Excerpt of a long fic I'm writing; looking for input
Posted: 2005-11-16 11:53pm
Okay, this is part of a story I'm writing in a Forgotten Realms-based setting. I refuse to give away too many plot details, and the selection has been carefully chosen to avoid major spoilers as to the plotline. What I'm looking for is feedback on writing style, not plot tips and so forth.
This section is nearly dead center in the storyline, being part of Chapter 2, Book 3 (of 4). To give an idea of timeline, Book 1 focuses on Gilchrist and runs from Greengrass 1373 DR to the Feast of the Moon that same year. (Yes, I'm using the Calendar of Harptos. If anyone not familiar with it is curious, I can provide the full calendar upon request.) Book 2 focuses on another (undisclosed) character and runs from the 14th of Kythorn, 1369 DR to the Feast of the Moon, 1373. Book 3 picks up on the 1st of Nightal, 1373, the morning after the Feast of the Moon.
Gilchrist, obviously, is a fugitive from the human forces of his native nation, called Eire presently as a placeholder. The name might change before the final version, or it might not. Why he's a fugitive constitutes a major spoiler, so I won't tell you.
For Nitram and Imperial Overlord: Yes, I know I partially threw the geography of Faerun out the window when I put Eire into the Western Heartlands with a rocky hill range along the border. I don't care. Just so we get that out of the way.
_____________________________________________________________
Chapter 2
Edge of the Realmspine Hills, dusk, 1st of Nightal, 1373 DR
Gilchrist lay on his belly atop a large, flat rock at the base of the first rocky hill. He looked down upon the great standing stones marking the southern end of Cairnstone Pass, and the outline of Hillwatch Keep on a hillock just beyond. The windows and tower tops of the keep were lit with lanterns, and guards patrolled relentlessly, moving out into the pass and along the edges of the hills. Gilchrist had so far evaded the patrols, but knew that he must make his move into the hills quickly now that it was dark, or his luck and meager skill would eventually run out.
He had seen Sir Faerin Down outside the keep, ordering about patrols preparing to leave to search the area before sundown. At this distance he couldn’t have really seen the man’s facial expressions, but he could have sworn that his old mentor had an anguished and angry expression and manner; he was certainly going about his duties with more intensity than usual. It pained Gilchrist to know that his old friend must think him guilty of treason, but there was nothing he could do about it.
The fugitive loosened his sword in its sheath and turned to the forbidding hills. He had no intention of assaulting the soldiers, but there were other things in that range. Taking a deep breath, Gilchrist rose to a crouch and, moving low, took his first steps into the hills, and exile.
* * *
“Sir, look!” Guardsman Cain Stout pointed to the crest of the ridge above his patrol, where a black figure could barely be seen moving over the top, faintly outlined against the starlit sky.
“I see it, guardsman,” answered Watch Sergeant Hart, turning just in time to see the swish of a cloak disappearing over the rocky promontory. “Form up, men! Move up the ridge, double time!”
* * *
Gilchrist heard the shouts, and cursed as bull’s-eye lanterns began to shine out at the hilltop he had just vacated. He began to scramble down the other side, hoping to lose himself quickly before the guards reached the ridge top vantage point.
He reached the bottom of the ridge, and made to climb up the next hill when he heard something that made him freeze against the rock he had stopped next to.
* * *
He had heard, and recognized, the grunting, guttural language of the orcs.
“Hear that?” Thog, the leader of this band of orc warriors, cupped the hand not occupied by holding his large axe against his ear.
Urglek, the large orc next to him, only grinned, showing his toothy maw, as he hefted his falchion. Then his nose twitched. “Hear? What need hear? Urg smell it.”
Then, Hart’s patrol detachment mounted the ridge, still shouting to each other and shining lamps about.
“No need hear or smell, boyz. I SEE HUMIEZ!”
“Zug zug!”
“WAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!”
The orcs charged up the low ridge towards the patrol, waving their weapons, some wildly firing crossbows as they went.
* * *
“ORCS!”
The warning was thoroughly unnecessary. One would have to have been deaf and blind to have missed the charge of the twenty three orcs towards the patrol of ten men.
“Form a line! Brace to receive the charge!” The sergeant’s order was followed at once, with the men of the squad forming tight ranks and leveling spears at the oncoming humanoids. Six men set their spears down and squeezed off shots from their crossbows before seizing the polearms and leveling them at their attackers once more.
Sergeant Hart reached into his belt pouch and pulled out an alchemical thunderstone. This he hurled towards the orcs with all his strength. The small stone-like object hit hard against a rock and released a deafening bang as it bounced away. Several of the closest orcs dropped their weapons and clutched their ears in agony.
The thunderstone served a dual purpose. The thunderous crack echoed off the ridges and down the steep valley between them, and carried all the way to the keep and for a mile in either direction. Other patrols rushed towards the noise as the remaining orcs smashed into Hart’s line.
_____________________________________________________________
So, what do you think? Is the writing style okay? Is there undue repetition of words? (I know there was in the initial draft; I forgot to vary my descriptions enough.) Excessive attention to irrelevant detail? Or perhaps even too many Warhammer/Warcraft references?
This section is nearly dead center in the storyline, being part of Chapter 2, Book 3 (of 4). To give an idea of timeline, Book 1 focuses on Gilchrist and runs from Greengrass 1373 DR to the Feast of the Moon that same year. (Yes, I'm using the Calendar of Harptos. If anyone not familiar with it is curious, I can provide the full calendar upon request.) Book 2 focuses on another (undisclosed) character and runs from the 14th of Kythorn, 1369 DR to the Feast of the Moon, 1373. Book 3 picks up on the 1st of Nightal, 1373, the morning after the Feast of the Moon.
Gilchrist, obviously, is a fugitive from the human forces of his native nation, called Eire presently as a placeholder. The name might change before the final version, or it might not. Why he's a fugitive constitutes a major spoiler, so I won't tell you.
For Nitram and Imperial Overlord: Yes, I know I partially threw the geography of Faerun out the window when I put Eire into the Western Heartlands with a rocky hill range along the border. I don't care. Just so we get that out of the way.
_____________________________________________________________
Chapter 2
Edge of the Realmspine Hills, dusk, 1st of Nightal, 1373 DR
Gilchrist lay on his belly atop a large, flat rock at the base of the first rocky hill. He looked down upon the great standing stones marking the southern end of Cairnstone Pass, and the outline of Hillwatch Keep on a hillock just beyond. The windows and tower tops of the keep were lit with lanterns, and guards patrolled relentlessly, moving out into the pass and along the edges of the hills. Gilchrist had so far evaded the patrols, but knew that he must make his move into the hills quickly now that it was dark, or his luck and meager skill would eventually run out.
He had seen Sir Faerin Down outside the keep, ordering about patrols preparing to leave to search the area before sundown. At this distance he couldn’t have really seen the man’s facial expressions, but he could have sworn that his old mentor had an anguished and angry expression and manner; he was certainly going about his duties with more intensity than usual. It pained Gilchrist to know that his old friend must think him guilty of treason, but there was nothing he could do about it.
The fugitive loosened his sword in its sheath and turned to the forbidding hills. He had no intention of assaulting the soldiers, but there were other things in that range. Taking a deep breath, Gilchrist rose to a crouch and, moving low, took his first steps into the hills, and exile.
* * *
“Sir, look!” Guardsman Cain Stout pointed to the crest of the ridge above his patrol, where a black figure could barely be seen moving over the top, faintly outlined against the starlit sky.
“I see it, guardsman,” answered Watch Sergeant Hart, turning just in time to see the swish of a cloak disappearing over the rocky promontory. “Form up, men! Move up the ridge, double time!”
* * *
Gilchrist heard the shouts, and cursed as bull’s-eye lanterns began to shine out at the hilltop he had just vacated. He began to scramble down the other side, hoping to lose himself quickly before the guards reached the ridge top vantage point.
He reached the bottom of the ridge, and made to climb up the next hill when he heard something that made him freeze against the rock he had stopped next to.
* * *
He had heard, and recognized, the grunting, guttural language of the orcs.
“Hear that?” Thog, the leader of this band of orc warriors, cupped the hand not occupied by holding his large axe against his ear.
Urglek, the large orc next to him, only grinned, showing his toothy maw, as he hefted his falchion. Then his nose twitched. “Hear? What need hear? Urg smell it.”
Then, Hart’s patrol detachment mounted the ridge, still shouting to each other and shining lamps about.
“No need hear or smell, boyz. I SEE HUMIEZ!”
“Zug zug!”
“WAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!”
The orcs charged up the low ridge towards the patrol, waving their weapons, some wildly firing crossbows as they went.
* * *
“ORCS!”
The warning was thoroughly unnecessary. One would have to have been deaf and blind to have missed the charge of the twenty three orcs towards the patrol of ten men.
“Form a line! Brace to receive the charge!” The sergeant’s order was followed at once, with the men of the squad forming tight ranks and leveling spears at the oncoming humanoids. Six men set their spears down and squeezed off shots from their crossbows before seizing the polearms and leveling them at their attackers once more.
Sergeant Hart reached into his belt pouch and pulled out an alchemical thunderstone. This he hurled towards the orcs with all his strength. The small stone-like object hit hard against a rock and released a deafening bang as it bounced away. Several of the closest orcs dropped their weapons and clutched their ears in agony.
The thunderstone served a dual purpose. The thunderous crack echoed off the ridges and down the steep valley between them, and carried all the way to the keep and for a mile in either direction. Other patrols rushed towards the noise as the remaining orcs smashed into Hart’s line.
_____________________________________________________________
So, what do you think? Is the writing style okay? Is there undue repetition of words? (I know there was in the initial draft; I forgot to vary my descriptions enough.) Excessive attention to irrelevant detail? Or perhaps even too many Warhammer/Warcraft references?