# Yet Another Story



## Zale (Jan 12, 2005)

This is the first bit to the storyline I'm working on ATM (slowly). It's not stunningly original but at the moment I quite like the way it's going. Still first draft (in fact, I'm making it up as I go along still) so if you see any glaring errors, please point them out.

As usual, any criticism/praise is welcome (as long as it's justified).
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I sighed, leaned over the wall, and spat. I had been told that half of a soldier’s life was spent bored out of his skull, and the other half absolutely terrified. I hadn’t listened and, predictably, I was now bored. Had been, in fact, for the past month.
I glanced over the wall, between the massive crenellations. The view was absolutely magnificent. Two hundred metres from the walls was the river, wide and a startling blue even with the sun obscured behind towering stormclouds. Beyond the river were great rolling plains, as yet untamed grasses - the huge amount of agriculture needed to support a large city, even one so new as this and not yet fully populated, was to the East, between the two tributary branches of the river, and not to the less fertile North, where my gaze now rested.
Just visible in the distance was the forest, a thick line of deep green stretching across the horizon. It was a foreboding sight. The forest was a place where few went willingly; its denizens did not welcome visitors. Travel through the forest, narrow as it was, was expensive to the point where it had become a national boundary.
A couple of paces away, my companion shifted and squinted up at the grey, almost black sky. “Won’t be just you wet behind the ears in a bit, lad,” he observed. This was as much as he’d said to me in days. I replied, “I’d know a bit more if you talked a bit more. You’re my mentor for the month, or meant to be, and we’ve just stood on a wall so far. In silence.
-Ain’t much to soldiering, boy, like I said before. Just do what they tell you. And stay alive,” the soldier said, with a sideways glance at me. Staying alive? Behind these walls was possibly the safest place in the world. And the most tedious.
I said so, and the soldier turned to me. He was of medium build, and short. The grey in his hair gave his age away, an age hidden behind a usually expressionless face. A smattering of scars spoke of action. Action not seen, I’d wager, on this wall. His name, I’d been told, was Maekal. He grinned at me. “Tomorrow, we’re with the Red.” That stopped my complaining.

A little explanation is in order. Not so long ago, a bold man forged himself a crown and claimed a nation. Those few that had helped him gain and establish the throne were rewarded with titles, creating a nobility of several families. The children of those families were expected to become aides to the King: his sworn knights, occupy positions within his household, or even enter more covert service. By choosing a completely different career, I had displeased not only my family but also, rumour had it, the King himself. I had had several reasons for joining the army. I wanted to achieve a place by my own merits, not by my blood. A military career seemed ideal for this: if anything, here my blood would hold me back. I also had a strong desire to travel, already being satisfied: here I was, miles from the capital, in a brand new major city.
Maekal interrupted my musings in his usual fashion. “Shift relief’s here. We can go for dinner.” Above us, the threatening stormclouds that had dominated the sky finally began to unleash their promises of rain. The shift is relieved, I thought to myself as I fell in with the line of trainee soldiers leaving the wall for the kitchens.

Being new, the kitchens were still fairly clean. Like virtually everything else in the city, walls, floor and ceiling were of stone. This gave a slightly opressive effect, countered to some extent by the huge fires at one end needed to feed the soldiers. In front of these were the serving tables, made from freshly hewn oak - from the forest, no less - and it was to these that Maekal and I headed.
The kitchens were quiet, a reflection of the odd hours that watch duty followed. Maekal and I sat together, and I tried to coax some more words from him.
“A slight improvement on watching the grass grow in a field, the Red. What will we-
-We?” I was interrupted. “It’s just you, the rest of the group stays here, though Heaven knows why.” The words, few though they were, filled me with a cold anger.
“It’s because I’m a Pase, isn’t it? I was promised there would be no preferential -
-Hardly preferential, lad. You’ll be worked twice as hard-
-And have an opportunity it might take Ivy and the rest years to earn.” It was no surprise I mentioned my lover; part of my anger was because I’d have to leave her. A small part. Across from me the laconic soldier sighed.
“You know where you can take it, boy, if you don’t like it.” I did indeed. The Marshal. We both turned back to our bread and meat.
It was not that I did not want to experience being in the Red, though as Maekal had said it would undoubtedly be tough - being elite comes at a price. I was simply furious that my parentry could reach out and touch my life even here. Not only that, it would alienate me from the others with whom I was beginning to feel the ties of friendship. I’d have to go to the Marshal this evening; though I doubted my complaints would make a difference, I had to be seen to have tried.


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## Zale (Jan 12, 2005)

“Arro Pase.” The Marshal regarded me with scarcely concealed impatience from the other side of his desk. The governor of the military within the city was a middle-aged man with a sharp face, and lines of worry etched on his brow and cheeks. The logistics of imposing a military presence within the city were harrowing, and I could sympathise with his lack of patience for the upstart young noble in front of him. Still, the point had to made.
“Sir.
-You believe, no doubt, that your stay with the Red has been arranged because of your blood.
-I was clearly told, sir, no preferential treatment would be made-
-Damn right, that’s what this is, and not by my choice.” This was news. If not the Marshal, who else was orchestrating things in Ford? My question was answered thus: “No, boy, this one came from the King himself, and much as you or I may dislike it, there is nothing either of us can do about it.” He fell silent, clearly awaiting a reply. There was none I could safely make. The King. That does put things in a new light. The Marshal shook his head, his attention already returning to the paperwork heaped on his desk. “Dismissed.” I saluted, and left.

The light from the single candle filckered and wavered, neither its light nor its heat sufficient for even my small room. The masonry was, as everywhere, excellent, but that did not stop the draught, born of autumn winds, that swept inexoriably under the door. Ivy shivered, and I pulled her closer to me under the coarse blanket that covered both of us. She shook her head, covering my face in her dark hair.
“Some people have all the luck. I’ll be lucky if I ever get anywhere near any of the Dragon Legions, but after only two weeks in the army, you’re posted to the Red, incompetent though you are.” I smiled before replying. Her ability to best me - and damn near everyone else - in training was a source of constant humour. “It’s only for a week. And for that I’m grateful - I’m likely to be so knackered when I get back I’ll only be good for sleeping for a month.
-I’m devastated. You really think they’ll push even a recruit so hard?
-They’re feared for a reason, and nobody’s born that able. If I wasn’t going to train at their level, I may as well be back here.” I fell silent, reminded that I still hadn’t worked out the real reason for my posting. I suppose I was interrupted. Beside me, the candle guttered, almost burned down. “You’d best be getting back. Some of us need to sleep.
-No stamina, that’s your problem. Hopefully you’ll work on that while you’re away.
-I’ve no doubt my swordplay will improve, though doubtless not to your level-” Ivy laughed wickedly. “Have no fear, I’ll exhaust you before we get down to the square to test that.” With that she rose and dressed swiftly, shivering in the cold, before turning to the door. I watched her leave in silence.
It was a moment before my thoughts focused once more on what would happen tomorrow. I knew the Red were close by, as did everyone - the barracks had been full of talk - so it could be that the King desired me to experience the Dragon, and it just happened that the Red were closest. Or were they sent to pick me up? I laughed softly at my own sense of self-importance. The King did not need me that much. My mind drifted back to our last meeting.

I’d stood with the King, a man known to despise formality, just outside the throne room. Through the huge double doors, at least three times my height and bound in steel, came the faint sounds of workmen, muffled almost to nothing by the thick timbers. I itched to see inside, as the new throne was rumoured to be vastly impressive, but the King had denied entry until work was finished.
Beside me the King spoke. He had a deep voice, one that I knew from my father’s tales could be heard clearly across the din of a battlefield, inspiring his allies and dismaying his foes. Stood right next to him, I could feel the power of his voice, compelling my attention.
“Annares, this matter of your career. Doubtless you have guessed it is why I have called you here.” He paused, and I waited in silence. The King was not a man to interrupt. “Much as my displeasure has been public, you will be pleased to hear it is also false. What say you to that?
-I’m pleased to have your blessing, Majesty, but,” I steeled myself, “Not surprised.” The King stopped me with a wave of a hand. Inwardly I cringed, expecting royal displeasure, but this time I was surprised. “Firstly, my name is not Majesty, it is Bale, but you can address me as ‘sir’. Secondly, I’m not surprised you’re not surprised. You are, I have noticed, a bright lad.” So our schooling was monitored. I was fortunate enough to have a private tutor, but I had no idea he reported my progress to anyone but my parents. The King continued, “I expected you to become a squire. I can always do with more knights, you know, especially now this army is well-established. People expect the old ways to be upheld.” That they did; before Bale had unified the country, it was ruled - or bits of it were - by localised lords, who offered the peasants the protection of mounted, armoured knights, in return for taxes and levies. The feudal system had worked quite well and was correspondingly popular, despite the pressure on the peasants. Bale had changed all that by effectively becoming the Lord of the entire country. Knights could only be sworn to him, now.
“As it is, I need someone loyal in this army, to tell me if things turn sour from inside, someone loyal only to me. Are you following me, boy?” I nodded. It was plain enough. The King required a spy and I was the obvious candidate. A question arose in my mind.
“Sir, will observation be my only additional duty?
-That, Annares, will answer itself in the fullness of time.”

The memory faded as I slowly drifted off into sleep.

________________________________________________

That'll do for the minute; sorry about the layout, but I'm using Appleworks now and obviously it's not as forum-friendly as Word. Oh well.


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## e.Blackstar (Jan 12, 2005)

ooo, es bueno.


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## HLGStrider (Jan 13, 2005)

Is this the opening for a larger work? If so, I think we need a little more into the setting, character background, and especially culture. The culture is especially fuzzed by the idea of Ivy in the military. This is apparently common place, for girls to be in the military, but you don't see them in command right away, and it takes a minute to grasp. In most mideival societies women would not have achieved such equality, and it needs to be clearer quicker if you are going to upset roles. In a modern piece or a futuristic piece, this is no problem but in any other case you need to set the stage a bit earlier. 

Also, we know the character is young, but he doesn't talk like seventeen young, more like early twenties, a bit old to be "wet-behind the ears." The age could be clarified.

I'd start off with more clarification on culture, character, and setting. Is there a war going on? It wasn't clear. The Red are obviously an elite force, but it took a minute to grasp this.


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## Zale (Jan 13, 2005)

It is meant to be the opening for a larger work, yes (not even the first "section" has been posted yet!) so there will be more explanation further on. Culture especially is something I don't like to shovel into the first few pages of a novel, I think it should be uncovered slowly (but maybe the readers don't).
The main character is quite young (18 last time I checked), but you're meant to get the impression he's quite intelligent.
As for history, that's coming in the next bit; I want to see a bit more of people's reactions to what's up before I post anymore.

You're right about the clarification though. Remember this is first draft !


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## e.Blackstar (Jan 13, 2005)

Well, regardless, 'tis very ubercoolio.


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## Zale (Jan 14, 2005)

e.Blackstar said:


> Well, regardless, 'tis very ubercoolio.



Vielen dank. Praise AND constructive criticism: what more could I want?


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## Hammersmith (Jan 21, 2005)

Well, sorry if I've made your hard work look like a hammer horror film with all the red markings. I've commented on areas that I think are either extremely good, dire, or could simply use a rethink. Don't take all I've said to heart if you don't want to, and if you feel I've been unduly harsh I'll delete the post. Hope it helps!

I sighed, leaned over the wall, and spat. I had been told that half of a soldier’s life was spent bored out of his skull, and the other half absolutely terrified. I hadn’t listened and, predictably, I was now bored. Had been, in fact, for the past month.
Great flow, really works well. If you continue on this work, you might consider adding some sort of introduction prior to it, though that is of course your prerogative, and if you feel 1st person stories start well with thoughts rather than actions, all power to you and I won't argue  

I glanced over the wall, between the massive crenellations. (I really dislike this word, Crenellations. It shows that you have an advanced vocabullary, but is a bit too clinically precise, especially for a character's interior monologue)The view was absolutely magnificent. Two hundred metres from the walls was the river, wide and a startling blue even with the sun obscured behind towering stormclouds. Beyond the river were great rolling plains, as yet untamed grasses - the huge amount of agriculture needed to support a large city, even one so new as this and not yet fully populated, was to the East, between the two tributary branches of the river, and not to the less fertile North, where my gaze now rested. Far too many clauses in that sentence, and too many commas too. It comes across as very disjointed. It screams for splitting up.
Just visible in the distance was the forest, a thick line of deep green stretching across the horizon. It was a foreboding sight. The forest was a place where few went willingly; its denizens did not welcome visitors. Travel through the forest, narrow as it was, was expensive to the point where it had become a national boundary. Lovely establishment of both politics and geography without becoming long-winded
A couple of paces away, my companion shifted and squinted up at the grey, almost black sky. “Won’t be just you (Won't just be you?)wet behind the ears in a bit, lad,” he observed. This was as much as he’d said to me in days. I replied, “I’d know a bit more if you talked a bit more. You’re my mentor for the month, or meant to be, and we’ve just stood on a wall so far. In silence.
"-Ain’t much to soldiering, boy, like I said before. Just do what they tell you. And stay alive,” the soldier said, with a sideways glance at me. Staying alive? Behind these walls was possibly the safest place in the world. And the most tedious.
I said so, and the soldier turned to me. He was of medium build, and short. The grey in his hair gave his age away, an age hidden behind a usually expressionless face. A smattering of scars spoke of action. Action not seen, I’d wager (The "I'd wager" part gives it a great interpersonality not often seen through a character's unspoken thoughts. Like it!), on this wall. His name, I’d been told, was Maekal. He grinned at me. “Tomorrow, we’re with the Red.” That stopped my complaining.

A little explanation is in order. Not so long ago, a bold man (Sounds a bit juvenile. Perhaps "a bold and...[more qualities, strong, noble, cruel?] in order to describe him instead of giving him the informal title of "the bold man")forged himself a crown and claimed a nation. Those few that had helped him gain and establish the throne were rewarded with titles, creating a nobility of several families. The children of those families were expected to become aides to the King: his sworn knights, occupy (occupying) positions within his household, or even enter (entering - keep the tense from the "were") more covert service. By choosing a completely different career, I had displeased not only my family but also, rumour had it, the King himself. I had had several reasons for joining the army. I wanted to achieve a place by my own merits, not by my blood. A military career seemed ideal for this: if anything, here my blood would hold me back(a lot of information in a very short clause. Like it!). I also had a strong desire to travel, already being satisfied: here I was, miles from the capital, in a brand new major city.
Maekal interrupted my musings in his usual fashion. “Shift relief’s here. We can go for dinner.” Above us, the threatening stormclouds that had dominated the sky finally began to unleash their promises of rain. The shift is relieved, I thought to myself as I fell in with the line of trainee soldiers leaving the wall for the kitchens.

Being new, the kitchens were still fairly clean. Like virtually everything else in the city, walls, floor and ceiling were of stone. This gave a slightly oppressive effect, (a slightly awkward sentence. Try "lessened somewhat by" or similar, to shorten it) countered to some extent by the huge fires at one end needed to feed the soldiers. In front of these were the serving tables, made from freshly hewn oak - from the forest, no less - and it was to these that Maekal and I headed. (There's a point of interest here. The forests are scary places, yet we have woodcutters continuing to work - and presumably dwell - there even in this dark day. Is wood scarce? Is the wood from the forest special in any way? Just wondering if you had considered this, and if so, will we hear about it later?)
The kitchens were quiet, a reflection of the odd hours that watch duty followed. Maekal and I sat together, and I tried to coax some more words from him.
“A slight improvement on watching the grass grow in a field, the Red. What will we-
-We?” I was interrupted. “It’s just you, the rest of the group stays here, though Heaven knows why.” The words, few though they were, filled me with a cold anger.
“It’s because I’m a Pase, isn’t it? I was promised there would be no preferential -
-Hardly preferential, lad. You’ll be worked twice as hard-
-And have an opportunity it might take Ivy and the rest years to earn.” It was no surprise I mentioned my lover; part of my anger was because I’d have to leave her. A small part. Across from me the laconic soldier sighed.
“You know where you can take it, boy, if you don’t like it.” I did indeed. The Marshal. We both turned back to our bread and meat. (Is this common fare or are these soldiers privileged? Meat is often prized in medeival civilisations, though in fantasy you can make your own rules. Again, not something that needs addressing here, but you should decide so as to keep constant and perhaps include explanation at a later point.)
It was not that I did not want to experience being in the Red, though as Maekal had said it would undoubtedly be tough - being elite comes at a price. I was simply furious (fury/furious is a marvellous word to use, and it totally builds the atmosphere here) that my parentry (is this a word?) could reach out and touch my life even here. Not only that, it would alienate me from the others with whom I was beginning to feel the ties of friendship. I’d have to go to the Marshal this evening; though I doubted my complaints would make a difference, I had to be seen to have tried.


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## Zale (Jan 21, 2005)

Wow, pretty much what I was looking for. At some point in the near future (when I'm not so tired) I'm going to work EVERYONE'S ideas (where I feel appropriate) back in. However this is a first draft, so I need to run with the plotline and especially the culture a bit more before I start to think about details too hard.

Thanks for the effort, those that replied, and don't worry about my taking offense, it's not like I consider myself a professional or anything (I'm a physicist, remember?). I consider myself a beginner


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## Hammersmith (Jan 22, 2005)

First off, glad to have been of help. Remember, it's your story, so ignore even the fiercest criticism if you think that you are right. I'll just take the liberty to go through the second extract. From my earlier skim of part two, it would appear to be more cohesive, so I'll be more brutal  
Also, I've not been correcting punctuation, though the system you're using for speech is fairly alien to me. It reads well but doesn't look right. I like to think of punctuation as expendable, so my advice on that front is to do whatever you want and worry about it later.
Also, I'll agree with what somebody else said about "The Red". Until reading part two, I believed it to be a person, some sort of fearsome mentor figure. I think, however, that you have cleared it up expertly, and that passages referring to The Red would do well to remain as they are. There's a natural progression from an ambiguous and intriguing term to an accepted entity. I like it!

“Arro Pase.” The Marshal regarded me with scarcely concealed impatience from the other side of his desk. The governor of the military within the city was a middle-aged man with a sharp face, and lines of worry etched on his brow and cheeks. (We have a stock character here. You can find this man in every fantasy story, adventure story, or police drama  I wouldn't advise against using him, but you need to be aware that he is a familiar figure and take into account whether you will continue to use him as such or surprise the reader. Also make sure that as the story progresses he does not become too cliched.) The logistics of imposing a military presence within the city were harrowing (Great word!), and I could sympathise with his lack of patience for the upstart young noble in front of him. Still, the point had to made.
“Sir.
-You believe, no doubt, that your stay with the Red has been arranged because of your blood.
-I was clearly told, sir, no preferential treatment would be made-
-Damn right (Not that you've done anything wrong here, but it is always important to have in the back of your mind an idea of your world's religion and philosophy. Who swears, what do they swear by, etc. It helps eliminate foolish mistakes later on), that’s what this is, and not by my choice.” This was news. If not the Marshal, who else was orchestrating things in Ford? (Sneaky! You're telling us about military heirarchy without us being aware! Well played.) My question was answered thus: “No, boy, this one came from the King himself, and much as you or I may dislike it, there is nothing either of us can do about it.” He fell silent, clearly awaiting a reply. There was none I could safely make. The King. (Probably doesn't need saying, but I will out of principle. If you wrote this in Microsoft Word, you have been told that you are writing incorrectly in fragments. Continue to do so, and don't let that damnable paperclip tell you otherwise. Fragments are useful. Jesus Wept. Call me Ishmael. Keep it up.) That does put things in a new light. The Marshal shook his head, his attention already returning to the paperwork heaped on his desk. “Dismissed.” I saluted, and left.

The light from the single candle filckered and wavered, neither its light (Try not to repeat words in the same sentence or in consecutive sentences)nor its heat sufficient for even my small room. The masonry was, as everywhere, excellent, but that did not stop the draught, born(Probably 'borne' unless you're being *really* poetic! Also too many commas in this sentence.) of autumn winds (Remember your time of year and stick to it!), that swept inexorably under the door. Ivy shivered, and I pulled her closer to me under the coarse blanket that covered both of us. She shook her head, covering my face in her dark hair.
“Some people have all the luck. I’ll be lucky if I ever get anywhere near any of the Dragon Legions, but after only two weeks in the army, you’re posted to the Red, incompetent though you are.” I smiled before replying. Her ability to best me - and damn near everyone else - in training was a source of constant humour. “It’s only for a week. And for that I’m grateful - I’m likely to be so knackered (Slang has the same dangers as swearing, often more so. Be careful.) when I get back I’ll only be good for sleeping for a month.
-I’m devastated. You really think they’ll push even (Get rid of the 'even'. I can't explain why. Maybe it's The Force. Just do it.)a recruit so hard?
-They’re feared for a reason, and nobody’s born that able. If I wasn’t going to train at their level, I may as well be back here.” I fell silent, reminded that I still hadn’t worked out the real reason for my posting. I suppose I was interrupted. Beside me, the candle guttered, almost burned down. “You’d best be getting back. Some of us need to sleep.
-No stamina, that’s your problem. Hopefully you’ll work on that while you’re away.
-I’ve no doubt my swordplay will improve, though doubtless not to your level-” Ivy laughed wickedly. “Have no fear, I’ll exhaust you before we get down to the square to test that.” With that she rose and dressed swiftly, shivering in the cold, before turning to the door. I watched her leave in silence.
It was a moment before my thoughts focused once more on what would happen tomorrow. I knew the Red were close by, as did everyone - the barracks had been full of talk - so it could be that the King desired me to experience the Dragon, and it just happened that the Red were closest. Or were they sent to pick me up? I laughed softly at my own sense of self-importance. The King did not need me that much. My mind drifted back to our last meeting. (*Screams* Flashback! Flashback! - I know, these are unavoidable. But try not to overuse them!)

I’d stood with the King, a man known to despise formality, just outside the throne room. Through the huge double doors, at least three times my height and bound in steel, came the faint sounds of workmen, (The workmen are three times your height and bound in steel?  )muffled almost to nothing by the thick timbers. I itched to see inside, as the new throne was rumoured to be vastly impressive, but the King had denied entry until work was finished.
Beside me the King spoke. He had a deep voice, one that I knew from my father’s tales could be heard clearly across the din of a battlefield, inspiring his allies and dismaying his foes. Stood right next to him, I could feel the power of his voice, compelling my attention.
“Annares, (Isn't he Arro Pase? Nicknames, suffixes and shortenings can cause trouble. Here it isn't confusing, but be wary!) this matter of your career. Doubtless you have guessed it is why I have called you here.” He paused, and I waited in silence. The King was not a man to interrupt. “Much as my displeasure has been public, you will be pleased to hear it is also false. What say you to that?
-I’m pleased to have your blessing, Majesty, but,” I steeled myself, “Not surprised.” The King stopped me with a wave of a hand. Inwardly I cringed, expecting royal displeasure, but this time I was surprised. “Firstly, my name is not Majesty, it is Bale, but you can address me as ‘sir’. Secondly, I’m not surprised you’re not surprised. You are, I have noticed, a bright lad.” So our schooling was monitored. I was fortunate enough to have a private tutor, but I had no idea he reported my progress to anyone but my parents. The King continued, “I expected you to become a squire. I can always do with more knights, you know, especially now this army is well-established. People expect the old ways to be upheld.” That they did; before Bale had unified the country, it was ruled - or bits ('Bits' is a positively filthy word. Get rid of it!) of it were - by localised lords, who offered the peasants the protection of mounted, armoured knights, in return for taxes and levies. The feudal system had worked quite well and was correspondingly popular, despite the pressure on the peasants. Bale had changed all that by effectively becoming the Lord of the entire country. Knights could only be sworn to him, now.
“As it is, I need someone loyal in this army, to tell me if things turn sour from inside, someone loyal only to me. Are you following me, boy?” I nodded. It was plain enough. The King required a spy and I was the obvious candidate. A question arose in my mind.
“Sir, will observation be my only additional duty?
-That, Annares, will answer itself in the fullness of time.”

The memory faded as I slowly drifted off into sleep.

Oh, finally, to answer the critique about the "wet behind the ears" comment; I would imagine that a seasoned veteran or a mentor would consider any recruit a young pup, regardless of their age. But that's my personal opinion, and *HLGStrider* is correct that the comment could connote a younger character than the one you're trying to bring to life.

On a personal note, your writing seems very mature and flows remarkably well. You have a good grasp of how a conversation should flow, unlike many authors, and you don't linger on stale paragraphs. I'm also relieved to see that you can spell correctly; I believe that *all* writers should be compelled into using correct English spellings  . Out of interest (if you don't mind sharing) how old are you?


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## Zale (Jan 23, 2005)

At my age I don't mind sharing, 'cos I'm only 18 (19 in two months). Anyway:

Got rid of the "even", and replaced "bits" with "parts" (you're right about that one, I must have been in autopilot).

I'm not using Word, I'm using Appleworks, so no paperclip. The fragment was intentional, but in my version it's in italics, along with several other sentences scattered throughout. They're meant to be the "direct" thoughts of Arro. I didn't notice they hadn't translated into the post until too late.

"Born": yes, I am being extremely poetic. Otherwise it would be "borne ON autumn winds", ja?

Replaced the first "light" with "glow", the best synonym I can think of for the situation. Don't know quite how I missed that one either.

As to the workmen: the throne room, as you will discover (very much) later, is very big & impressive, and I just couldn't give it a 6ft chipboard door, could I? The doors are meant to intimidate people!

Conversations: these are what I have most trouble with when I write (apart from inconsistencies, of course). They always sound somewhat false to me, I have no idea why.

Spelling: blame my mother for that, she got me into reading very early, and the more you read, the better your spelling is.

Thanks again for your criticisms. It might be quite a while before I put the next bit up, because I'm heavily editing a certain section (history, I keep forgetting the reader doesn't know as much as I do) and I'm quite busy ATM trying to keep up with my studies AND find housing for next year. Pain.


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## Hammersmith (Jan 23, 2005)

Zale said:


> At my age I don't mind sharing, 'cos I'm only 18 (19 in two months).


Like I said, your style is very mature. How long have you been writing?



Zale said:


> The fragment was intentional


I sure hope so! It was absolutely fine!  



Zale said:


> As to the workmen: the throne room, as you will discover (very much) later, is very big & impressive, and I just couldn't give it a 6ft chipboard door, could I? The doors are meant to intimidate people!


Oh, the doors were fine, lol. But the way it was phrased could have connoted giant_ *workmen*_ bound in steel!  



Zale said:


> Conversations: these are what I have most trouble with when I write (apart from inconsistencies, of course). They always sound somewhat false to me, I have no idea why.


Conversations are one of the hardest things. I loved some of the interpersonalities, and the whole beware of slang/swearing part was not an admonishment; merely a warning. Personally I thought your conversations were brilliant, just sans formatting - possibly due to the program compatibility. I wouldn't worry too much. Like I said, formatting and proper quote marks, layout etc is entirely superfluous, so long as it's clearly written. Which yours was.



Zale said:


> Thanks again for your criticisms. It might be quite a while before I put the next bit up, because I'm heavily editing a certain section (history, I keep forgetting the reader doesn't know as much as I do) and I'm quite busy ATM trying to keep up with my studies AND find housing for next year. Pain.


Remember, you don't need to tell the whole history on the first page. Keep 'em guessing. I've enjoyed offering my help; tell me to shut up if I'm getting annoying, otherwise I'll keep it coming. All the best on part three!


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## Zale (Jan 24, 2005)

This is getting to be like a chat room in here 

I've been writing for mmm, about four years, I think. Nothing serious - I just type away whenever I'm in the mood.

As to the next section: I have almost as much again as what's been posted here, but I'm not very happy with most of it: a lot more happens, and I think I need to flesh it out a bit.

As I said in the first post, criticism is only annoying when it's not backed up, i.e. just "The end bit sucks", so no worries 

Now I have to go back to bed 'cos I woke up at five am this morning for some obscure reason and I have a class then a tutorial to get through this afternoon


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