Post by Elonwe on Jul 24, 2006 18:47:02 GMT -5
I figured I'd post some of my writing for critique here. Couldn't hurt, right?. . .riiiiight?? Hm. . . well, I'll post it anyway. Let me know what you like or dislike. Are there any boring parts? Did you want to skip over any of it? Let me know!
The year 2495 of the Third Age
The sun was setting in the fiery sky of the west and the heat of the day was lifting. For five hundred years the Ronin had been traveling slowly away from the eastern shore; across vast golden plains, through dark and veiled forests, over high and rugged mountains, and every other imaginable terrain, friendly and otherwise.
Now their band of three hundred or so men, women, and children rested in a beautiful land with gentle rivers running through acres of green grass, perfect for grazing their sheep. The rivers ran calmly, deep, and green to the north and south of them falling down to join a larger river in a narrow valley lined with heavy-laden fruit trees, which gave a sweet fragrance to the whole area. In the distance, they could see the forest through which they had traveled for months, full of deer, wild boars, elk, rabbits, and pheasants. They were all of one thought, that this was as beautiful a place as any they had yet seen, and perfect for settling in, now that their service to the King was ending.
Jerol, the mapmaker, had just put the last finishing touches on the last map to be sent with the last hawk to the King in the east. Fifteen maps in all were to be sent; together they would make the largest, most comprehensive map of the whole country from the eastern shores to this valley in the west. The making of each one took thirty years and was a man’s lifetime of work.
He watched the hawk fly, barely burdened by the weight of the scroll tube bound to its feet. The hawk would not be able to hunt during its journey, which may take as much as a week. But this was hardly a challenge for these birds. In late summer all golden hawks would fly to the eastern sea, and rarely try to hunt on the way, which is why they were chosen to carry the scrolls.
Jerol sighed. That was it. No more mapmaking, for him or any of the Ronin ever again.
“Come on, now Jerol. It’s time to celebrate! Come join the party.” His wife called from the fire, where lambs were roasting on the spit, and children were laughing and young men were tapping into the kegs of maple ale. The music from the party sounded almost eerie from his distance.
“All right, I was just saying goodbye to Sunfeather.” He took one last look, sighed, and strolled over.
The party was grand, and soon he forgot all about the somber feelings he’d been having. The music was festive, the dancing was lively, and the fruit from the trees in the ravine was delicious. They had the lamb roasting for several hours and everyone’s mouth was watering at the smell long before it was ready. When it was, the meat practically melted away from the bones.
The night wore on and the music became slower and softer: old melodies from ages past, and songs telling stories of their ancestor’s journeys before them. A few hours before sunrise every man woman and child in the camp was sound asleep on the ground around the smoking embers of their bonfire.
A large shadow glided silently over the camp, and a sudden breeze blew a cloud of ashes from the fire into Jerol’s face. He woke, slightly annoyed, and brushed the ash from his nose. One of the sheep in the field gave a sudden scream then fell silent with a heavy thud that shook the ground all the way into the camp.
“Help! A monster! Everybody, come help!” The shepherd yelled and soon every man was on his feet reaching for a spear or lighting a torch.
The monster was a dragon, huge, dark and shadowy in the night. It had taken one of the rams and begun messily devouring it.
The mob approached and the dragon raised its bloody muzzle from the carcass to look at them. At that moment, one of the boys threw his boar-hunting spear at it and hit the beast’s eye, dead on.
The dragon roared in pain and lashed its long muscular tail about wildly as it tried to dislodge the splinter from its eye. The unlucky men who were nearest to the beast died instantly.
Jerol was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The tip of the tail hit him in the shin and before he had time to notice it he was on the ground with a broken leg.
He looked around himself and saw that he had been lucky…very lucky.
The dragon leapt into the air, but was having difficulty flying with just one eye and faltered near the northern river. The men who had survived were becoming bolder and closed in when they saw the dragon settle in the river to wash its eye. Some of them had gone back to the camp to grab their bows and arrows.
Jerol closed his eyes and winced in pain. The dragon gave a sudden scream, and then all was silent.
Jerol woke with his wife laying cool moist rags on his leg to keep the swelling down.
“What happened?” He mumbled drowsily.
From the tears forming in her eyes, he knew the news was very bad.
“The dragon…it killed fifteen of our boys. At least seven more are dying. But they killed it. Ronold found his longbow and finished it through the eye.”
“I smell blood. Have they not…?”
“Yes, all our boys are buried now. It’s the dragon. They took off its head. The river is red with its blood.”
They were both silent for a while.
“Hannah, I hope you won’t think badly of me, but I can’t help but wonder if-”
“I know Jerol. I’ve been wondering the same thing.”
She rested her hand on his forehead.
“Rest now, love, the healer will be by shortly.”
Prologue
The year 2495 of the Third Age
The sun was setting in the fiery sky of the west and the heat of the day was lifting. For five hundred years the Ronin had been traveling slowly away from the eastern shore; across vast golden plains, through dark and veiled forests, over high and rugged mountains, and every other imaginable terrain, friendly and otherwise.
Now their band of three hundred or so men, women, and children rested in a beautiful land with gentle rivers running through acres of green grass, perfect for grazing their sheep. The rivers ran calmly, deep, and green to the north and south of them falling down to join a larger river in a narrow valley lined with heavy-laden fruit trees, which gave a sweet fragrance to the whole area. In the distance, they could see the forest through which they had traveled for months, full of deer, wild boars, elk, rabbits, and pheasants. They were all of one thought, that this was as beautiful a place as any they had yet seen, and perfect for settling in, now that their service to the King was ending.
Jerol, the mapmaker, had just put the last finishing touches on the last map to be sent with the last hawk to the King in the east. Fifteen maps in all were to be sent; together they would make the largest, most comprehensive map of the whole country from the eastern shores to this valley in the west. The making of each one took thirty years and was a man’s lifetime of work.
He watched the hawk fly, barely burdened by the weight of the scroll tube bound to its feet. The hawk would not be able to hunt during its journey, which may take as much as a week. But this was hardly a challenge for these birds. In late summer all golden hawks would fly to the eastern sea, and rarely try to hunt on the way, which is why they were chosen to carry the scrolls.
Jerol sighed. That was it. No more mapmaking, for him or any of the Ronin ever again.
“Come on, now Jerol. It’s time to celebrate! Come join the party.” His wife called from the fire, where lambs were roasting on the spit, and children were laughing and young men were tapping into the kegs of maple ale. The music from the party sounded almost eerie from his distance.
“All right, I was just saying goodbye to Sunfeather.” He took one last look, sighed, and strolled over.
The party was grand, and soon he forgot all about the somber feelings he’d been having. The music was festive, the dancing was lively, and the fruit from the trees in the ravine was delicious. They had the lamb roasting for several hours and everyone’s mouth was watering at the smell long before it was ready. When it was, the meat practically melted away from the bones.
The night wore on and the music became slower and softer: old melodies from ages past, and songs telling stories of their ancestor’s journeys before them. A few hours before sunrise every man woman and child in the camp was sound asleep on the ground around the smoking embers of their bonfire.
A large shadow glided silently over the camp, and a sudden breeze blew a cloud of ashes from the fire into Jerol’s face. He woke, slightly annoyed, and brushed the ash from his nose. One of the sheep in the field gave a sudden scream then fell silent with a heavy thud that shook the ground all the way into the camp.
“Help! A monster! Everybody, come help!” The shepherd yelled and soon every man was on his feet reaching for a spear or lighting a torch.
The monster was a dragon, huge, dark and shadowy in the night. It had taken one of the rams and begun messily devouring it.
The mob approached and the dragon raised its bloody muzzle from the carcass to look at them. At that moment, one of the boys threw his boar-hunting spear at it and hit the beast’s eye, dead on.
The dragon roared in pain and lashed its long muscular tail about wildly as it tried to dislodge the splinter from its eye. The unlucky men who were nearest to the beast died instantly.
Jerol was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The tip of the tail hit him in the shin and before he had time to notice it he was on the ground with a broken leg.
He looked around himself and saw that he had been lucky…very lucky.
The dragon leapt into the air, but was having difficulty flying with just one eye and faltered near the northern river. The men who had survived were becoming bolder and closed in when they saw the dragon settle in the river to wash its eye. Some of them had gone back to the camp to grab their bows and arrows.
Jerol closed his eyes and winced in pain. The dragon gave a sudden scream, and then all was silent.
Jerol woke with his wife laying cool moist rags on his leg to keep the swelling down.
“What happened?” He mumbled drowsily.
From the tears forming in her eyes, he knew the news was very bad.
“The dragon…it killed fifteen of our boys. At least seven more are dying. But they killed it. Ronold found his longbow and finished it through the eye.”
“I smell blood. Have they not…?”
“Yes, all our boys are buried now. It’s the dragon. They took off its head. The river is red with its blood.”
They were both silent for a while.
“Hannah, I hope you won’t think badly of me, but I can’t help but wonder if-”
“I know Jerol. I’ve been wondering the same thing.”
She rested her hand on his forehead.
“Rest now, love, the healer will be by shortly.”
I'm not going to be much help critiquing it. It's past my skill to edit really. Very good descriptions, it flows well, and kept my interest. Course, it helps that I'm a fantasy nut.
but i throughly enjoyed it- the descriptions, the detail, everything!! plz carry it on!!
