Shorewalker
Well-Known Member
This is plan A. This is the opening chapter of book 1 of a four book epic fantasy series. Not a lot happens, of that I am aware, but I'm aiming instead for immersion, mood and prompting questions in the reader.
I do have a plan B, C, D & E to open, but I don't like any of them as much as I like this. They either feel contrived - a mechanism to open with action - or they create problems with the order of the narrative.
Anyway, thanks in advance and have at it!
Accompanied by the rumbling growl of thunder, the slate of the late afternoon sky was ripped open as a jagged shard of lightning struck down for the vague bulk of the hills to the south. In the distance, hounds howled out their outrage and fear. A tingling charge hung heavy in the air, oppressive and threatening, and the gloom thickened as the blaze of the lightning died away. For a moment, pregnant silence held sway.
And then the skies split wide. Pouring from the rips came curtains of rain, these hammering down onto the tight streets and alleys of the city, sending folk scurrying for shelter in doorways and beneath overhangs. In mere moments, the thoroughfares were beneath water, garbage swirling across the cobbles like decaying water lilies. Urchins splashed laughing through the filthy runnels as old women wrapped shawls tight around hunched shoulders, hitching up ragged dresses in vain attempts to save their hems from a drenching. Run-off cascaded from the tiles of crooked roofs, small waterfalls that steadily increased in speed and power. As thunder again exploded over the rooftops, rattling window frames and sending vague tremors through the streets, the denizens of D’raynar waded for home. Behind shutters and grimy windows, the warming glow of lanterns being lit finally relieved some of the darkness.
Squeezing herself further back into the doorway, Jenn pulled her cloak tighter around her neck and pushed away the green shoots of envy. She could seek shelter should she wish - with autumn taking a firm grip, the city’s inns and taverns were no more than half-full - but she chose not to. What little coin she still possessed was not for the purchase of comforts. Not when she had more urgent needs.
Perversely, Jenn found herself relieved by the storm’s arrival. It had forced her to find shelter rather than continue on up the hill, delaying her arrival at journey’s end and giving her opportunity to think. True, the hundreds of leagues she had already travelled had been more than enough time to consider. However, this relatively short distance across the city somehow felt just as long as her many months on the road.
And here, huddled in this filthy doorway, drenched, cold, hungry and miserable, she wondered whether any of this made sense, whether any of it was sane…and whether her efforts would make the slightest bit of difference anyway.
But they had to; it was as simple as that. Giving up was an option she refused to entertain. Straightening from her huddle with a weary sigh, ignoring the icy fingers of rain that had breached her cowl to run down her back, she strode out of the doorway and into the teeth of the storm. With froth-topped rills of sewage lapping over her travel-worn boots and thunder barking out its anger, she set her jaw and turned up the hill.
I suppose this is entirely appropriate. It’s not like I expected some gleaming castle and shining knights to greet me when I finally got here.
Home was countless leagues and many months behind her, those months filled with danger, pain and fear. With an ache that was almost physical, Jenn missed the simple comforts that had been stripped from her; the soft caress of clean sheets on her own bed, the hearty aroma of pheasant and beef drifting up from the kitchens, the dappled sunlight cascading down through the branches of the hoary oak in the lily gardens behind the keep.
Trudging up the hill, the rain battering a chill into her bones, Jenn kept those memories at the front of her mind, keen-edged reminders of what had been lost.
And for that loss, she would insist that there be an accounting.
With the incline sharpening, the lane began winding back and forth, softening the slope. The small, grimy houses closed in. Half-timbered, or of rough stone, their unsteady cants almost brought their eaves together in arches above the thoroughfare, sucking more of the dim light from the day. Forcing one foot in front of the other, Jenn’s mood was as grim as her surroundings.
I cannot fail, I must not fail.
Head bent into the sheeting rain, it took her a moment to realise that the winding street had levelled out into a tight little square. There was an ancient, grime-encrusted fountain in its centre, the water from its spout long since dried up, and the cobbles of the square dipped and bowed, cupping puddles that were deepening by the heartbeat.
Gazing forlornly down onto the square were a few tired houses, a blacksmith’s forge - one door swung wide even in the downpour - and a three-storey inn. Like the houses, the latter was half-timbered above a stone-walled ground floor and appeared in need of some attention, its panelling fading, its small windows dim and grubby. A sign hung above its door, creaking back and forth in the wind. The Fox And Staff, it declared, the creature in question up on its hind legs, wielding a long stick and grinning inanely.
Jenn wasn’t sure what she had expected, but after long months of arduous travel, it all felt a touch anti-climactic. The building stood quiet, no outward sign that it was what she sought, that it was even occupied.
Maybe I’ve got the wrong inn? Maybe I’ve got the wrong damned city?
Crazed laughter bubbled up in her throat, but she forced it down.
Then the thick oak door beneath the sign banged open. Out onto the rain staggered a large man, his booted feet slipping on the stones, his shirt and leather jerkin open to his hairy, bloated stomach. As he finally righted himself, dragging his greasy hair back from his red-rimmed eyes, a threadbare cloak flew out from the inn door. He snatched at it and missed.
“And if you show your ugly face in here again,” hollered a female voice from within, “I’ll have your balls hung above the hearth before you can say ‘’begging your pardon, ma’am’!”
The door slamming shut behind him, the man picked his sodden cloak up from the ground at the second attempt. Standing somewhat unsteadily, he finally noticed Jenn and offered her a gap-toothed grin that was decidedly unpleasant. The grin swiftly turned to a letch and Jenn’s indecision vanished. With a sudden turn of speed, she hid her face in her cowl, splashed across the square and pulled open the door to the Fox And Staff.
I do have a plan B, C, D & E to open, but I don't like any of them as much as I like this. They either feel contrived - a mechanism to open with action - or they create problems with the order of the narrative.
Anyway, thanks in advance and have at it!
Accompanied by the rumbling growl of thunder, the slate of the late afternoon sky was ripped open as a jagged shard of lightning struck down for the vague bulk of the hills to the south. In the distance, hounds howled out their outrage and fear. A tingling charge hung heavy in the air, oppressive and threatening, and the gloom thickened as the blaze of the lightning died away. For a moment, pregnant silence held sway.
And then the skies split wide. Pouring from the rips came curtains of rain, these hammering down onto the tight streets and alleys of the city, sending folk scurrying for shelter in doorways and beneath overhangs. In mere moments, the thoroughfares were beneath water, garbage swirling across the cobbles like decaying water lilies. Urchins splashed laughing through the filthy runnels as old women wrapped shawls tight around hunched shoulders, hitching up ragged dresses in vain attempts to save their hems from a drenching. Run-off cascaded from the tiles of crooked roofs, small waterfalls that steadily increased in speed and power. As thunder again exploded over the rooftops, rattling window frames and sending vague tremors through the streets, the denizens of D’raynar waded for home. Behind shutters and grimy windows, the warming glow of lanterns being lit finally relieved some of the darkness.
Squeezing herself further back into the doorway, Jenn pulled her cloak tighter around her neck and pushed away the green shoots of envy. She could seek shelter should she wish - with autumn taking a firm grip, the city’s inns and taverns were no more than half-full - but she chose not to. What little coin she still possessed was not for the purchase of comforts. Not when she had more urgent needs.
Perversely, Jenn found herself relieved by the storm’s arrival. It had forced her to find shelter rather than continue on up the hill, delaying her arrival at journey’s end and giving her opportunity to think. True, the hundreds of leagues she had already travelled had been more than enough time to consider. However, this relatively short distance across the city somehow felt just as long as her many months on the road.
And here, huddled in this filthy doorway, drenched, cold, hungry and miserable, she wondered whether any of this made sense, whether any of it was sane…and whether her efforts would make the slightest bit of difference anyway.
But they had to; it was as simple as that. Giving up was an option she refused to entertain. Straightening from her huddle with a weary sigh, ignoring the icy fingers of rain that had breached her cowl to run down her back, she strode out of the doorway and into the teeth of the storm. With froth-topped rills of sewage lapping over her travel-worn boots and thunder barking out its anger, she set her jaw and turned up the hill.
I suppose this is entirely appropriate. It’s not like I expected some gleaming castle and shining knights to greet me when I finally got here.
Home was countless leagues and many months behind her, those months filled with danger, pain and fear. With an ache that was almost physical, Jenn missed the simple comforts that had been stripped from her; the soft caress of clean sheets on her own bed, the hearty aroma of pheasant and beef drifting up from the kitchens, the dappled sunlight cascading down through the branches of the hoary oak in the lily gardens behind the keep.
Trudging up the hill, the rain battering a chill into her bones, Jenn kept those memories at the front of her mind, keen-edged reminders of what had been lost.
And for that loss, she would insist that there be an accounting.
With the incline sharpening, the lane began winding back and forth, softening the slope. The small, grimy houses closed in. Half-timbered, or of rough stone, their unsteady cants almost brought their eaves together in arches above the thoroughfare, sucking more of the dim light from the day. Forcing one foot in front of the other, Jenn’s mood was as grim as her surroundings.
I cannot fail, I must not fail.
Head bent into the sheeting rain, it took her a moment to realise that the winding street had levelled out into a tight little square. There was an ancient, grime-encrusted fountain in its centre, the water from its spout long since dried up, and the cobbles of the square dipped and bowed, cupping puddles that were deepening by the heartbeat.
Gazing forlornly down onto the square were a few tired houses, a blacksmith’s forge - one door swung wide even in the downpour - and a three-storey inn. Like the houses, the latter was half-timbered above a stone-walled ground floor and appeared in need of some attention, its panelling fading, its small windows dim and grubby. A sign hung above its door, creaking back and forth in the wind. The Fox And Staff, it declared, the creature in question up on its hind legs, wielding a long stick and grinning inanely.
Jenn wasn’t sure what she had expected, but after long months of arduous travel, it all felt a touch anti-climactic. The building stood quiet, no outward sign that it was what she sought, that it was even occupied.
Maybe I’ve got the wrong inn? Maybe I’ve got the wrong damned city?
Crazed laughter bubbled up in her throat, but she forced it down.
Then the thick oak door beneath the sign banged open. Out onto the rain staggered a large man, his booted feet slipping on the stones, his shirt and leather jerkin open to his hairy, bloated stomach. As he finally righted himself, dragging his greasy hair back from his red-rimmed eyes, a threadbare cloak flew out from the inn door. He snatched at it and missed.
“And if you show your ugly face in here again,” hollered a female voice from within, “I’ll have your balls hung above the hearth before you can say ‘’begging your pardon, ma’am’!”
The door slamming shut behind him, the man picked his sodden cloak up from the ground at the second attempt. Standing somewhat unsteadily, he finally noticed Jenn and offered her a gap-toothed grin that was decidedly unpleasant. The grin swiftly turned to a letch and Jenn’s indecision vanished. With a sudden turn of speed, she hid her face in her cowl, splashed across the square and pulled open the door to the Fox And Staff.
