Shadow's Shade

[Edoc'sil]

Hey guys!

So this is the first 1300 words or so of the first chapter of a story I started writing with my brandon sanderson lecture group (they're all online and there's a link to our discord in the section under writing resources if you are interested).

I'd like to know what you think, how could it be improved? Are there areas which could use more description or you would like some background on?

More specifically, do the accents work or do they detract from the story? (they are a little stronger in this extract because they are also drunk and slurring their words so how do I convey both these and do you think it's wrong to present their speech in this manner so early in the story, or at all? There is a reason the protagonist's accent isn't as strong btw)
Also, do you think the death would work better as his mother rather than girlfriend?

So here's an extract of Shadow's Shade Ch1 - The Pact

I will never forget that whistling sound and that final thud. I choked back sobs as I saw her head roll downwards, golden hair cascading into the shallow basket. The light drained out of her. I couldn’t let those standing around see my pain. If they did, they’d know. This execution was all part of the show, an attempt to draw out the conspirators. I had to wrap one calloused hand in another to try stop them shaking with rage, failing I shoved them in the pockets of my oversized deerskin jacket. With a small shake of my head I realised, I could no longer stand idly by.

Next to the man holding the axe and spouting that same vitriolic horseshit was the mage, Spinnock. Dressed in a smock of deep purple and wearing a livery of gold. He was waving his arms around and shouting, spittle flying from his mouth. I burned with wrath but couldn’t take my eyes off the contents of the basket.

We had only had a few meetings before word spread. One mentions to a brother, brother to a friend and so on. This was the result. He didn’t even allow us to talk; permitted no dissent or detraction from the regime.

I knew the people had had enough of Spinnock. The time for talk was over, time for action. Time for the knife in the dark.

I decided to go drown my sorrows at one of our city’s more obscure taverns. I should have expected him to find me there. As I was deep into my mugs, watching the liquid slowly swish around the bottom of the cup. I felt a hand on my shoulder, blinking blearily I looked up into the round face of my long-time friend, Rolf.

He tucked a lock of his brown curly hair behind his ear and smiled at me softly; he knew that there was nothing that could be said and slowly pushed another tankard towards me.

“’ere y’ go Jorge, on me.”

I blanked out the general hubbub of the tavern and for the rest of our time there we sat in silence, drinking and thinking of our lost friends. It was just Rolf and I now, the solitary survivors of our little group. In the tavern we couldn’t talk openly anyway, but neither of us wanted to interrupt the reminiscences of the other. We sat slumped with forlorn faces, Fria was top of my mind. She didn’t deserve what Spinnock had done to her, cut down in the prime of her life. None of our friends did, the plans we had to free our town from the despot that was that mage now seemed the petty dreams of children. We would be forever trapped here, forever forced to do the work of Spinnock. The mage’s ever-increasing quotas, ensured that we were always in a deficit.

When the watchfires had been lit and most respectable people had gone to bed. Rolf and I got to our feet, each supporting the other. We made our meandering way through the smoke-filled room to the door. Rolf tipped his head to the sullen barman who was drying a filthy tankard with an equally filthy rag. He nodded back and then Rolf pushed me out.

Outside the tavern, the ember glow from the small fires along the sides of the road gave a flickering quality to all. Rolf turned towards me, and put his bulky arm around my shoulder.

“It’s quiet ou’ here a’ this time.” He said, only slightly slurring.

I being more into my cups merely nodded, and looked to his face with tears in my eyes.

“Shh. Shh… It’s alrigh’ Jorge. We all go sometime, sadly some sooner dan others. Leaving us be’ind til we meet again.”

I had no more strength to give to speech. But Rolf had more to say.

“She didn’t deserve what ‘appened to ‘er mate, none of ‘em did. Sod us for tryin’ eh? But we’re still alive my son.”

He tightened his grip around my shoulder and grabbed me into a headlock while I struggled to push him off.

“We’ll keep on fightin’, eh? Just like they did, Fria, The Lads, your dear Ma and Pa!” He let go of the headlock and spun me around to look me in the eyes. With his hands placed on either side of my shoulders he spoke with hushed sincerity.

“We ‘ave to keep on fightin’ mate, she’s gone ‘s’righ’ but she believed in what we were doin’. She was the best of us.”

“’m goin’ ‘ome” I mumbled and raised a hand haphazardly in farewell.

“Tink ‘bout it Jorge!” Rolf shouted to my back as I shuffled away, one supporting hand on the wall.

I lay awake into the morning, no more tears would flow to soak the pillow behind my head. Despite the bags under my eyes, I tried to be productive. I pulled on my boots, considered taking my bow but thought against it, I needed time to think not hunt, and after throwing a dark green cloak around me, ducked under the doorframe into my road. Ravens cawed in the distance as I stepped into the frosty air. Breath misting before me, I stamped my feet and rubbed my hands together to get some feeling into them, then I set off.

My street was a collection of low huddled houses, cramped up against the outer wall of the city. Hidden in the shadow of its stone. The threadbare thatched houses barely looked like homes. One or two had a curl of smoke wisping from the concertinaed chimneys, early risers. A few curtains twitched behind windows, but I ignored them and turned towards my path.

The forest was my destination. Out of the walled city into the deep dappled shade of the trees. There I knew I would at least gain a semblance of peace, to plan out my next actions. The forest had always been a place of tranquillity for me since I was a child, a place outside the walls where nature reigned in solitude.

When I reached the gatehouse the mud there was churned to liquid by a mass of farm animals standing in amongst the regular carts of wood from the forest.

I passed by the guard post with little trouble. They were quarrelling with a man trying to bring his cattle into the walls.

“I found corpses strewn ‘bout th’ field! Some of ‘em ripped nearly in ‘alf!” argued the shepherd.

“Dere ain’t room in the city, you dolt!” Shouted the guard, giving the man a cuff about the ear and sending him sprawling into the muck.

The wolves were becoming bolder, I thought, slipping past them. Keeping my hood pulled up, more against the damp morning fog than to hide my identity. But as my pa used to say: Better hidden from their sight, than burned by it. I could imagine his kindly weathered face speaking to me, the pleading in his eyes betrayed that his words carried deathly meaning.

The mud squelched beneath my feet as I trudged forward; I dwelled upon yesterday. About how those men–nay–Spinnock, brutally murdered Fria. It was his fault we were even in this situation; we only wanted fair treatment. He cared only for his quota. To whom did he send everything cut down from the forest? The forest was huge, I had never scouted its entire limit. But recently, along the more travelled routes, it had been becoming harder to find places of true wilderness. Untainted by Spinnock and his men.

I stamped down upon the muddy track, lost in despair. I hardly noticed I had come into the forest until the weak morning sun no longer penetrated the trees, and I found myself plunged into darkness. Like this I wandered for some time, absent in the recesses of my mind when I came upon a place that was unfamiliar. The trees here grew thickly, closely knit with brambles and bushes that caught at my cloak. I was turning to extract myself when a roar exploded from out of the bracken behind me. Spinning around heart racing, I tried to force my eyes to pierce the gloom.

 

[JS Wiig]

concertinaed

This word ripped me right out of the story, for some reason.

 

[Guanazee]

Will the accented characters be around throughout the book? If so, then yes the dialog style will get tiring to read. You could instead have the MC reflect occasionally on their different accents, or on his lack of accent, to remind the reader they are different. However, if the accented characters are only in occasional scenes then its fine the way they are.

 

[Edoc'sil]

@JS Wiig - Yeah I thought it was an odd choice but I quite liked it. Someone else when reading an earlier draft said the same though.

@Guanazee _ I was thinking this may be the way I have to go with it because that character comes back in chapter 2 and is pretty present from then onwards (so far). The accents aren't a major plot point I just liked having them talk in a different way because they were from different socioeconomic backgrounds (originally). It doesn't show that very clearly in this extract as the protagonist talks very little, but it does explain why he as the narrator has a higher lexical complexity.

 

[sule]

I think my main issue with this excerpt is that it read like a story wondering where it should begin.

The execution scene at the beginning felt very short, distant, and in some ways unnecessary. A lot of the things that you introduce in that section are reiterated throughout the passage, and the description of the execution is too removed from emotion for me to feel anything. You tell us he feels sad, but the descriptions don't add to that sadness; they're too perfunctory.

The tavern scene also didn't help to steep us in the story, and most of that part of the narrative is just description reiterating things you've already talked about, leading to dialogue reiterating that description. I would have liked more specificity about what Spinnock's "quotas" were and what kind of world these characters were living in. Beyond there being a despotic mage and these characters trying to rebel against him, I felt liked I learned nothing about the world at large. The character's thoughts in particular were so circumspect, only briefly touching on the basics of his predicament without giving me anything deep about what was going on or what had happened. In 1300 words, I would hope to at least have a better idea of who some of these characters are and what the world around them is like.

Then the hunting section felt again to me like the story was saying, "Well, maybe we can start the story here." The POV character seemed to have no purpose throughout this whole passage beyond moving from one location to the next. I would like it if you gave him some purpose, something that he feels he needs to do immediately just so it feels like he is accomplishing something (or facing setbacks that keep him from accomplishing it). In the first paragraph he says, "I could no longer stand idly by." The rest of the passage is him getting drunk at a tavern, then waking up and deciding to go into the forest. I would rather the story get to the "no longer stand[ing] idly by" as soon as possible.

As far as the accents go, they were a bit distracting to me. There were some of them where I had to spend an extra few seconds puzzling out exactly what a character was saying. I think you can dial them back some, but certainly using accents or slurring words when characters are drunk is a completely acceptable thing, in my opinion.

TL;DR: I found the passage to be meandering narrative built from a handful of false starts. I would have liked more specificity in the description of the world, and for the POV character to have some desire or driving force behind their actions. The accents felt a tad too thick for me but were otherwise acceptable.

 

[Edoc'sil]

@sule - Thanks for reading! Originally there was no tavern scene and it cut to the character laying awake into the morning. I wanted the tavern scene to be an introduction to his friend and then a bit of extrapolation on the world. You're right it does reiterate things and maybe if the characters had a bit more agency and talking things though rather than them sitting in silence it would work better. Thanks for the ideas.

Is there anywhere in specific that you think the descriptions could be expanded upon? I worry that by making it longer I am ruining the pacing up to the next part. The story really starts just after this extract when the character meets a creature in the woods, it wouldn't fit in the word limit. Do you think I should start there?

 

[The Big Peat]

What's up (e)Doc('sil)!

Okay my big first impression is this feels real rushed with how much is happening. I don't know how long a story this is meant to be, but this feels like a short story that's trying to do a lot. If this is meant to be full length, then it feels like there's three scenes worth of material in there.

And because so much happens, I personally don't get drawn into any of the scenarios. Before I am invested, we're onto the next step. I don't know what you're aiming for, what your taste is, but I think you should think about slowing the pace and concentrating more on each scenario. I'll get more into this on a line by line below.

As for your specific questions.

I like the accents. They work for me. They convey a sense of world and I don't struggle to read them. It might be difficult to read over a full story, but maybe not. They work for me in this bit here.

As for the death... I'm not sure it'd make much more difference given we don't really get much into his feelings for the dead specifically. Honestly, I don't love starting with a fridging in general.

Anyway, line by line below - I'm in bold italics. I do have a lot of things to say so please don't be discouraged and do let me know if you have any follow up questions.

So here's an extract of Shadow's Shade Ch1 - The Pact

I will never forget that whistling sound and that final thud. I choked back sobs as I saw her head roll downwards, golden hair cascading into the shallow basket. The light drained out of her. I couldn’t let those standing around see my pain. If they did, they’d know. This execution was all part of the show, an attempt to draw out the conspirators. I had to wrap one calloused hand in another to try stop them shaking with rage, failing I shoved them in the pockets of my oversized deerskin jacket. With a small shake of my head I realised, I could no longer stand idly by.

That first sentence makes me think of someone recounting something that happened a long time ago, and for me it doesn't sit all that well with how much more in the moment the rest of the paragraph is. I also italicised a sentence part where I think you've slipped tense mid-sentence.

Anyway, I have a lot of questions! And while I am impressed at how much information you pack in with it all making sense, it raises so many questions. Questions are good for bringing readers into the story, but too much can drive them away. I know someone who says good openings should be like one big punch. In your opening paragraph alone, you have a flurry. But I'll come back to this. There are two things that have me going hmm though

1) Why wouldn't he refer to girlfriend by name here?
2) If he can't stand idly by, why is the next paragraph him standing there studying things?

Next to the man holding the axe and spouting that same vitriolic horseshit was the mage, Spinnock. Dressed in a smock of deep purple and wearing a livery of gold. He was waving his arms around and shouting, spittle flying from his mouth. I burned with wrath but couldn’t take my eyes off the contents of the basket.

If he can't take his eyes off the contents of the basket, how comes he's looking at other things? And I'm not sure you need dressed and wearing in the same sentence.

Most importantly - what is Spinnock saying? Just describing that he's talking without giving us his words really removes us from the scene.

We had only had a few meetings before word spread. One mentions to a brother, brother to a friend and so on. This was the result. He didn’t even allow us to talk; permitted no dissent or detraction from the regime.

I knew the people had had enough of Spinnock. The time for talk was over, time for action. Time for the knife in the dark.

I'm not sure we need to know just how the character's girlfriend got on the chopping block at this point. If we do, I'd love to know more - how did Spinnock find out? How many executions have there been? Why his girlfriend over everyone else? But really, looking at this reminds me that I think we went over the character's emotions really quickly. Is he remembering anything? Is he having to struggle to hold it together every moment? Is he thinking it's time to kill Spinnock right now? Why is he still there? Does anyone else in this crowd know him, know what this means? Surely Spinnock would - can Spinnock see him?

I decided to go drown my sorrows at one of our city’s more obscure taverns. I should have expected him to find me there. As I was deep into my mugs, watching the liquid slowly swish around the bottom of the cup. I felt a hand on my shoulder, blinking blearily I looked up into the round face of my long-time friend, Rolf.

I like the phrasing of "more obscure taverns", but I'd expect him to name it. I'd also expect some description of the tavern - maybe why it's obscure, why this one too - before proceeding to the next event, and I'd expect him to use his friend's name rather than "him".

He tucked a lock of his brown curly hair behind his ear and smiled at me softly; he knew that there was nothing that could be said and slowly pushed another tankard towards me.

“’ere y’ go Jorge, on me.”

I blanked out the general hubbub of the tavern and for the rest of our time there we sat in silence, drinking and thinking of our lost friends. It was just Rolf and I now, the solitary survivors of our little group. In the tavern we couldn’t talk openly anyway, but neither of us wanted to interrupt the reminiscences of the other. We sat slumped with forlorn faces, Fria was top of my mind. She didn’t deserve what Spinnock had done to her, cut down in the prime of her life. None of our friends did, the plans we had to free our town from the despot that was that mage now seemed the petty dreams of children. We would be forever trapped here, forever forced to do the work of Spinnock. The mage’s ever-increasing quotas, ensured that we were always in a deficit.

Italicised - You don't need the 'was'.

I think this is the most invested I've been so far. Still questions raised that could be answered - how many others have died? Aren't they afraid to be in public? What's Spinnock's work and if it's so draining on the purse, how can they afford beer?

When the watchfires had been lit and most respectable people had gone to bed. Rolf and I got to our feet, each supporting the other. We made our meandering way through the smoke-filled room to the door. Rolf tipped his head to the sullen barman who was drying a filthy tankard with an equally filthy rag. He nodded back and then Rolf pushed me out.

Outside the tavern, the ember glow from the small fires along the sides of the road gave a flickering quality to all. Rolf turned towards me, and put his bulky arm around my shoulder.

“It’s quiet ou’ here a’ this time.” He said, only slightly slurring.

I being more into my cups merely nodded, and looked to his face with tears in my eyes.

“Shh. Shh… It’s alrigh’ Jorge. We all go sometime, sadly some sooner dan others. Leaving us be’ind til we meet again.”

I had no more strength to give to speech. But Rolf had more to say.

“She didn’t deserve what ‘appened to ‘er mate, none of ‘em did. Sod us for tryin’ eh? But we’re still alive my son.”

He tightened his grip around my shoulder and grabbed me into a headlock while I struggled to push him off.

“We’ll keep on fightin’, eh? Just like they did, Fria, The Lads, your dear Ma and Pa!” He let go of the headlock and spun me around to look me in the eyes. With his hands placed on either side of my shoulders he spoke with hushed sincerity.

I can't help but think that if his Ma and Pa had also been executed, he'd have thought of them before. Also, I've made the point before, but if my girlfriend and parents had been executed by a magical tyrant just for talking - talks I'd been at - I'd be absolutely bricking it.

“We ‘ave to keep on fightin’ mate, she’s gone ‘s’righ’ but she believed in what we were doin’. She was the best of us.”

“’m goin’ ‘ome” I mumbled and raised a hand haphazardly in farewell.

“Tink ‘bout it Jorge!” Rolf shouted to my back as I shuffled away, one supporting hand on the wall.

I lay awake into the morning, no more tears would flow to soak the pillow behind my head. Despite the bags under my eyes, I tried to be productive. I pulled on my boots, considered taking my bow but thought against it, I needed time to think not hunt, and after throwing a dark green cloak around me, ducked under the doorframe into my road. Ravens cawed in the distance as I stepped into the frosty air. Breath misting before me, I stamped my feet and rubbed my hands together to get some feeling into them, then I set off.

Anybody who gets that drunk and stays up all night with only bags under their eyes has the stamina of a concrete elephant.

My street was a collection of low huddled houses, cramped up against the outer wall of the city. Hidden in the shadow of its stone. The threadbare thatched houses barely looked like homes. One or two had a curl of smoke wisping from the concertinaed chimneys, early risers. A few curtains twitched behind windows, but I ignored them and turned towards my path.

Again, this raises a few questions about the nature of the town, what they do for Spinnock, and so on - if they're threadbare, how comes they have windows and curtains (expensive through a lot of history)? If it's light enough to see and they're being punished economically, won't there be a bunch of people up?

The forest was my destination. Out of the walled city into the deep dappled shade of the trees. There I knew I would at least gain a semblance of peace, to plan out my next actions. The forest had always been a place of tranquillity for me since I was a child, a place outside the walls where nature reigned in solitude.

When I reached the gatehouse the mud there was churned to liquid by a mass of farm animals standing in amongst the regular carts of wood from the forest.

I passed by the guard post with little trouble. They were quarrelling with a man trying to bring his cattle into the walls.

“I found corpses strewn ‘bout th’ field! Some of ‘em ripped nearly in ‘alf!” argued the shepherd.

If he's got cows, he's not a shepherd, as shepherds herd sheep.

“Dere ain’t room in the city, you dolt!” Shouted the guard, giving the man a cuff about the ear and sending him sprawling into the muck.

The wolves were becoming bolder, I thought, slipping past them. Keeping my hood pulled up, more against the damp morning fog than to hide my identity. But as my pa used to say: Better hidden from their sight, than burned by it. I could imagine his kindly weathered face speaking to me, the pleading in his eyes betrayed that his words carried deathly meaning.

The mud squelched beneath my feet as I trudged forward; I dwelled upon yesterday. About how those men–nay–Spinnock, brutally murdered Fria. It was his fault we were even in this situation; we only wanted fair treatment. He cared only for his quota. To whom did he send everything cut down from the forest? The forest was huge, I had never scouted its entire limit. But recently, along the more travelled routes, it had been becoming harder to find places of true wilderness. Untainted by Spinnock and his men.

I stamped down upon the muddy track, lost in despair. I hardly noticed I had come into the forest until the weak morning sun no longer penetrated the trees, and I found myself plunged into darkness. Like this I wandered for some time, absent in the recesses of my mind when I came upon a place that was unfamiliar. The trees here grew thickly, closely knit with brambles and bushes that caught at my cloak. I was turning to extract myself when a roar exploded from out of the bracken behind me. Spinning around heart racing, I tried to force my eyes to pierce the gloom.

Not every question here necessarily needs an answer, but there does need to be enough detail here to stop people asking loads of questions instead of getting into the story

 

[sule]

Is there anywhere in specific that you think the descriptions could be expanded upon? I worry that by making it longer I am ruining the pacing up to the next part. The story really starts just after this extract when the character meets a creature in the woods, it wouldn't fit in the word limit. Do you think I should start there?

I personally think it wouldn't hurt for you to try a draft where you start the story with him going into the woods and filling in the important parts after the story gets going, at least so you can see if that does indeed work. For me, some of the fun of writing is finding the best way to tell the story.

As far as the descriptions go, I don't think you necessarily need to expand them out a lot, just provide more specific details in places where you've been a bit vague, like: what specifically the "quota" is that Spinnock demands or the name of the tavern that the main character and his friend go to. The name of the city they live in, what drinks they order. Just small, illuminating details in the right place can do a lot to make the reader come to know the world and the characters more.

 

[Edoc'sil]

@The Big Peat - Thanks for the detailed feedback! Yeah it originally started as a short story that I decided to expand into a first chapter, I can understand the rushedness. I liked where it started because a lot happens and I want that to excite the reader to carry on but I understand that it kinda is all over the place with the pacing.

You gave me some great ideas on where to expand the thoughts of my character and pointed out some logical inconsistencies that I missed, thanks so much! I think that I wanted to leave questions that get answers later on in the chapter or even later in the story but maybe I left them too vague or simply too many.

Didn't know what "fridging" was until you said it, I didn't know that's what I was doing but makes sense.

Couple of answers to the questions, his Ma and Pa weren't exectued by Spinnock but were killed by him vicariously through indifference many years earlier, maybe it was wrong of his friend Rolf to throw them into question here but it felt like something his character would do.

Also he's a shepherd because he has sheep after googling I realise the word I wanted was "livestock" and not "cattle".

@sule - yeah I think I'll give the draft a go, if only just as an exercise, I really like where this story starts though. I also felt whiule reading that I could picture the scene but the wider world was vague. The protagonist/narrator doesn't know an awful lot about the outside world so I have to balance it, the conversation rather than silence should balance out some of those points.

 

[msstice]

• I liked the piece in general.
• I'm squeamish, so I almost didn't read past the first paragraph. The use of the first person meant that I could immediately identify with the loss and pain, even though I know nothing about the narrator.
• I felt a general listlessness and hopelessness from reading. I think that is a good fit to how the narrator's state of mind.
• When the narrator is drunk, their descriptions should not be so coherent
• After I read through the piece I read the comments. I'm not worried about your inciting incident. The narrator has been feuding with Spinnock for a while and doesn't hate him just because of the execution, though this would be sufficient. I think revenge as a motive is quite common and relatable.

It will benefit from a rewrite to tighten up the emotions you convey. There is some repetition and some over-description that creates a distance from us, even in first person.

 

[Edoc'sil]

@msstice - Thanks for reading, even if you were squeamish! I'm kinda happy that you got those feelings of disgust and hopelessness from it though because I was trying for that. Good catch on the descriptions while drunk, I hadn't thought of it.
Is there anywhere in particular you think it's over described? Because if anything I feel that I under-described.

 

[Wayne Mack]

I think there are a lot of good ideas bubbling around here, but I did not seem to find something to grab me nor give me a feel for where it was going. I felt there were three disparate pieces of information without any real indication of how they fit together: there is magic and magicians, there is some sort of rebellion effort, and animals are being attacked. I did not get a sense of the main character despite use of first person. I also felt it strange that the main character never said a word throughout the piece.

I think I would have liked to hear the initial speech by Spinock and how the crowd reacted to it. I think this might provide a chance to world build without info dumping and give the reader a major story conflict to grab onto. The execution scene in itself could easily be its own chapter.

I did not really get enough of a sense of the relationship between Jorge and Fria to identify her as a girlfriend, just your introductory note. So, for me, girlfriend, Mother, or co-conspirator, the relationship did not matter.

I was confused as to whether Jorge was involved in some sort of rebellion and the timeline. At the end of the first paragraph, Jorge thinks, " I could no longer stand idly by" then in the "We had only had a few meetings before word spread," which sounded like Jorge started having meetings after the execution.

The tavern scene seemed to be there just to *finally* give the reader the names of some of the characters: Jorge, Fria, Rolf. The accent didn't bother me, but most of the scene was internal monologue by Jorge. I might have felt differently had this been a true dialog, especially if both speakers used the same speech style. I am not sure that having the characters discuss conspiracies punishable by death in a public tavern feels realistic. I also did not really get a sense of mourning by either Rolf or Jorge -- the headlock image seems more like playful bar rats more then anything else.

The rationale for Jorge heading out to the woods was not apparent to me. It seemed like it was only put in to give the little tidbit of animals being killed. First, Jorge thinks, "I tried to be productive," but this is followed by, "I needed time to think not hunt." The reveal of the animals being killed might be stronger if, instead of overhearing a conversation, Jorge actually ran into the farmer standing in his field surrounded by slaughtered animals. Brief aside, shepherds have sheep not cattle.

I think this may be a case where less is more. I felt more like I was reading a plot outline than a story. I suggest taking one of the three scenes and expanding it to be the opening chapter. Magician, rebel plotters, or mysterious dead animals would each work as an opening hook. Pick one and bring it to fruition. The other points can be brought in with later chapters.

 

[Edoc'sil]

@Wayne Mack - Thanks for taking the time, I think what I'm firstly going to do is as sule suggested, try starting the story just after this and see how that works. But also try as you suggested, fleshing out these scenes a little and seeing which I like more.

 

[msstice]

@msstice - Thanks for reading, even if you were squeamish! I'm kinda happy that you got those feelings of disgust and hopelessness from it though because I was trying for that. Good catch on the descriptions while drunk, I hadn't thought of it.
Is there anywhere in particular you think it's over described? Because if anything I feel that I under-described.

In general, there is, I think, opportunity to not tell details of the horrors of Spinnock's reign at the beginning, during and just after the execution, because you nicely show them later as the protagonist walks through the streets.

 

[thisreidwrites]

The opening GRIPPED me. Absolutely a slam-dunk.

There are a couple of comma-splices you should be aware of, such as The time for talk was over, time for action and I felt a hand on my shoulder, blinking blearily I looked up into the round face of my long-time friend, Rolf. Here's some info on that: What Is a Comma Splice? And Why Do Editors Hate Them?

It was just Rolf and I now, the solitary survivors of our little group. Oh, brutal!

sooner dan others I think "than" or just having "n'" would work better, since "dan" doesn't make sense with this accident, drunk or no.

, she’s gone ‘s’righ’ but For the life of me, I can't figure "'s'righ'" out.

“Tink ‘bout it falls into the same category as "dan." Think would work better, given the clearly drunken vaguely English accent.

Ravens cawed in the distance as I stepped into the frosty air. Breath misting before me, I stamped my feet and rubbed my hands together to get some feeling into them, then I set off. This kind of sentence is just great for setting the atmosphere.

“I found corpses strewn ‘bout th’ field! Some of ‘em ripped nearly in ‘alf!” argued the shepherd.
Okay, YIKES.

“Dere ain’t room in the city, you dolt!” I have my doubt about "dere." That usually comes from a completely different kind of accent than the one you're writing (sort of Hollywood Cockney). However, the rest of it is working for me.

I definitely enjoyed this. My only real question was I couldn't fully feel what was at stake, or what had been done to gain those stakes. Was there an open rebellion? Were individuals with big mouths just being dragged from their beds? Also, apart from his thought about the wolves, I couldn't fully get into the threat of a growling beastie because - and this is key - I had JUST been introduced to the idea.

The focus is, rightly, on Spinnock. On whatever it is he's doing (debts, wages, deforestation, etc.), and Jorge's growing rage, which will hopefully turn him into a dark hero. The wolf subplot threw me a little, but I'm pretty sure you can make it work.

This really is solidly good (which is why I got out the red pen for finer details). By all means, take heart, and keep writing!

 

[Edoc'sil]

@thisreidwrites - thanks for the kind words! I have been developing this since I posted it here. At about 13k words so far. I tweaked the opening to make it clearer what happened to the people being executed, added about 1k words to the beginning, a scene to show just before they were taken. I decided to take out most of the accents I think they were detracting from the reading.

The wolves are more of a foreshadowing for what's happening in the woods and not really a subplot. I think it ties into why they don't try to leave Steins (their city) but is not really a major plot point.

Spinnock is not the BBEG. However, I wanted it to feel like that so his death is a little surprising. Something big happens just after this extract, maybe I'll post it up for some feedback.

 

[thisreidwrites]

Okay, I LOVE the twist on Spinnock. Having that fake-out is also a great way to get your readers aware of a bigger world along with your main character.