Howdy folks.

A while ago, I started writing a fantasy novel, as every nerd does at some point in their life. I've put a fair number of hours into it at this point and am pretty happy with how it's coming along.

I'd like some criticism however - on my writing style, my storytelling, etc. Basically, is the following any good, or should I just stick with the day job?

Anyway, without further ado, have at it!

EDIT: I originally forgot to include any background or context. Ignore if you want to read as intended (i.e. no prior knowledge), or read if you want some background.



I think that should be enough background to put things into context. Obviously, as the below is a prologue, readers aren't really meant to know anything initially, but as there's no follow-up chapters yet, I figure this is necessary.



PROLOGUE

The city of Karn loomed on the horizon, the eastern sides of the buildings glowing a fiery orange from the rising sun. The man in the black cloak estimated that he would reach the outskirts by noon. He reached into a pocket and retrieved a perfect, untarnished piece of paper. He stared at the garbled mess of unfamiliar characters and concentrated. The shapes writhed and changed, forming letters, then words, then sentences in the archaic language of the High Tongue. To an observer, it would look like hundreds of tiny black worms wriggling on the page.

No signature. No indication as to who sent the letter at all, apart from the request to come to Karn as soon as possible. He would have preferred if he never had to venture into the kingdom of Karnice at all, never mind it's capital city. But whoever wrote this letter had gone through alot of trouble encrypting it; the magic infused into this page was powerful, controlled. Even after two months of being in his pocket as he travelled over mountain, desert and sea, it had remained as clean and undamaged as the day he had received it. He had tried several times, all fruitlessly, to tear it, and had even once, tentatively, burned the corner of the page with a match. There hadn't even been the smallest of marks. This mysterious letter writer must also have had contacts well outside of Karn; a letter containing this much magic would never have gotten past the city's security without substantial help.

Stowing the letter back in his pocket, the man pushed down the heavy black hood. The face that was revealed was naturally gaunt, and made even more so by two months of hard travel. A heavy beard covered his jaw and cheeks, and black, greasy hair hung down past his shoulders. The eyes, sunken slightly in their sockets were a startling blue, and his skin was pale, with cracked lips from the incessantly dry air. In other circumstances, he would have been handsome. The man's name was Tarryn El'Aldier.

Tarryn was close enough now to make out the city's palace. It towered over its surroundings, a huge mess of marble and iron. He could see that once, many generations ago, it had been beautiful, an architectural wonder of symmetry, of white marble and ornate stained glass. But now its beauty was hidden by strange contraptions of rusted iron and steel, of huge stone chimneys spewing out towers of black smoke. What little of the old original palace that still showed was stained a dirty brown, it's once majestic windows replaced by clear, functional glass framed by black iron. He sighed. His father had been right; Karn was a city of technology that cared little for anything aesthetic.

The land that stretched out around Karn was not any easier on the eye. Tarryn could already feel the faint hum of the huge, underground generators that powered the city, svcking the magic out of the air and out of the land, making it impossible for anything to grow. The desert was spreading: each year it moved outward another few miles.

The sun had risen quite high when Tarryn arrived at the small slum on the outskirts of Karn. Two small boys stopped their mock sword fight and turned to look at this stranger in the black cloak. One of them raised his crude wooden sword as if to challenge him. The other ran towards a small shack made of wooden walls and a rusty steel roof.

“Greetings, child,” said Tarryn in his native tongue. When the boy continued to gape at him, he realised that these people likely spoke the Common Tongue. He opened his mouth to try again, but before he could, the boy turned tail and ran off after his companion. Tarryn followed him to the shack and knocked at the door. After a few seconds, the door opened.

The man who opened it wore only a tattered pair of trousers. His scrawny chest was bare and heavily tanned. He seemed to be missing all of his teeth bar one of his upper incisors. One alert blue eye stared at him suspiciously, the other, milky white, moved blindly in its socket.

“Whaddya want?,” he snarled.

“I was wondering if you had any food you could spare? I have gold, I can pay you well for your trouble,” said Tarryn.

“Gold? Who the hell has gold?”

Tarryn reached into a pouch strapped to his waist and pulled out a handful of small coins. They glinted yellow in the morning sun. The shirtless man gaped. He took one in his hand, felt the smooth surface, brought it to his face, examined it from every angle, and finally, put it to his nose and breathed in deeply.

“Sure we've got food. Marv's tavern is just 'round the corner. He's got food. Sammich, pie, broth, whatever ya want.”

“Thank you friend,” said Tarryn. He followed the man towards what seemed to be the largest building in the settlement. Its walls were mainly wood, but were reinforced by large, rough sheets of steel. The door was heavy iron, with a small grate at eye level. The man knocked twice. A couple of seconds later, the grate slid back, and a pair of bloodshot eyes looked out.

“Who is it?,” said a gruff voice from inside.

“It's Sid. Lemme in, we got an out-of-towner that wants feedin'. Got's big ole gold coins. Marv 'cepts them, right?”

There was a pause. Muttering from inside.

“Sure he does,” came the reply. The grate slid shut, and there was a clunking sound. The door swung open, and Tarryn was struck by an overpowering stench of liquor, sweat and urine. A huge wall of a man filled the doorway. Tarryn guessed he was security: he looked like he could evict an entire band of rowdy revellers with one hand if he had to. He stared down at Tarryn.

“Come on, you can buy me a beer,” said Sid.

The smell was worse inside. There was no floor as such, just the earth and some straw scattered around. About a dozen mismatched tables were situated all around the interior, and a crude wooden bar ran along the far end of the room. Behind the bar stood a small man with beady eyes and a pot belly. Sweat shone on his balding pate, and matted his remaining hair to the sides of his head. Tarryn presumed that this was Marv.

“Well well well,” said Marv. “It's not often we get a new face in our little establishment. That's a nice cloak by the way. You one of those city folk we sometimes get? You know, sick o' all the people, all the smells?”

Tarryn wondered just how bad Karn smelled if this was where people came to get away from it.

“Actually, I'm not from Karn at all,” said Tarryn. “My business here is my own.”

“I can respect that. Ev'ry man's gotta right t'his privacy. So what'll it be? We got meat pie, meat sammich, meat stew. All homemade by missus Marv.”

“I'll have the meat pie, and a beer, and a beer for Sid too please.”

“Well lookey here, the man knows his pleases and thank yoos. You should listen to him Sid, might learn a thing or too.”

“Shut it Marv, and get me that beer,” replied Sid.

Five minutes later, Marv banged a plate down in front of Tarryn. To his wife's credit, the pie certainly looked good. The pastry was fresh, and the plate was relatively clean, at least compared to everything else in the tavern. He tucked in. The pastry was as good as it looked. He speared a bit of meat, and chewed it. Beef. Not bad at all. Tarryn hadn't realised how ravenous he was, and devoured the pie in moments. He washed it down with a long draught of beer. Sid was already finishing his third, and calling for a fourth. Marv came over to clear his plate.

“Tell your wife thank you,” said Tarryn. “That was the best meal I've had in two months.”

“She'll be damn glad to hear that stranger. Takes alot o' pride in her cooking, the missus does. Not that any of the usual louts in here ever appreciate it.”
A drunken shout rose from further down the bar.

“Sure we do Marv, best damn cookin' in Karn!”

“Shuddup, Carl, you wouldn't know good food if it pissed in your drink. And look at you, not even noon and you're drunk as [censored],” said Marv.

“You ain't never complained about taking my money before, Marv! Speakin' o' which, gemme another-WHOA!”

Carl landed on the floor with a thump, gravity having finally gotten the better of his drunken efforts to balance on the back two legs of his bar stool. The tavern's patrons roared with laughter.

“Shi- Shuddup you lot, I spilled my beer.” More laughter. Carl righted his stool and sat back down with an embarrassed grin.
There was a clunking sound from behind Tarryn. He looked around. The huge doorman was sliding the deadbolt across on the heavy iron door. He turned back to Marv. Marv was regarding him with an odd expression, the way someone might look at a fatally injured horse before putting it out of its misery.

“Right. Everyone who doesn't want a part of this, leave through the back entrance,” said Marv. Most of the tavern got up and left through the small doorway in the corner. The last to leave was Carl the drunk, who gave Tarryn an uneasy look before pulling the door shut behind him.

“What's going on?,” said Tarryn. A redundant question, he had expected this from the moment he saw Sid's reaction to the bag of gold.
Sid drained his fourth beer and put the empty glass on the bar.

“That's an awful lot o' gold for one person,” he said. “Why not share it around a bit?”

“If it's my gold you want, here.” Tarryn withdrew the bag and placed it on the bar. “I don't want any trouble.”
“What else you got under the cloak, stranger?”

“It's a nice cloak,” Marv chimed in.

A pair of hands seized Tarryn from behind. They felt like two vice grips on his shoulders. The doorman's hideous breath warmed the top of his head. Sid moved forward and pulled the cloak open. His hands searched through the pockets, pulling out and tossing aside various bits and pieces. A water skin. Some dried boar meat. The last of his bread, hard as a rock now. Finally, Sid pulled out the letter.

“What's this?,” he said, staring at the page. “Gibberish, this ain't no good.”

He made to tear it down the middle, but couldn't. He struggled for a couple of seconds, then gave up.

“What the hell... This some sort of magic paper, stranger? Gotta be worth a pretty penny.”

“Give me that,” said Tarryn. Sid backed away slightly; there was something in that voice that hadn't been there before. But in an instant he had regained his composure.

“What's so great about a piece o' paper? Worth more than a big ole bag o' gold to ya, is it?” He laughed.

“Give me the paper, and I'll let all of you walk out of here alive.” There was that edge again, more pronounced this time. There was an uneasy pause, and then Marv laughed. Sid joined in, albeit with less enthusiasm: he was looking at Tarryn's eyes, and he couldn't find even a hint of fear there.

“Come on stranger, tell us what's so important about this piece o' paper,” said Marv. “Tell us, and we might at least let you walk outta here with your trousers. Tarryn said nothing. There was a battle of wills raging inside his head. It would be so easy to squash them all where they stood. To blow them into a thousand pieces. To set them on fire, to rip them limb from limb. A row of glasses behind the bar shook. One fell to the ground and smashed.

Sid was really starting to feel uneasy now. He looked at the row of glasses. He had felt a change in the air just there, when they shook. Tarryn's eyes were still calm, fearless, inscrutable.

Marv paid no attention. His shelves weren't known for their stability anyway. He was more interested in the paper that this stranger seemed so keen on.
“Gorman, break one of his arms. That might loosen his tongue.”

Tarryn felt the big man grasp his left forearm in an iron grip. He closed his eyes and sighed.

When he opened them a second later, Gorman was on the ground. Tarryn was amazed that such a big man could produce such a high-pitched scream. He was clutching his left arm with his right; his left hand was a mangled mess of bloody flesh and broken bone. It looked as though someone had crushed it repeatedly with a sledgehammer.

“You... You're a user! You're a [censored]in' user you sonova[censored]!,” shouted Marv. He reached under the bar and pulled out a crossbow. While Marv's tavern wasn't exactly well maintained, the crossbow was. Tarryn could see the well-oiled mechanism glistening in the dim light. The point of the bolt looked sharp enough to pierce iron.

“[censored]in' users! I killed one o' you before ya know? Guy came in here, drank himself stupid and started breaking glasses, ya know, with magic! Shot the stupid [censored] right through the eye with this here crossbow!”

There was a sharp crack, and Marv was holding a handful of splinters. There was a popping sound as the air between Tarryn and Marv compressed and then expanded with enough force to drive Marv back against the shelves of bottles and glasses. He landed on his backside in a mess of liquor and glass.

“Give me my letter,” said Tarryn. Sid stared at him, his mouth hanging open. It was at least ten seconds before he moved.

“Here, take it,” he whimpered. He thrust his hand out, wincing as Tarryn snatched the piece of paper from it.

“Thank you.” Tarryn turned and walked towards the heavy iron door. He was pulling the deadbolt free when he heard an inhuman scream from behind. He reacted by instinct, something he had always struggled against doing. Anytime he had acted on instinct, it ended badly. This time was no exception.
Marv exploded two feet away.

A severed hand, still holding the broken bottle as a weapon, flew past Tarryn's head and hit the door with a thud. The rest of Marv landed on the floor, the walls, the ceiling, on Gorman and Sid, and on Tarryn. Gorman stopped whimpering, he just stared at Tarryn, cradling his ruined hand. Tarryn looked down and the page in his hand. It was still perfectly clean, not a drop of blood had found it. He tucked it into his pocket, pulled his hood over his head, turned, and left Marv's tavern.

Outside, two young boys holding wooden swords watched as a hooded figure in a black cloak covered in fresh blood stains walked towards the city of Karn.

Well that was brutal. Everything was going so well until the bar-brawl. I really didn't think it sit well - if a stranger comes in with gold, a tavern would want him to spend, keep spending and only rob him when he's blind drunk on the price of food and ale. Robbing him doesn't endear you to return customers - but then again, it might have been Sid's plan all along. Which brings me to another point - what kind of dolt shows people a gold coin upon request? Surely he could have just patted his money pouch or shown him a couple of coppers or something.

So, all plot criticisms aside, the story itself is well written. Your prose is good - letting your characters talk instead of internalising everything was something I liked, too bad Tarryn didn't actually say much. I would have liked him to be a tad more talkative. He's polite, to the point but so far, he sounds like a cross between a stuck up loner and a raging lunatic on the verge of losing control.

I only read the first few paragraphs but it seems pretty good. The style seems... I don't want to say simplistic because that sounds like a bad thing. Let's just say you don't have to strain yourself to read it, which is a plus in my book. I can focus more on the story and less on the words. There's room for improvement but I don't really have any suggestions in that area.

What, like really bad?



Marv and Gorman weren't letting Tarryn leave that bar alive; he was an out of towner, so who would have missed him? They wanted his gold, why wouldn't they have taken it as soon as possible?



I want to make Tarryn's character into the kind of person that knows he can crush pretty much anyone in a heartbeat, but is trying incredibly hard not to. The whole 'look at mah gold' thing was because Tarryn is very reckless; while he is trying to control his magic-usage, there is a significant part of him just itching for a fight or a chance to show off.



Thank you for the praise. Tarryn is pretty much as you described him by the way; a somewhat murderous bastard trying to cover it up with politeness.

Brutal = exploding Marv. Didn't see that coming. Very gory.

Still, I'm not sure I like the idea of a tavern owner just murdering anybody from out of town. No wonder the place is such a dump! I wonder if previous victims was what made the pies so tasty...

I'll take that as a compliment.

I'm all about the story and the characters; everything else is secondary IMO. I'm well aware that my prose won't win any awards, but as long as it's enjoyable and to the point then I'm satisfied. I write stuff I'd want to read, basically.

I like how I don't know anything about the setting? So what is this some kind of run down slum planet in the near future with psions or something? How do I KNOW this is fantasy? I also don't think a bar attacking everyone makes any sense. How the hell would they stay open? Regular customers? On what money? It's clearly a slum from what you wrote. They would want him to keep spending, and perhaps the worst I might do is over charge. When he catches them over charging him for food/drink/bed it's a great chance to show off his character. If you want him to be an [censored] then turn them off and demand money back ect. Or you can forgive them, hell you can even just have him ask for his money back and then leave. To show he's more of a spiteful loner than a psycho.

I just skimmed it, for a work in progress I'll give it a 3/5. As a work in progress. Needs more description, and far more environmental description in particular. I have no idea what kind of setting this is. Other than it's low technology, they use gold, and they happen to have "magic". This could just be superstitious people. What KIND of technology town? High tech tron? High tech as in wind mills, and other primitive technology? Weird bio-technology? Dwarfish technology? Steam punk? What kind of technology.

Gamgee said everything there is to say, I guess.

One thing - if that piece of paper is so indestructible...can you make your dude sew it into his shirt? It would make kick [censored] armour. I could be like his mithryl.

First off, this is a breathe of fresh air compared to most of the crap that gets posted on these forums, so pat yourself on the back for that.

As for the sudden attack others are having a hard time getting along with, it seems the town is sort of reckless in the first place, svcking up the magic and all, maybe that is the nature of the citizens. The bar reminds me of an underground bar that most folks would know to avoid anyways, and if you didn't...well, you see what happens. So to me, its not really a stretch to see that happening.

Keep up the good writing.

Gamgee, you've drawn my attention to the fact that I gave absolutely no context, and so most of the story in that chapter makes little sense.

I'm going to edit my OP.

Sivartus - thank you.

Meh, I liked it better without context. That way you explore the world yourself instead of being told. If I wanted to be told I would read a history text. Or read Lord of the Rings. But LotR has been written already and I don't need to read it again.

http://electrofishstudios.files.wordpress.com/2010/12/fuuuuu.jpg


Added spoiler tags; read the if you want context, ignore if you don't!

When I posted my story here, I got the SAME [censored]. People going all wishy washy, and before I decided to explode into sadness. I realized one key fact, your not going to impress everyone. So listen to what everyone has to say, which is the better way of writing ect, and then choose the one you like. This ties into your over arching style.

Listen to me, I'm more important than Gamgee!

I thought it was good. No doubt you've anolyzed some writing styles of other authors. Don't worry about that, if people like what you write, someday aspiring writers will be anolyzing YOUR style of writing.

Hey... I know that bar



a little rough, but very acceptable. I'd ease into the violence a little slower, build the tension some what more, maybe with some more conversation that dripped of violent innuendo

Also, description of the interior or surroundings can also be used as metaphoric symbolism to heighten tensions (like how in movie someone stubbing out a sigarette is symbolic for someone dieing, crows outside the window looking in etc etc..)

I'm giving a 4/5

II really liked it, if it developed more as in basically writing more it would be great fantasy
You'd have to build your own world from scratch though.
I like the uneducated style of the commoners aswell it makes it more believable, people in everyday life speak alot differently than people in most books if you know what I mean? In reality people don't normally use correct grammar when speaking but in books they are always oh-so perfect so that is a great story-telling element, but don't overuse dialogue try to show things rather than say them, use character's body language more(not more than dialogue just more than you currently use body language)

I wouldn't go as far as to say anolysed, but I am heavily influenced by a handful of authors. I guess most writers are.



Thanks Andy. I agree that it's a but rough, the problem is that while I love writing, I hate editing.

Re-reading it, I see what you mean about building tension; the transition into the attempted robbery/fight is a bit sudden.




I have pages of stuff detailing the world, characters, back-story, etc. This has been in my head for a few years now, but due to laziness, the prologue is the only actual part I've written so far.

Nice I know what you mean about having the ideas but not bringing them to fruition , I have had plenty of ideas for good poetry but only written around 3 of them out of all 15 or so

I like it, but judging by your avatar we have relatively the same taste in books, so no surprise there.

It could use a bit more detail, for example maybe the architecture of the buildings, interiors, etc. but the things you did put detail into were nice. I particularly liked the opening sentence describing the sunlight bouncing off the buildings of "Karn".

The sudden exploding of Marv was maybe a little... unnecessary. although I was eating at the time, so maybe that's why I feel that way. it could do with a bit more "easing" in to. like, you know when you kid of expect that the dude is about to die, and when it happens it's not as much a surprise? kinda like that.

One thing you may want to change is your words to describe the languages they speak. If I'm not mistaken, isn't "High Speech" a certain Gunslinger's native tongue? If not, I know it's similar to that. Been a while since I read the series.

I think it fits more in the style that it's a surprise and it should remain so in my opinion

This has been mentioned a few times. I'll keep it in mind when writing in the future.



Heh, my apologies if I put you off your food. Personally, I like when the unexpected happens in stories.



Some of the names and terminology are just placeholders at the moment. It was the first thing that game into my head and I'm pretty sure that was The Dark Tower's fault.

Of course it's only a rough draft, so it's not like it's being published that way. But the detail you do give is rather nice. Doesn't use huge, confusing words to describe simplistic things.



Oh, no problem, it wasn't too descriptive. I didn't really explain myself very well, I'm not sure how to. Actually, now that I look over it again, I'm not so sure what the hell I was talking about.



Good to know! That had particularly rang a bell with me. I wasn't sure where I recognized it from(the "High Speech"), and then I literally did a :facepalm: when I saw your avatar...

That's cause I don't know any big words.



You'll want to use that same smiley when you see my new avatar, for entirely different reasons. :hehe:

Whats a Sonova[censored]?

Sonova a name for magic weilders?