his breathing and focused his mind, feeling the magic surround him. It was like a thin tendril that wrapped around his midsection, waiting for him to act. It wasn’t a choking tendril of magic, it was simply a tendril that he’d chosen to call forth and it had chosen to wrap itself around him; all he had to do was push back against the tendril and send it out into the world.

The phone in his pocket vibrated once more and his concentration was broken again. once more; and the tendril disappeared, off to help someone who wasn’t constantly getting interrupted. Bastian unfurled his legs from the lotus position, stood up, and grabbed his phone from his pocket to see who it was. It was Desmond. He knew not to call this early into a mission, so Bastain could only assumed he had some vital information.

“Desmond? I hope you’re not just calling to see how I am?”

“Agent Baird, I’m glad I caught you, I need you to return to base ASAP! We have some new information that you’re going to want to hear in person.”

“Anything to do with the chatter I read about earlier?”

“No, well, not directly,” Desmond replied, stalling.

“It’s a yes or no question, Des, either you have something for me about this morning’s chatter or you don’t, which is it?”

“Well, we have a person in custody related to the chatter from this morning, and he has some information for you, but the information is not to do with the chatter, this is about the mission.”

“He has info on the artefact?”

“He does, and he says he’ll only tell you and only if you agree to meet him here and show him some of your bardic power. He says he’s never met anyone like you, and would like to see how you tick.”

“How I…? Oh nevermind! I’ll be there shortly, gimme a few minutes to gather myself,” Baird answered, hitting the end call button.

How I tick, that’s rich, that is. Who does this guy think he’s dealing with? Some street performer doing cheap parlour tricks? Well I’ve got news for him, Bastian thought, placing the phone back inside his pants and brushing off some of the grass and leaves that had stuck there while he’d tried to meditate. At this rate, the Banjo would never be found.

After a quick check around to see that he was alone in the park Bastian grabbed out his doorframe (a pocket-size portable portal) from his other pocket and after unfolding it to its full size and activating it, causing the air to tingle as the portal stabilized, agent Baird stepped through to the other side of the doorframe.

It lead to the foyer of HQ; sitting behind a sturdy looking grey marble reception desk was Wendy Wilkins-One. She looked so much like the original Wilkins that whenever Bastian saw her, he had to remind himself that she was a clone.

“Morning One!” Bastian said, as he passed by her desk. “Good day for a stroll in the park if that’s your thing…”

“Morning Agent!” She replied, amicably. “Desmond is waiting for you in Room 5.”

Bastian thanked Wendy Wilkins-One, and made his way down the corridor to the left of her desk and found his boss, Desmond Dyson, leaning on one side of a small interrogation table in front of him, staring coldly at his informant.

His informant, a middle-aged man, in a 3-quarter length khaki trench coat, brown trousers, and black shoes, stared back, blankly; the black shoe closest to the outside leg of the table beat a steady rhythm on the floor.

“Morning Des, who’s this then. I assume it’s the man wanting to see ‘how I tick’?” Bastian asked, joining Desmond at his side of the table.

“Bas, this is Frank Germaine. Says he has info on the Banjo for you and only you,” Des said, gesturing toward his witness.

Bastian took another look at Germaine; he seemed harmless enough, and had no discernible tattoos or markings that would link him to the League.

“Well? What’s this info you have for us? I do hope you haven’t wasted our time just to see ‘how I tick’…”

“Quite the contrary Agent Baird, you see, I know exactly what you’re looking for, and I know where to find it. However, if you’d like that information, I’m going to need to see some magic. Show me what you can do and I’ll tell you what I know,” Germaine replied, smugly folding his arms in front of himself on the table. Ah, you might want to think about that last sentence.

Bastian smiled. This guy just doesn’t get it, he thought. Bastian decided to show him some magic that will have him talking in no time. One of the perks of being a bard with Magency training is that Bastian knew a how to get people talking, simply by changing the tone of his voice and keeping eye contact.

Leaning forward so he could keep Germaine’s gaze, Bastian lowered his voice and spoke softly, ensuring he kept his voice level and crisp.

“You know, Mr. Germaine, I have a different idea, why don’t you tell me what I want to know and at the end if you’re feeling up to it, I’ll show you some of what I can do, ‘how I tick’ if you will.”

It didn’t work. Germaine simply laughed, and then began chanting a series of curses under his breath. Billows of black smoke rose from his fingertips, and the smell of rotting flesh filled the room.

“What is he….?” Desmond started to ask.

Bastian caught the final verse of Germaine’s quiet curse chant and ducked into a roll for the door. He ran from the room as an army of undead ghouls and zombies spilled out into the corridor.

As he ran he yelled down the corridor to Wendy. Wilkins-One, “One! Put us in lock down and grab a doorframe tuned to backup HQ, we’re under attack!”

Just as Wendy Wilkins-One grabbed the doorframe, the tide of undead spilled out into the foyer, Frank Germaine at their rear, herding them like cattle.

“Now, Wendy!”

Bastian grabbed his pan flute from its clip on his belt and cast a quick protection spell melody, which would create a barrier of sorts to stem the tide of undead until they were clear of Head Office. A barely visible barrier shimmered forth from the pipes of the pan flute and white smoke wisped out as the spell took hold.

Wendy activated the doorframe, and they stepped through to the safety of backup HQ.

At a desk identical to the one at Head Office sat Wendy Wilkins-Two.

“Morning Agent Baird!” Two said, hurriedly. “I can see you’ve had a raiser problem. I’ve sent a clean-up crew to head office ahead of your arrival; the Council would like a word.” She finished, with a concerned look.

Okay VK, that's not a bad yarn. As Tinkerdan said, there's not a lot wrong. But a few grammar error you fix in rewrites. But as Tink said, it could use a bit of tightening. Story wise, it's pretty good and I would read on. Good luck with the edits.

 

[VKALFIERI]

Okay VK, that's not a bad yarn. As Tinkerdan said, there's not a lot wrong. But a few grammar error you fix in rewrites. But as Tink said, it could use a bit of tightening. Story wise, it's pretty good and I would read on. Good luck with the edits.

Your edits are pretty helpful to be honest. Thanks for reading.

The late morning breeze brought the kinds of smells that don’t immediately help with concentration. For example, a waft of dog poop, mingled with exhaust fumes, is not quite as easy to block out as say, the sweet scent of freshly mown grass, or the fragrant smell of roses. Nevertheless,

You know what? Before I posted this up for a crit, the story did not have this part in it. It started where you suggest.

Again, thanks for reading and for the crit, if you have something you'd like me to read feel free to share.

Cheers,

VK.

 

[Droflet]

Just remember, it's not a race, it's a marathon.

 

[Shyrka]

Before I list my own thoughts on what you've got so far I should say I enjoyed it. It has personality and, to quote Pulp Fiction, personality goes a long way. I think a lot will depend on the genre and age group you're aiming for. The proliferation of alliterated names, for example, would be perfectly acceptable to a younger audience but, I'd imagine, will be a harder sell for adults.

Anyway, without further ado I shall adopt @Droflet's scheme of highlighting things in red that I think you could stand to lose. In addition, orange bits are things I've re-worked to match what I would do (for whatever that's worth) and blue bits are my own notes and observations.

The late morning breeze brought the kinds of smells that don’t immediately help with concentration. For example, a waft of dog poop, mingled with exhaust fumes, is not quite as easy to block out as say, the sweet scent of freshly mown grass, or the fragrant smell of roses. Nevertheless, Agent Baird sat in quiet meditation, trying to filter out the smells and noise This sounds awkward. Perhaps 'scents and noise' or something more general, like 'bustle' or 'hubbub' of the city park around him. The vibrations of his silenced cell phone in his pants pocket momentarily broke his concentration. He ignored it; he needed to focus if he was going to locate the Banjo.

The vibrations ceased and he tried again. He slowed his breathing and focused his mind, feeling the magic surround him: a thin tendril that wrapped around his midsection, waiting for him to act. It wasn’t a choking tendril of magic, it was simply a tendril that he’d chosen to call forth and it had chosen to wrap itself around him; all he had to do was push back against the tendril and send it out into the world. I wasn't sure whether the tendril was a real, corporeal thing or not when reading this. It could be ethereal or fleshy but it's not clear.

The phone in his pocket vibrated once more and his concentration was broken once more Two 'once more's here; and the tendril disappeared, off to help someone who wasn’t constantly getting interrupted. Bastian unfurled his legs from the lotus position, stood up, and grabbed his phone from his pocket to see who it was. It was Desmond. He knew not to call this early into a mission. Bastian could only assume he had some vital information.

“Desmond? I hope you’re not just calling to see how I am?”

“Agent Baird, I’m glad I caught you, I need you to return to base ASAP. We have some new information that you’re going to want to hear in person.”

“Anything to do with the chatter I read about earlier?”

“No, well, not directly,” Desmond replied, stalling.

“It’s a yes or no question, Des, either you have something for me about this morning’s chatter or you don’t, which is it?”

“Well, we have a person in custody related to the chatter from this morning. He has some information for you but it's is not to do with the chatter. This is about the mission.”

“He has info on the artefact?”

“He does, and he says he’ll only tell you and only if you agree to meet him here and show him some of your bardic power. He says he’s never met anyone like you, and would like to see how you tick.”

“How I…? Oh nevermind! I’ll be there shortly, gimme a few minutes to gather myself,” Baird said, hitting the end call button.

How I tick, that’s rich, that is. Who does this guy think he’s dealing with? Some street performer doing cheap parlour tricks? Well I’ve got news for him, Bastian thought, placing the phone back inside his pants and brushing off some of the grass and leaves that had stuck there while he’d tried to meditate. The Banjo would never be found at this rate.

Checking that he was alone, Bastian grabbed out his doorframe (a pocket-size portable portal) from his other pocket, unfolding it to its full size. The air to tingled as the portable portal stabilized. Agent Baird stepped through to the other side of the doorframe.

It lead to the foyer of HQ; sitting behind a sturdy looking grey marble reception desk was Wendy Wilkins-One. She looked so much like the original Wilkins that whenever Bastian saw her, he had to remind himself that she was a clone. I feel like there's something missing here but I can't quite place it. Of course she resembles the original if she's a clone! I'm not really sure what to suggest though.

“Morning One!” Bastian said, as he passed by her desk. “Good day for a stroll in the park if that’s your thing.”

“Morning Agent!” She replied, amicably. “Desmond is waiting for you in Room 5.”

Bastian thanked Wendy Wilkins-One, and made his way down the corridor to the left of her desk and found his boss, Desmond Dyson, leaning on one side of a small interrogation table in front of him, staring coldly at his informant.

His informant, a middle-aged man, in a 3-quarter length khaki trench coat, brown trousers, and black shoes, stared back, blankly. The black shoe closest to the outside leg of the table beat a steady rhythm on the floor.

“Morning Des, who’s this then? I assume it’s the man wanting to see ‘how I tick’?” Bastian said, joining Desmond at his side of the table.

“Bas, this is Frank Germaine. Says he has info on the Banjo for you and only you,” Des said, gesturing toward his witness.

Bastian took another look at Germaine; he seemed harmless enough, and had no discernible tattoos or markings that would link him to the League.

“Well? What’s this info you have for us? I do hope you haven’t wasted our time just to see ‘how I tick’…” The quotes around each instance of 'how I tick' was a little jarring for me. One is fine.

“Quite the contrary Agent Baird, you see, I know exactly what you’re looking for, and I know where to find it. However, if you’d like that information, I’m going to need to see some magic. Show me what you can do and I’ll tell you what I know,” Germaine replied, smugly folding his arms in front of himself on the table. This last sentence just doesn't flow well for me. Removing 'on the table' helps but you could rework it if the table bit is important.

Bastian smiled. This guy just doesn’t get it, he thought. Bastian decided to show him some magic that would have him talking in no time. One of the perks of being a bard with Magency training was that Bastian knew a how to get someone talking. It was simply a matter of changing the tone of his voice and keeping eye contact.

Leaning forward so he could keep Germaine’s gaze, Bastian lowered his voice and spoke softly, ensuring he kept his voice level and crisp.

“You know, Mr. Germaine, I have a different idea, why don’t you tell me what I want to know and at the end if you’re feeling up to it, I’ll show you some of what I can do, ‘how I tick’ if you will.”

It didn’t work. Germaine simply laughed, and then began chanting a series of curses under his breath. Billows of black smoke rose from his fingertips, and the smell of rotting flesh filled the room.

“What is he….?” Desmond started to ask.

Bastian caught the final verse of Germaine’s quiet curse chant and ducked into a roll for the door. He ran from the room as an army of undead ghouls and zombies spilled out into the corridor. What happens to Desmond? It feels like you forgot about him rather than Bastian abandoning him to his fate (presumably your intent?)

As he ran he yelled down the corridor to Wendy Wilkins-One, “One! Put us in lock down and grab a doorframe tuned to backup HQ, we’re under attack!” I've gone with deleting 'Wilkins-One' here but it would work if you deleted Wendy too.

Just as Wendy Wilkins-One grabbed the doorframe, the tide of undead spilled out into the foyer, Frank Germaine at their rear, herding them like cattle.

“Now, Wendy!”

Bastian grabbed his pan flute from the clip on his belt and cast a quick protection spell melody, which would create a barrier of sorts to stem the tide of undead until they were clear of Head Office. A barely visible barrier shimmered forth from the pipes of the pan flute and white smoke wisped out as the spell took hold. I think this line could be tweaked - it's a little clumsy with both the barrier and the smoke emerging in the same sentence.

Wendy activated the doorframe, and they stepped through to the safety of backup HQ.

At a desk identical to the one at Head Office sat Wendy Wilkins-Two.

“Morning Agent Baird!” Two said, hurriedly. “I can see you’ve had a raiser problem. I’ve sent a clean-up crew to head office ahead of your arrival; the Council would like a word.” She finished, with a concerned look.

 

[VKALFIERI]

Thanks. I'll take these notes on board. This story is in a constant state of flux; between being written and being backburnered. At this stage the back burner is winning, as more important, pressing matters come up that need attending to; nonetheless, I shall endeavour to rework this first chapter and if it's okay, I'd like to share a little more of the story further along the track.

As it sits on my computer languishing in back burnerland, it is currently 6 chapters long. But those chapters don't run much longer than this one. I'm not a huge fan of writing or reading massive chapters; so I keep them fairly short.

Ok. Well you lot have given me some handy takeaways for the time being and I shall endeavour to also return fire (I mean, critique your work) shortly.



Cheers,
VK.

 

[Bowler1]

Ok Vkalfieri, you can write.

You started your opening with nothing happening (I’ve done this recently and it’s holding up a submission while I decide what to do) as your character sits in a park and it didn’t grab me. You need something more immediate.

You have character thoughts but not emotions. This may not be a problem and it felt like you were aiming for younger readers or an easy read, that being the case, emotions may not be needed so much. But in general I felt I needed more of/from the character to bring me into your world. The POV could have been stronger for me.

The telephone conversation sadly didn’t pull me in either. However, the 007 spoof and zombies was engaging. For me, you need a new opening and with a focus on capturing the reader sooner.

I had problems with the sentence structure and a full stop is a great thing. You don’t need to use comma all the time and sentences can be structured with no comma use. – See this little paragraph section I’ve just used. Sentences can be short!

Bastian decided to show him some magic that will have him talking in no time. One of the perks of being a bard with Magency training is that Bastian knew a how to get people talking, simply by changing the tone of his voice and keeping eye contact. – This feels like author narration and I wasn’t sure about it, but it did slow the action and stepped away from the character at the wrong time for me. Stay in the moment and take care of the info dump. Also, one line would have told me he was a Mage, two lines was one too many. I felt this from the opening onwards and you could be tighter and more to the point. However, too crisp and style dies a slow death. You need to find your balance more, but for here and now, one word instead to two please.

Sadly you didn’t hit the mark for me today, but I think you have real skill and need to focus on engaging the reader more. That mysterious writers voice that keep people turning page after page. There’s no secret here, you simply grind it out through trial and error until you find that secret. I believe you're real close and you certainly have a style all your own. I don’t know where you’ve been hiding out, but you’ve clearly been putting hard work into your writing. With that, welcome to Chrons.

 

[Jo Zebedee]

Okay, so I'm coming at this having seen your other thread about the opening. Be warned: I have teeth.

Welcome ladies and gents to my latest offering to the Gods of Writing: Bastian Baird and the Brigand's Banjo.

Here's a brief synopsis: A magical bard, working for an agency that controls the proliferation of magical objects into the ordinary world, is on the hunt for one of a set of seven magical artifacts, collectively known as the Celestial Seven. Four of them have been discovered. The (bad guys) League has two. The (good guys) Magency has the other two. Three are still out there, in the world. Whoever finds the remaining objects could hold the fate of the world in their hands; they have the power to create great good, or the potential for heinous evil.Just a quicky - if this is an opening, there should be no need to tell us any context. I've deliberately not read this. If I can't make out what's happening without it, the opening isn't working.

Clones, gnomes, doubling gypsies, giants and bandits co-star.

I've edited this chapter once or twice, and would like some feedback on the style, flow, and whether or not you feel if something works. If you find a glaring grammar error, then please also point those out; but they should be (mostly) already dealt with.

Ready to dive in?
Here it is:

Bastian Baird and The Brigand's Banjo:

1.

The late morning breeze brought the kinds of smells that don’t immediately help with concentration. For example, a waft of dog poop, mingled with exhaust fumes, is not quite as easy to block out as say, the sweet scent of freshly mown grass, or the fragrant smell of roses. Nevertheless, Agent Baird sat in quiet meditation, trying to filter out the smells and noise of the city park around him. The vibrations of his silenced cell phone in his pants pocket momentarily broke his concentration. He ignored it; he needed to focus if he was going to locate the Banjo.

That's a lot of scene setting, and certainly more than I need. Most of it is actually about things which don't do anything: there is no mown grass or smell of roses. You never actually tell us for sure what the smell is. Nor do I know if it has any relevance to the story - if not, I'd cut it.

Instead, this would be better in the character experience. If you dropped the very first bit you could have something like:

Agent Baird sat in quite meditation, trying to block out the smell of dog poop in the city park around him. He didn't hear his phone over the noise in the park, (that could be a lot more elegant, but I hope you get what I mean) and it was the vibration in his pocket that broke his concentration.

So, there you have much the same info (if you're wedded to the florals etc you could probably work it in) but this time it's all in the character experience. So I've taken the descriptive two sentences and popped them into the context of sitting in the park. One is close to telling, one showing - and showing brings us in quicker.

The vibrations ceased and he tried again. He slowed his breathing and focused his mind, feeling the magic surround him. It was likeweak - don't tell us what it was like, tell us what it is a thin tendril that wrapped around his midsection, waiting for him to act. It wasn’t a choking tendril of magic, it was simply a tendril that he’d chosen to call forth and it had chosen to wrap itself around him; all he had to do was push back against the tendril four tendrils in that paragraph - can some be replaced by something else? Dig out that Thesauras! and send it out into the world.

The phone in his pocket vibrated once more and his concentration was broken once more; and Don't need an and with a semi colon - it's a conjunction in its own right. Also - don't unanswered phones tend to off again, anyway? Mine do. Shouldn't he have anticipated that? think if the story starts with the phone call I'd get rid of all this. A show of the magic later might be much more effective. the tendril disappeared, off to help someone who wasn’t constantly getting interrupted. Bastian unfurled his legs from the lotus position, stood up, and grabbed his phone from his pocket to see who it was. It was Desmond. He knew not to call this early into a mission; so Bastain could only assume he had some vital information.This could all be much tighter and closer to his thoughts.

He grabbed his phone and looked at the display (specificity keeps us with a character, vagueness pulls us out). Desmond: he knew not to call early in a mission. His information must be vital (so how does that make him feel? Excited? Scared?)

“Desmond? I hope you’re not just calling to see how I am?”

“Agent Baird, I’m glad I caught you, I need you to return to base ASAP! We have some new information that you’re going to want to hear in person.”

“Anything to do with the chatter I read about earlier?”

“No, well, not directly,” Desmond replied, stalling.

“It’s a yes or no question, Des, either you have something for me about this morning’s chatter or you don’t, which is it?”

“Well, we have a person in custody related to the chatter from this morning, and he has some information for you, but the information is not to do with the chatter, this is about the mission.”

“He has info on the artefact?”

“He does, and he says he’ll only tell you and only if you agree to meet him here and show him some of your bardic power. He says he’s never met anyone like you, and would like to see how you tick.”

“How I…? Oh nevermind! I’ll be there shortly, gimme a few minutes to gather myself,” Baird answered, hitting the end call button.

That conversation doesn't ring true. Desmond knows an agent shouldn't be interrupted. Presumably he knows being on the phone is a risk for the agent. Also, they must be aware of being overheard. This should be much more clipped and cryptic, no stalling or fudging. A codeword, maybe, that means get back, now. As it stands, I think you're doing this to give us information. That might, actually, be reducing tension. Not knowing might have more tension? Just a thought. If you think we do need to know, why not have it in Baird's thoughts?

How I tick, that’s rich, that is. Who does this guy think he’s dealing with? Some street performer doing cheap parlour tricks? Well I’ve got news for him, Bastian thought, placing the phone back inside his pants and brushing off some of the grass and leaves that had stuck there while he’d tried to meditate. At this rate, the Banjo would never be found.Better, voicier.

After a quick check around to see that he was alone in the park Bastian grabbed out his doorframe (a pocket-size portable portal) again - if we can't get what this is from the infor given (and I'd got to it straight away) then you're not conveying the information needed. from his other pocket and after unfolding it to its full size and activating it, causing the air to tingle as the portal stabilized, agent Baird stepped through to the other side of the doorframe.Gosh, yes, if it's that quick there really doesn't need to be anything other than a get-your-ass-overhere call.

It lead to the foyer of HQ;I'd lose this semi. sitting behind a sturdy looking grey marble reception desk was Wendy Wilkins-One. She looked so much like the original Wilkins that whenever Bastian saw her, he had to remind himself that she was a clone.

“Morning One!” Bastian said, as he passed by her desk. “Good day for a stroll in the park if that’s your thing…”

“Morningcomma Agent!” She replied, amicably. “Desmond is waiting for you in Room 5.”

Bastian thanked Wendy Wilkins-Onedo you need? , and made his way down the corridor to the left of her desk and found his boss, Desmond Dyson, leaning on one side of a small interrogation table in front of him, staring coldly at his informant.

His informant, a middle-aged man, in a 3-quarter length khaki trench coat, brown trousers, and black shoes, stared back, blankly; the black shoe closest to the outside leg of the table beat a steady rhythm on the floor.I'm starting to switch off here. Why not have the portal take him straight to Desmond?

“Morning Des, who’s this then, I assume it’s the man wanting to see ‘how I tick’?” Bastian asked, joining Desmond at his side of the table.

“Bas, this is Frank Germaine. Says he has info on the Banjo for you and only you,” Des said, gesturing toward his witness.

Bastian took another look at Germaine; he seemed harmless enough, and had no discernible tattoos or markings that would link him to the League.That's intriguing.

“Well? What’s this info you have for us? I do hope you haven’t wasted our time just to see ‘how I tick’…”

“Quite the contrary Agent Baird, you see, I know exactly what you’re looking for, and I know where to find it. However, if you’d like that information, I’m going to need to see some magic. Show me what you can do and I’ll tell you what I know,” Germaine replied, smugly folding his arms in front of himself on the table.Okay, this is all being done without any real character engagement. How's he feeling? on edge? Irkedd? Intrigued? I don't really know, and so I'm struggling to care.

Bastian smiled. This guy just doesn’t get it, he thought. Bastian decided to show him some magic that will have him talking in no time. One of the perks of being a bard with Magency training is that Bastian knew a how to get people talking, simply by changing the tone of his voice and keeping eye contact.That's a massive tell! Let us wonder what he can do, and show us. Much, much, cooler. Think Obi-wan in Star Wars - he didn't tell Luke what he could do before the stormtroopers let them past. Think how much tension it would have lost if he had?

Leaning forward so he could keep Germaine’s gaze Bastian lowered his voice and spoke softly, ensuring he kept his voice level and crisp.

“You know, Mr. Germaine, I have a different idea, why don’t you tell me what I want to know and at the end if you’re feeling up to it, I’ll show you some of what I can do, ‘how I tick’that's starting to irk me if you will.”

It didn’t work. Germaine simply laughed, and then began chanting a series of curses under his breath. Billows of black smoke rose from his fingertips, and the smell of rotting flesh filled the room.

“What is he….?” Desmond started to ask.

Bastian caught the final verse of Germaine’s quiet curse chant and ducked into a roll for the door. He ran from the room as an army of undead ghouls and zombies spilled out into the corridor.show us this! This is cool. How did they appear? From where? Any smell with them? Bring the scene to life. Did adrenaline flood Bastian, fear take him, anything?

As he ran he yelled down the corridor to Wendy Wilkins-One, “One! Put us in lock down and grab a doorframe tuned to backup HQ, we’re under attack!”

Just as Wendy Wilkins-One grabbed the doorframe, the tide of undead spilled out into the foyer, Frank Germaine at their rear, herding them like cattle.

“Now, Wendy!”

Bastian grabbed his pan flute from its clip on his belt and cast a quick protection spell melody, creating a barrier of sorts... more active which would create a barrier of sorts to stem the tide of undead until they were clear of Head Office. A barely visible barrier shimmered forth from the pipes of the pan flute and white smoke wisped out as the spell took hold.

Wendy activated the doorframe, and they stepped through to the safety of backup HQ.

At a desk identical to the one at Head Office sat Wendy Wilkins-Two.

“Morning Agent Baird!” Two said, hurriedly. “I can see you’ve had a raiser problem. I’ve sent a clean-up crew to head office ahead of your arrival; the Council would like a word.” ," she She finished, with a concerned look.

honestly, I don't think it's about the scene setting, but just some of the storytelling tricks that maybe you haven't come across yet. Getting used to showing and character immersion would enhance this a lot. I think there's some cool ideas, the writing is tidy, you've just got a few tricks to learn.

Hope it helps!

 

[Mirannan]

I have just a small point. As already mentioned, there is the business of the doorframe; what happens to it? Does it stay there or collapse when the user goes through? Or something else?

I rather like the idea of a miniature doorframe as a portal key, but how about calling it an opener? Something like: "He dug his opener out of his pocket and activated it; a portal appeared and he put the miniature doorframe back in his pocket."

 

[VKALFIERI]

Edits within:

Still needs some work, this is as far as I'm gonna g with the opening for now though.

Thanks for all your insights and feedback.

Fresh eyes are always appreciated.

Now, I just need to find a way past chapter 6.

I have a few ideas, and will post more of the story later in its life.

Thanks for reading and by all means feel free to leave me feedback on the updated opening.

Bastian Baird and The Brigand's Banjo:

1.

Agent Baird sat in quiet meditation, trying to filter out the smells and noise of the city park around him. His cell phone vibrated in his pants pocket, he ignored it. The vibrations ceased and he tried again. He slowed his breathing and focused his mind, feeling the magic surround him.

He pulled on the thin tendril before him, willing it forward, feeling its energy meld with his own. As the small weave grew and bonded itself to his astral body he sang to it, willed it forth, asking it to guide him to the Banjo.

The phone buzzed to life again, clearly this person was set on destroying his concentration.

It was Desmond. He knew not to call this early into a mission; so Bastain could only assume he had some vital information.

“Desmond? I hope you’re not just calling to see how I am?”

“Agent Baird, I’m glad I caught you, I need you to return to base ASAP! We have some new information that you’re going to want to hear in person.”

“Anything to do with the chatter I read about earlier?”

“No, well, not directly,” Desmond replied, stalling.

“It’s a yes or no question, Des, either you have something for me about this morning’s chatter or you don’t, which is it?”

“Well, we have a person in custody related to the chatter from this morning, and he has some information for you, but the information is not to do with the chatter, this is about the mission.”

“He has info on the object?”

“He does, and he says he’ll only tell you and only if you agree to meet him here and show him some of your bardic power. He says he’s never met anyone like you, and would like to see how you tick.”

“How I…? Oh nevermind! I’ll be there shortly, gimme a few minutes to gather myself,” Baird answered, hitting the end call button.

How I tick, that’s rich, that is. Who does this guy think he’s dealing with? Some street performer doing cheap parlour tricks? Well I’ve got news for him, Bastian thought, placing the phone back inside his pants and brushing off some of the grass and leaves that had stuck there while he’d tried to meditate. At this rate, the Banjo would never be found.

After a quick check around to see that he was alone in the park Bastian grabbed his doorframe and activated it, causing the air to tingle.

Once the portal stabilized he stepped through to the foyer of HQ. Once he reached the other side, the portal deactivated with a pop as it folded in on itself. Sitting behind a sturdy looking grey marble reception desk was Wendy Wilkins-One. The Wilkins clones still creeped him out a little.

“Morning One!” Bastian said, as he passed by her desk. “Good day for a stroll in the park if that’s your thing…”

“Morning Agent!” She replied, amicably. “Desmond is waiting for you in Room 5.”

Bastian thanked Wendy Wilkins-One, and made his way down the corridor to the left of her desk and found his boss, Desmond Dyson in room 5, leaning on one side of a small interrogation table staring coldly at his informant.

His informant, a middle-aged man, in a 3-quarter length khaki trench coat, brown trousers, and black shoes, stared back, blankly; the black shoe closest to the outside leg of the table beat a steady rhythm on the floor.

“Morning Des, who’s this then, I assume it’s the man wanting to see ‘how I tick’?” Bastian asked, joining Desmond at his side of the table.

“Bas, this is Frank Germaine. Says he has info on the Banjo for you and only you,” Des said, gesturing toward his witness.

Bastian took another look at Germaine; he seemed harmless enough, and had no discernible tattoos or markings that would link him to the League.

“Well? What’s this info you have for us? I do hope you haven’t wasted our time just to see ‘how I tick’…”

“Quite the contrary Agent Baird, you see, I know exactly what you’re looking for, and I know where to find it. However, if you’d like that information, I’m going to need to see some magic. Show me what you can do and I’ll tell you what I know,” Germaine replied, smugly and folded his arms in front of himself on the table.

Bastian smiled. This guy just doesn’t get it, he thought. Bastian decided to show him some magic that would have him talking in no time. One of the perks of being a bard with Magency training is that Bastian knew a how to get people talking, simply by changing the tone of his voice and keeping eye contact.

Leaning forward so he could keep Germaine’s gaze Bastian lowered his voice and spoke softly, ensuring he kept his voice level and crisp.

“You know, Mr. Germaine, I have a different idea, why don’t you tell me what I want to know and at the end if you’re feeling up to it, I’ll show you some of what I can do, ‘how I tick’ if you will.”

It didn’t work. Germaine simply laughed, and then began chanting a series of curses under his breath. Billows of black smoke rose from his fingertips, and the smell of rotting flesh filled the room.

“What is he….?” Desmond started to ask.

Bastian caught the final verse of Germaine’s quiet curse chant and ducked into a roll for the door. He ran from the room as an army of undead ghouls and zombies spilled out into the corridor. There was no time to check on Desmond.

As he ran he yelled down the corridor to Wendy Wilkins-One, “One! Put us in lock down and grab a doorframe tuned to backup HQ, we’re under attack!”

Just as Wendy Wilkins-One grabbed the doorframe, the tide of undead spilled out into the foyer, Frank Germaine at their rear, herding them like cattle.

“Now, Wendy!”

Bastian grabbed his pan flute from its clip on his belt and cast a quick protection spell melody, which would create a barrier of sorts to stem the tide of undead until they were clear of Head Office. White smoke wisped out of the ends of the flute as the spell took hold.

Wendy activated the doorframe, and they stepped through to the safety of backup HQ.

At a desk identical to the one at Head Office sat Wendy Wilkins-Two.

“Morning Agent Baird!” Two said, hurriedly. “I can see you’ve had a raiser problem. I’ve sent a clean-up crew to head office ahead of your arrival; the Council would like a word.” She finished, with a concerned look.