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Post by Mister Buch on Jul 27, 2012 2:14:48 GMT 1
Hey,
Since I've got the writing bug and I'm probably going to be talking about this novella I'm working on all the time, I thought I would start a new thread for it.
It's a fantasy story in the second person, in which a child goes looking for adventure in medieval Europe but is constantly disappointed by the lack of magic and harsh realities of life. So for instance, in one chapter they go to slay a vampire, but it emerges as just a man with rabies. So the 'magic' of dark-ages ignorance is unravelled. But... I am planning a happy ending by spinning that around - the magic of a child's imagination.
But it's very difficult for me to write, since A) I've never tried second person and B) I'm aiming this at children and at one point there is a man with rabies. Not sure if these things are going to be possible, with the plot points I have in mind. Sooooooo yeah.
If anybody has any experience or advice writing for children or writing in the second person, I'm all ears. Thanks for the interest and the help.
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Post by Mister Buch on Jul 27, 2012 2:18:21 GMT 1
And I thought I'd post my first (mostly unedited, rushed) draft of chapter 1 here as well.
If anyone reads and has criticism, I'd be very grateful. Even if it's just 'This doesn't make sense' or 'This is extremely derivative - probably because you don't even read fantasy you asshammer' or 'Children would be bored to death by this' - all of which are at the back of my mind.
This is a very difficult story for me, but man - I am enjoying it.
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Venturous --
It begins the way it always begins. You push your shoulder against the hard wooden door of the inn and buckle under its weight. Your cheeks get hot and it makes you angry. You dare not spit.
You push harder until you feel the old iron hinges relent and swing away behind you. There is so much smoke and beer froth and thick, candle-burnt air that it gets into your eyes and makes them sting. Hoping that nobody inside has seen you, you rub your face against something – you think it must be a curtain or a tablecloth – and breathe.
It's hot in this room. You can't remember your name or where you are from. You don't remember how long you have walked, or what route you took. Perhaps you are just weary, or perhaps it's the overpowering smell of rotten, whiskey-soaked wood, but you struggle to remember why you came here.
You remember that a great hero is in this place.
You remember that you want to follow him.
You remember that you face great danger, and this makes you smile.
Your arm is still sore. You open your eyes.
CHAPTER ONE A Half-Remembered Tale
This is the first time you have set foot in a tavern. As you glance about, your back still facing the door, you hope that you don't look as lost as you feel. The patrons who fill out the hall are large, sweaty and long-haired. There are a lot of braids and knotted beards, and this seems strange to you. Your hair is short, shaped and simple. A woman's skirt brushes your face and you look up, startled. She seems to notice, and clutches at the thick material as though you were a dog or a fly getting caught up in her clothes. She shuffles away with a confused look that stays on her face until a young man hands her a tall cup of drink.
Now the innkeeper is looking at you from behind the bar at the back of the room. You have not known many grown-ups so you don't trust your first impressions of them, but this man looks friendly. He has large blue eyes, a little too close together, and a layer of thin red hairs covering his arms and cheeks like dust covering shelves. Making your way through the crowds, you decide it would be best to speak to him.
When you arrive, you notice that he has not taken his eyes off you. “Good evenin'... youngster,” he says, then frowns and looks uncomfortable. Maybe he is wondering if you are a boy or a girl. It might be hard to say, since you are wearing a thick hood and coat. “I don't recognise you,” he says, “but I know a tired traveller when I see one. What's your name?'
You tell him.
“Are you alone?”
You nod.
“Well then. We don't normally have children in the inn, but that's by the by. Welcome to the Bowman's Bird.” He looks very upset, this man. He is thinking about saying something, and he is going to say it. You look at him and wait quietly.
Finally he says, “Where are you parents?” and you tell him that you don't know.
“I see. Well, make yourself comfortable for now. Will you be staying the night?”
You admit that you don't know that either. For a moment, you can't think at all. Everything goes fuzzy.
“I'll get you a drink,” the barman says, turning around. There is a kindness in his voice which seems too genuine for you to doubt him. His bar is neat and tidy, more so than the tables occupied by his customers. “My name's Alferd,” he says. “What's yo–”
“I'm looking for the hero who lives here,” you say, interrupting him by accident.
Alferd turns around to look at you for a moment. He seems to relax in that moment, and he dips a small metal cup into a bucket of milk. He puts it neatly on the bar in front of you and wipes the side facing away from you.
“You're looking for Talmir Giantkiller,” he says. It doesn't sound right, though. Giant killer?
“I thought...” you mumble, sadly. “I thought he killed a dragon.” You can't remember why you think this.
“No, 'fraid not. No dragons in this country, as far as I know. No giants, for that matter. Not any more, anyway.”
You smile. “When was the last time you saw a giant?”
“Only once. And once was enough, I can assure you. He ruled over our town for months, hiding in the forest you know, attacking us. Taking our food, killing those of us who ventured out to his lair. But when word of our plight spread, Talmir and his men arrived and–”
You interrupt him again. “Where is Talmir?” You pause. “Please.” Alferd smiles and pushes the milk toward you. You reach up and grip it, which makes him happy. “Upstairs,” he says, motioning with his eyes and a jerk of his chin. “On the balcony there. He'll be the gentleman with the axe.” You sip some of the milk and take it with you as you turn around to follow the man's eyes. Above the floor of the inn is a long balcony with sturdy doors leading to four bedrooms, but there are a few tables in front of them. Some of the townspeople seem to have pushed them all together to make a long table, and at the head of it there is a muscular man. His brown beard is split down the middle and knotted in such a way that it looks like it is tied behind his ears. By his side is a solid slab of steel, the cleanest, boldest steel you have ever seen, which shines particularly well at the points. A battle-axe. Its silvery light stands out against the browns, reds and blonds of every other object in the room, as though it does not belong. You have to wonder how heavy it is. Probably heavier than you.
Talmir is talking with friends when you reach him, and they don't notice you. Unsure how to get the great man's attention, you just sip your milk and look at him. The axe is even shinier up close, and his moustache even sillier. You think that trimming and arranging it must take a lot of his time in the mornings.
The big men are talking about a bandit raid they are planning for tomorrow, and the giant killer is nodding and smiling distantly. Apparently there is a group of bandits nearby, and they have taken some women from the town prisoner, as well as stealing some gold. The men make this sound like it happens a lot, but they are very, very excited about the attack they are planning. They have worked themselves nearly to a fever, swinging tankards and swapping boasts about how strong they are, or how many bandit heads they will cut off, which ranges from five (from the youngest and thinnest man) to a thousand (the second-youngest and most drunk). Talmir pretends to laugh. Finally he says, “Tomorrow, my friends,” and they calm down. It is obvious that they admire him. Revere him, even.
It is now that one of the men bumps into you, and all at once they see you. Five of them stagger backwards, one falls over. You feel their eyes on your face and you wonder what you look like. “They don't normally allow children in the Bowman's...” someone says quietly.
“Speak, child,” says Talmir, but he does not act or sound like a warrior. He is still and bored and unhappy, like a grandfather. “I have come to see Talmir Giantkiller,” you say.
“You're seeing him now,” says Talmir, and there is laughter. “You aren't from town, are you? Why are you looking for me?”
It is hard to answer without either seeming stupid or lying. After a moment you just open your mouth and hope that it produces an answer. “I have heard that you are a hero,” you say. No-one laughs.
“Yes.” That's all he says. The way he says the word suggests that he has a lot more to say, but he has decided not to.
“This man,” says a fellow in a coat of chain mail, slapping his hand on Talmir's wide shoulder, “is the saviour and protector of the town of Theronil!”
You nod to show respect.
“He was the last survivor of an expedition to slay the giant who threatened us, ten years ago.”
“Yes,” says Talmir again.
“What say you, boys? Shall we tell the story?”
At this, the men roar and laugh. Out of the corner of your eye you see Talmir whisper something, but only for a second. The man in the mail sits you down and spills a little of your milk.
Alferd emerges through the crowd behind you, and delivers a plate of fresh meat and fruit with a wink. You are grateful and hungry. This seems like a good inn. A good town. It's nice.
And so you eat while the crowd tell Talmir's story. Each man reads a verse and you are excited to hear such an epic story told by those people who are closest to the hero himself. His silence, as they speak, makes him seem grand and above you. Not rude, but above you. It is hard not to smile.
In the tale, Talmir is the young champion of his village, who is out hunting one day and comes across a wounded maiden, begging for help. She tells him stories of the monster, twenty-feet-high, who terrorizes the home town she fled. It is this town. He nurses her to health and the two fall in love, so he pledges his honour to the death of the giant. Together with his love and six of his bravest kinsmen, young Talmir the wanderer sets out three days later to restore the town of Theronil to peace. Once the party has tracked the fiend down, they find it resting, chewing on the bones of its poor victims. Immediately they spring their ambush, attacking bravely. The beast is angered, and realises it is cornered. Pulling all of its mighty, inhuman strength into a single, last blow, the giant smashes his fists into the rocky ground, splitting the Earth in two and creating an enormous, half-spherical hole in the ground. Talmir's companions and his new love are all killed, falling down into the great hole, the giant leaping down after them. So, the hero leaps into the chasm, plunging his sword into the giant's eye, killing it instantly. He emerges here in Theronil alone but victorious, and he is taken to the inn.
The man in the mail coat asks what you think, and you tell the truth: you enjoyed it very much. He is pleased and slaps your shoulder. As you finish your fruit and milk, they slowly begin to calm down. Their conversation moves to small bragging, and then to mutterings about you, and finally to ordinary town chit-chat. Talmir says very little and does not look at you, so you just finish your meal. When you are done, you hurry downstairs with Alferd's tray.
As you head down the stairs you see him talking to a group of customers at a table in the corner. He has a jug of something, with which he fills their mugs, and they seem to share a joke. You decide to wait by the bar and leave the tray on it.
The innkeeper returns to you almost immediately, though, and takes the tray. You thank him, and he smiles. “You must have travelled a long way, little'un,” he says. It makes you laugh when he calls you that, and you worry that you have insulted him, but he just smiles back warmly.
“I think I have,” you say.
He doesn't pry, but sits down on a stool he has behind the bar and looks at you. “We have a spare room, little'un,” he says. “You can stay there as long as you need to.”
You tell him that you have no gold, but he calmly tells you that you won't need any. You thank him again.
“No need for that, either,” he says, and offers you another drink. You shake your head.
“How long have you known Talmir?” you ask.
Alferd pours some milk for himself as he answers. “Since he arrived,” he says. “He stays here too. I had three rooms to rent before the giant killer arrived. Now I have two rooms, and the honour and safety only a hero can offer.”
You ask what Talmir is like.
“Like you see,” Alferd says, simply. “He's grand and he's quiet.” “Did he really save the town from the giant?”
Alferd seems to lose a bit of his smile. “Yes he did,” he says, looking into your eyes. “He walked into town, with some of our merchants, carrying the giant's head.” The innkeeper's eyes drop to the bar and he starts wiping at a stain that you can't see. Again, there is something on his mind that he isn't telling you. This seems a little bit annoying, but you wait patiently. Finally he says, “My daughter left to find him, and Talmir couldn't save her.”
“Your daughter was the maiden from his story? The one who left to find help an fell in love with him?”
“Yes. She was brave.” You don't know what to say, so you just agree that yes, she must have been. Alferd's smile returns and he steps away from the bar, walks out into the middle of the inn. Pointing back up at the balcony, he tells you that your room will be the one right at the end. He says it is small, but then so are you, little'un. And you laugh politely. His hand pats your shoulder and he wanders off toward a hand, waving at him from another table.
Upstairs you see Talmir shuffle back and forth in his chair. Nobody else seems to be watching him, so he keeps shuffling for almost a minute. When he is tired of this, he gets up. He slowly wanders over to to the window at the end of the balcony and then rests his head against the glass. Without thinking, you jump up the stairs to talk to him. There are little bits of bread in that moustache and beard of his, and his eyes seem larger now.
“The version they told you is not the true story,” he says, quietly, when you are close enough. “That is not even the version I told them. They have forgotten the story and made up a better one.” The tone of his voice makes you look around you, anxiously, to see if they are listening. They are not. Talmir does not break his gaze. “What story did you tell them?” you ask. “What happened?” “My party and I set off from Allerton,” he whispers, “to kill a giant. There was a messenger from here and she promised a reward of gold and land. There were eight of us, and being young we assumed that eight men would have no trouble with one, no matter how tall he was. We lost two to wolves on the outskirts of our own borders, and then another to a witch who robbed us in the night and cursed him. The messenger girl, and my last three men, were killed by the giant himself, who we found much sooner than we had hoped. He appeared when we were eating, and we had no time to prepare. The moment the first arrow hit him, I dropped my sword and ran.”
“Why?”
“Because I did not think I could best him. I had seen him shrug off my friends' arrows. He screamed, like an animal. I ran, listening to him crushing and bellowing. I ran. And I ran.
“He chased me for miles, out of the Wide Wood and across the grasslands where there was nowhere for me to hide. We both ran and grunted for two days. Finally we came to the coast, and the giant had more strength than I.”
You realise your mouth is open. “Did he split the ground into a great chasm, like they said?” you ask.
“I fell and I broke my leg at the bottom. The giant followed, and I managed to jam a stick in his eye.
“The stick killed him, and I was found by merchants. They asked me where I was from and I told them. They asked me if I had travelled so far to slay the giant and I said that I had. And they told me that I was a hero and I said nothing. A hero can be any man, little one. Whichever man is left at the end of a journey. “They brought me here, gave me food and a weapon, made of their finest steel. They do not ask me to work.” You nod, but you feel strangely empty. “I don't like it here,” he tells you. He sounds weary and has begun to slur his words. You ask him why he stays in Theronil and does not return home. After a long pause, he sighs and says, “There are other wolves out there. There are witches. And giants. My little friend, I cannot go home.”
“You still have seven companions,” you tell him, looking at the others.
“Yes, but who is to say that on the way back, I will be the one man who survives, hm?”
You don't have an answer, so the two of you just stare at each other for a while. Eventually he sighs.
“Will you fight those bandits tomorrow?” you say. It's all you can think of to say.
“I have never used this axe,” he says. “I ran a long way, and I survived.”
“Oh,” you reply.
The man who killed the giant nods and closes his eyes.
“I thought it was a dragon, not a giant.” You wonder how this idea ever got into your head.
“No,” he says.
--
You begin to wonder how late into the evening it has gotten to, and if Alferd the kindly innkeeper will let you stay a night without charge. You glance behind your back and to the floor, to see him arranging washed mugs into stacks, balancing them carefully on the tops of his barrels. A good man.
In the corner of the room there is a man dressed in loose, dirty white wraps. He is placing a dirty sword, the colour of rust, into a dirty scabbard with its leather straps accidentally cut and hanging loose at the bottom.
He looks like he is getting ready to leave for home, but then he pulls a heavy-looking bag from under his table and retrieves a thin, short cloak from it. It is also white. He puts it on, covering his shoulders and back, and it looks like he put a tablecloth over himself. It can't be very warm. In a second he has wrapped the bag around his shoulders and in another second he has gone. Where could he be travelling, you wonder, at this time of night? Without stopping to say goodbye to Talmir or Alferd, you run down the stairs after the stranger. Outside, you see that the moon is full, although it is only just visible through the clouds. You can see very little, in fact. The town is behind the inn: a lot of dark wooden logs lashed together with thatching on top. Nothing fancy. The further you look, the more they blend together. The only thing worth looking at is the long, lolloping river, which stretches away from the town in both directions. The man with the rust-coloured sword is by the bank, headed upstream, moving fast. All of a sudden you realise that he wears sandals. Your thick boots are heavy, so you tread carefully. You consider shouting and asking if you may follow him, but it seems like a bad idea. You can't imagine he would allow it. Your legs are shorter than his: you would slow him down.
But you have nowhere else to go.
As quietly as you can, keeping your distance as far as possible without losing sight of the man, you chase after him.
You chase after him in your thick boots. He hears you and turns his head, which is when you realise he has no beard. His face, like the rest of him, is smooth and white. In the dull moonlight, even his eyes seem to have no particular colour. The expression on his face gives nothing away.
You imagine he will come to you, curious, and kneel down and ask where your parents are, and you'll say “I don't know”. You wonder where they are, and what they look like. For a moment you are very frightened. Your life, all of your memories, are on the tip of your tongue but you can't speak. Who are you and what are you doing here?
“Yes?” the pale man says.
You frown and he just looks at you. He isn't ignoring you, but he has nothing to say.
You tell him, “I'm looking for a hero.”
The man smiles a little and says, “Why?” His voice is strange. He seems to be foreign.
This time you do have an answer. “I want to meet one,” you say. “I want to see monsters, and heroes, and... magic.”
The man in white is looking at you carefully now, frowning a little bit. Studying you like an ordinary person would look at a piece of fruit before buying it. He meets your eyes and sighs quietly.
“Then I think you will be disappointed,” he says quietly.
When he walks away, you follow.
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