[FANTASY] 'Godsfall' Opening Scene Extract (641 words).

[D-E-M-Emrys]

Hi all,

Thought I'd pitch in with a first draft from my current WIP.

Chapter 1 comes in at 3500 (ish) words, but in keeping with the forum rules I've decided to use the initial opening exchange before the rest of the scene kicks in to gear.

Apart from style, grammar and flow, I've got one major point in particular that I'd like to query feedback on. I'll post it below the extract to see whether it comes to your minds without me bringing it to attention before you read.

So without any more needless pomp, let the show go on!

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The priests had said prayer would save his mother, so Osar prayed for a year and a day. Dawn til dusk, beseeching shadow and sunlight. Oft late past the darkening hour he’d bowed his head and grovelled, bargained, begged. He had devoted himself to Dionas the Golden God. But Dionas hadn’t heard the prayers, or worse, refused to answer them. Even the gods couldn’t cure cancer.

Osar wrenched another weed from the overturned earth.

And for all of his devotion what did he have to show for it? A grave dug by his own hands and a dead woman to fill it. The Golden God might have been the city’s patron and its father, but Osar didn’t want to trade his mother for a surrogate deity.

Osar gained his feet, brushing dirt from his vestments. His knees were muddied and earth was jammed between his toes thanks to the open-end sandals. His hands, soft and delicate from months of prayer, were bloodied and engrained with dirt from tending to the grave.

A voice from behind Osar made him turn around.

“A soiled priest? Don’t let the Archsaji catch you looking like that.”

Quilon hobbled and wheezed his way through the temple gardens. The ancient saji laid one hand on Osar’s shoulder, the other on the grave marker. The golden star gleamed in the sunlight, its polished surface glinting through the gaps between Quilon’s gnarled fingers.

“A golden star? My boy, this grave must have cost you a year’s allowance.” Quilon’s hand fell from the marker.

“It did.” Osar scowled at Quilon. The old man had left smudged fingerprints on his mother’s grave. Osar used his sleeve to clean it.

They stood in silence, heads bowed over the grave. Osar picked at a loose thread on his yellow vestment. He wanted to be alone, to think of his mother. Quilon’s presence was distracting. He was always sticking his nose in Osar’s business, though Quilon maintained it was part of his tutor duties.

Quilon cleared his throat. He pulled at his five-point wispy beard, crumbs of whatever he’d eaten for breakfast and dried skin falling to dust the grave. “The gods have their ways.” He shook his head, bald pate catching the sun. “We all live and die to serve their higher purpose. Come now, we have morning prayers to attend.”

Osar pushed Quilon’s hand from his shoulder, a little more roughly than he meant to. “I’m not going.”

“You’re not going?” Though it was a question, Quilon didn’t sound surprised.

“No,” Osar said.

Quilon wrung his baggy sleeves over his hands, clasping them before him. “But every priest must attend morning prayers.”

“I don’t want to be a priest any more.”

“But you’re my novi.”

“I don’t want to be your novi any more.”

“I see,” Quilon said. His watery eyes stared into Osar’s own. One lid drooped over the rheumy white, but Quilon kept staring. “Four more years and you won’t have to be a priest or a novi anymore.”

Osar matched the gaze as long as he could before blinking. He dropped his eyes to Quilon’s chest in defeat, only to find the gold star medallion Quilon wore staring back at him. Wherever Osar looked or went since joining the temple, the temple seemed to be watching him.

“What do you want, Osar?” Quilon asked.

“Not even the gods can give me what I want.” His right hand wormed its way into the pouch on the front of his vestments, fingering his mother’s charm. The gold was warm to his touch.

“The gods give and take for reasons beyond us mortals.” Quilon sighed and turned away. “If you want to know why they took your mother ask them. But there’s no better way to ask them than through prayer, and there’s no better time than now. Morning prayers it is.”

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The major point in particular that I'd like your opinion, is:

Whilst it might seem from the opening that this is your typical 'oh, look poor orphan boy and what seems to be his wise mentor' that you'll find copy-paste'd throughout fantasy, the development of the story is far from this case. HOWEVER, I'm very concious of driving away readers if they think this is the case from the get go. Did this strike you in that sense?

 

[Esfires]

I'd be sure to hint at something larger, even this early on. I don't know your story, of course, but I'm assuming that its events are going to include something more than Osar's own personal journey through life. Have his mentor give an offhanded comment, or have something show up to indicate that there is trouble of a bigger kind either already brewing or on its way. The orphan boy thing is ok, but only as long as we have something else, something more engaging, to pay attention to as well.

 

[Darkchild130]

To me it feels like somebody about to lose his religion, like he is about to discover something new or descend into bitterness.

I don't like his tutor.

 

[D-E-M-Emrys]

Thank you very much, both of you.

I had to cut short the extract (as it felt like a natural stopping point) mid-scene, because it rolls on to 3k+ words.

The 'bigger picture' plot gets the 'head tilt' at the 1300-1600 word mark, just over the forum's limit. I'll try and work in in that few hundred words faster.

 

[Brian G Turner]

The destined hero didn't strike me here, but a few things did (I'm presuming this is mediaeval fantasy):

1. Cancer - how does he know it's cancer? Most cancers are hidden, and signs of illness may be called something else, ie, consumption. Cancer sounds too modern a prognosis.

2. Praying. He's a priest, but there appears to be no priestly routine. Matins, anyone?

3. I don't get a feeling of grief and anger and resigned loss in this scene. The focus is supposed to be on the mother, but there's no emotional connection to her dying.

4. I don't feel a sense of tension. If Osar no longer wishes to be a priest then surely this is a huge decision with major consequences? No doubt the temple gives him food and shelter, so how would he survive outside of it? Also, how is his faith affected by his mother's death? How wrenching is it to leave the familiar, something he had previously dedicated his life to? Does he fear disappointment from Quilon?


So altogether I think the use of words is pretty good, but the scene lacks conflict for me, which leaves it a little flat. Also, as above, this place, world, and character do not feel fleshed out and convincing as yet.

Similar criticisms can be levelled at some published works but I figure we don't have the luxury of presuming we can get away with the same.

Simply my personal opinion.

 

[Boneman]

Even a well-worn trope can have a unique slant, if handled well. I wasn't in the least concerned about the 'poor orphan' aspect, it just didn't occur to me. There are orphans in all worlds (fiction and non-fiction), so why shouldn't your hero be one? (Interesting thought: did we ever see Frodo's parents? Or Sam's, or the other Hobbits's?)

As an editor, I'd like to see less 'telling':

The priests had said prayer would save his mother, so Osar prayed for a year and a day. And for his devotion all he had to show was a grave dug by his own hands and a dead woman to fill it.

has more impact than his (understandable) angst - which may well be worldbuilding, but we don't need to know them here, do we, because they distract from the action in hand...

And a little can be a lot in this situation.

“It did.” The old man had left smudged fingerprints on his mother’s grave. Osar used his sleeve to clean it, scowling.

“The gods have their ways.” The old man said.“We all live and die to serve their higher purpose. Come now, we have morning prayers to attend.”

“I’m not going.”

Scowling is enough, you don't need to lay it on. I know you want to show the old man as irreverent, but the breakfast and the bald pate (who is the narrator here - they both have bowed heads, so how could Osar see it?) distract again. Incidentally I'm afraid I read it as Oscar every time. And Osar's response, just that one line, shows us ebverything we need to know. Less is more!!

I echo what I Brian said, all my own opinions, nothing more, but I feel there'd be more impact with less distractions.

 

[jastius]

i really like the first paragraph with its imagery of complaint and descent into resignation. you can feel him getting hollower as it develops. but it reads a teeny bit thick at first. if it was me i would start with osar either digging or filling in the grave. . actually i like the idea of him filling in the grave and with each spade of dirt in is another complaint, another loss. thud the god wouldn't intervene. thud they said just to pray thud they knew they couldn't cure her, nothing could. and with each spade of dirt burying his mother he is burying his career as a priest. the administrators lied and are useless, so he no longer feels bound by them.
i don't see it as medieval, more as alternative time stream proto roman .. and even in medieval times they referred to anything they couldn't cure as a cancer. it was modern medicine that adopted the phrasology for one specific disease condition. ( i had a chance to look through a very old set of the encyclopedia britanica at one time and this was one of the tidbits i gained from it. its really too bad they stopped printing it.)
anyways.. osar also seems to me to have a barely controlled fury to him ... a very dirty harry vibe. i attribute this to a sense of icy cold shock blanketing him tamping down overwhelming grief. to me he is one step from tears or swearing.
in this state osar is quite right that the best thing for him is to get out of there. at the same time his mentor is correct in that the best thing for him is to stick with routine and get his feet back under him. if he hadn't been betrayed by the abby or temple or sanctum sanctorium then it actually would be.
i don't get piteous orphan boy. i get an eastwood or charles bronson vibe. someone has taken away from this guy everything that made him soft, and now he is even physically changing into a very hard creature indeed.
to me he has reached the point that they did in the depression or in the war when there was overwhelming change and loss and they dealt with it by toughening up.

 

[Bowler1]

The priests had said prayer would save his mother, so Osar prayed for a year and a day. Dawn til dusk, beseeching shadow and sunlight. Oft late past the darkening hour he’d bowed his head and grovelled, bargained, begged. He had devoted himself to Dionas the Golden God. But Dionas hadn’t heard the prayers, or worse, refused to answer them. Even the gods couldn’t cure cancer. – Would they know of cancer in this fantasy world, just a thought.

Osar wrenched another weed from the overturned earth.

And for all of his devotion what did he have to show for it? A grave dug by his own hands and a dead woman to fill it. The Golden God might have been the city’s patron and its father, but Osar didn’t want to trade his mother for a surrogate deity.

Osar gained his feet, brushing dirt from his vestments. His knees were muddied and earth was jammed between his toes thanks to the open-end sandals. His hands, soft and delicate from months of prayer, were bloodied and engrained with dirt from tending to the grave. – The additional detail of the opened sandals weakened the point for me, lessened the impact.

A voice from behind Osar made him turn around. – I would have done the dialogue and have the character turn around, it would read smoother I think.

“A soiled priest? Don’t let the Archsaji catch you looking like that.”

Quilon hobbled and wheezed his way through the temple gardens. The ancient saji laid one hand on Osar’s shoulder, the other on the grave marker. The golden star gleamed in the sunlight, its polished surface glinting through the gaps between Quilon’s gnarled fingers.

“A golden star? My boy, this grave must have cost you a year’s allowance.” Quilon’s hand fell from the marker.

“It did.” Osar scowled at Quilon. The old man had left smudged fingerprints on his mother’s grave and Osar used his sleeve to clean it. – You use a lot of short sentences, not incorrect, but don’t be afraid to link them up sometimes, and here, I felt they were linked.

They stood in silence, heads bowed over the grave. Osar picked at a loose thread on his yellow vestment. He wanted to be alone, to think of his mother. Quilon’s presence was distracting. He was always sticking his nose in Osar’s business, though Quilon maintained it was part of his tutor duties.

Quilon cleared his throat. He pulled at his five-point wispy beard, crumbs of whatever he’d eaten for breakfast and dried skin falling to dust the grave. “The gods have their ways.” He shook his head, bald pate catching the sun. “We all live and die to serve their higher purpose. Come now, we have morning prayers to attend.” – Some telling in the two sections above, the actions would indicate to the reader most of the emotions anyway. Trust the reader more I’d say.

The dialogue was ok, predictable as you said it might be, the conflict I’d expected from your notes.


http://www.sffchronicles.co.uk/forum/report.php?p=1740320
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It was a twist on the usual fantasy development, as a religious novice and dealing with death, so a good idea. Good writing technically. But I’m with I Brian, there’s no real hook or anything to spark my interest. We get some insights from the character but not a lot, and the character feels like a very petulant teenager (which you may have been aiming for) dealing with fairly mundane events (granted it was his mother, but death is normal, it happens to us all) in normal life. There was little emotion and very little background detail (a grave in a temple garden, you’ve not described much more) and I would have liked more of both. Anyway, it was good writing, it just felt a little flat to me.

 

[D-E-M-Emrys]

Thanks everybody! I really appreciate the insights. I think I held the style too far at-arms-length, over concerning myself as coming across as 'oh, poor orphan boy is crying over his mother - he must be the Eragon Skywalker of this story, let's just give him a pat on the back and be done with it'.

I've taken everything on board and will be brushing up the scene.

 

[Cosmic Geoff]

The piece seems competently written, and in answer to your footnote query, I didn't think first of the novice/mentor thing, or feel that this was an over-used idea. My first reaction was that the opening reads rather as though Osar has just dug the grave (all ~50 cubic feet of it) with his bare hands rather than a spade, which is totally over the top or just plain impossible. If he's just been tidying it, why the bleeding hands?
My second reaction was to feel that this was one of those highly regulated and restrictive societies full of Rules, which as a reader somehow makes me feel just a bit manipulated. (I'd be the first to agree that this is an illogical response, since many past societies were insanely controlling by our standards).
It's easy to dislike Quilon. Should we?
So Osar chucks religion because his mother dies despite the promises of the priests? Why did he believe them in the first place? Given that death was an everyday occurrence in most past societies, I think that this tells us as much about him as it does about the priesthood.
Also 'cancer' sounds like a 20th-century diagnosis to me. Something like 'wasting sickness' would be less jarring.
Even if this society doesn't have funeral directors, why has Osar had to handle the burial by himself? What was his mentor doing?

 

[AJB]

I enjoyed reading this piece. I do agree however that including the 'head tilt', or at least allude more to the interesting features of your story into the start will really make this first short section even more engaging.

I quite liked hearing the modern (well, at least modern sounding) word 'cancer' in this fantasy piece. Perhaps because of this, I also saw this as an 'alternative time stream', as Jastius commented. This intrigued me.

I liked how there was an immediate emotional exploration of your character and the conflict of Osar wanting to leave the priesthood (although I agree this conflict could possibly be more prominant - it perhaps came across that there was not many negative consequences for Osar if he stayed or not, and his mentor didn't seem too affected by this either).

Only have time for these few thoughts for now. Hope they're useful.

 

[D-E-M-Emrys]

@AJB

Thanks for the response - I've added your feedback to the red pen list.

Honestly guys, if I could shower you with gratitude we'd all be drowning in it by now. I really appreciate the community feedback, it's something new to me, and although posting for critique was a little daunting at first I feel a lot more comfortable about it now!

 

[john11]

I think this is good stuff, you obviously have been writing for some time now.