chopper
Steven Poore - Epic Fantasist & SFSF Socialist
time for some more. you may have guessed that these bits aren't linear - i'm not working on the story that way; i'm writing whichever chapter "Wants" to be written (which can be very frustrating as i now have 5 or 6 unfinished chapters as well as 2 completed ones).
what i'm after here is whether you can believe in the new character Craw. is there too much description?
Canevaril - just behind this hill… the shiver that ran through her had nothing to do with the cold. She dropped one hand to her belt, checking that the knife was still belted there. She was fortunate, she thought, not to have rolled over onto it while she slept.
She was about to take her hand from the knife when she saw a figure striding easily into view along the old road from Canevaril. Her fingers curled around the hilt again, gripping it tight, and she felt the muscles across the back of her shoulders tense once more as the distant figure raised one arm to hail her.
It wasn’t Malessar.
She took an uncertain step back, only to realise that she really had nowhere to run, nothing to hide herself behind. The man approaching her looked to have legs long enough to overtake her even if she started running now.
An odd man, she saw: he had a slightly exotic appearance that hinted at a sorcerous pedigree, just as the warlock’s did. His cheeks and his nose were too long, too smooth, echoing sculptures of antiquity she had seen in the Emperor’s palace. His eyes were too wide, his mouth far too thin. The hood of his plain woollen robe was down around his neck and she could see that his bare skull carried a faint mottling as though he had suffered from a disease many years ago. He seemed on the cusp of middle age, yet somehow beyond that too. As he came closer, and Cassia noted with apprehension that he would have towered over even Meredith, she saw that the mottled effect extended to his hands and his bare feet.
And he carried himself with such confidence that even though he bore no weapon at all, Cassia decided that she really did not want to provoke him into a fight.
“You are awake,” he said in an oddly familiar voice. Cassia could not quite place it: it sounded wrong coming from his mouth. “The way is clear and safe ahead; you may join us now.”
“I would if I knew who you are,” she replied, more boldly than she felt. “And where is Malessar?”
The man looked surprised, then dismayed and hurt. “Child, you clung to me last night as you might to a lover, and you say you do not know me? Think upon your lore! Are tales no longer told of noble Pyarre’s adventures amongst your kind? Or of Grist the Unfaithful, or even Gera the Unnamed, who ruled with a golden fist in the lands of the West?”
Cassia’s jaw had dropped wide open in disbelief. “Craw?” she gasped.
The dragon still affected to look offended. “It would seem to me that the storytellers of this age do not learn their craft well.”
Now that she knew, Cassia could at last see what appeared to be so wrong about the long woollen robe he wore. It did not move at all in the morning breeze, but it did ripple whenever the transfigured Craw moved. It was tight against his body and she suspected, in a flash of intuition, that it was in fact a part of his body, changed to resemble human clothing for modesty’s sake.
She felt herself beginning to relax a little and forced herself to take deeper, slower breaths. “I’m not a proper storyteller,” she told the dragon. “I wish I was. I’ve never been apprenticed to one. My father is a storyteller, but he’ll never accept me as one. I’m sorry I didn’t recognise you, but I’ve never actually met a dragon before.”
Craw seemed mollified by her apology and he gestured back along the old road. “Malessar awaits further on,” he told her. “There are the remains of a pre-Helleonic fort at the entrance of the next valley; in centuries past it marked the border with Canevaril. Malessar did not wish to venture past this point without study and certain preparations, and he did not wish to risk your safety in the meantime. That is why you were left by the road, out here beyond those cursed lands.” A wry smile slipped across the face of the dragon’s human form. “But you were perfectly safe- have no fear of that. There are no wild beasts courageous enough to venture into this region.”
“None save dragons,” Cassia half-muttered, struggling to keep up with Craw’s long-legged pace.
Apparently that tickled Craw’s sense of humour, because the dragon laughed out loud and repeated her comment to himself, chuckling all the way to the ruined fort.
what i'm after here is whether you can believe in the new character Craw. is there too much description?
Canevaril - just behind this hill… the shiver that ran through her had nothing to do with the cold. She dropped one hand to her belt, checking that the knife was still belted there. She was fortunate, she thought, not to have rolled over onto it while she slept.
She was about to take her hand from the knife when she saw a figure striding easily into view along the old road from Canevaril. Her fingers curled around the hilt again, gripping it tight, and she felt the muscles across the back of her shoulders tense once more as the distant figure raised one arm to hail her.
It wasn’t Malessar.
She took an uncertain step back, only to realise that she really had nowhere to run, nothing to hide herself behind. The man approaching her looked to have legs long enough to overtake her even if she started running now.
An odd man, she saw: he had a slightly exotic appearance that hinted at a sorcerous pedigree, just as the warlock’s did. His cheeks and his nose were too long, too smooth, echoing sculptures of antiquity she had seen in the Emperor’s palace. His eyes were too wide, his mouth far too thin. The hood of his plain woollen robe was down around his neck and she could see that his bare skull carried a faint mottling as though he had suffered from a disease many years ago. He seemed on the cusp of middle age, yet somehow beyond that too. As he came closer, and Cassia noted with apprehension that he would have towered over even Meredith, she saw that the mottled effect extended to his hands and his bare feet.
And he carried himself with such confidence that even though he bore no weapon at all, Cassia decided that she really did not want to provoke him into a fight.
“You are awake,” he said in an oddly familiar voice. Cassia could not quite place it: it sounded wrong coming from his mouth. “The way is clear and safe ahead; you may join us now.”
“I would if I knew who you are,” she replied, more boldly than she felt. “And where is Malessar?”
The man looked surprised, then dismayed and hurt. “Child, you clung to me last night as you might to a lover, and you say you do not know me? Think upon your lore! Are tales no longer told of noble Pyarre’s adventures amongst your kind? Or of Grist the Unfaithful, or even Gera the Unnamed, who ruled with a golden fist in the lands of the West?”
Cassia’s jaw had dropped wide open in disbelief. “Craw?” she gasped.
The dragon still affected to look offended. “It would seem to me that the storytellers of this age do not learn their craft well.”
Now that she knew, Cassia could at last see what appeared to be so wrong about the long woollen robe he wore. It did not move at all in the morning breeze, but it did ripple whenever the transfigured Craw moved. It was tight against his body and she suspected, in a flash of intuition, that it was in fact a part of his body, changed to resemble human clothing for modesty’s sake.
She felt herself beginning to relax a little and forced herself to take deeper, slower breaths. “I’m not a proper storyteller,” she told the dragon. “I wish I was. I’ve never been apprenticed to one. My father is a storyteller, but he’ll never accept me as one. I’m sorry I didn’t recognise you, but I’ve never actually met a dragon before.”
Craw seemed mollified by her apology and he gestured back along the old road. “Malessar awaits further on,” he told her. “There are the remains of a pre-Helleonic fort at the entrance of the next valley; in centuries past it marked the border with Canevaril. Malessar did not wish to venture past this point without study and certain preparations, and he did not wish to risk your safety in the meantime. That is why you were left by the road, out here beyond those cursed lands.” A wry smile slipped across the face of the dragon’s human form. “But you were perfectly safe- have no fear of that. There are no wild beasts courageous enough to venture into this region.”
“None save dragons,” Cassia half-muttered, struggling to keep up with Craw’s long-legged pace.
Apparently that tickled Craw’s sense of humour, because the dragon laughed out loud and repeated her comment to himself, chuckling all the way to the ruined fort.
