The Cursed Torch

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posted on Mar, 6 2012 @ 02:46 PM
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Hello all.

So, i have been thinking recently that i would like to begin writing a fantasy novel in the vain of george martin and R.A. Salvatore. This is what i have so far.

Please be brutally honest.


Introduction
He awoke with the warm irony taste of blood still lingering in his dry mouth. Slowly he pushed himself to his feet brushing off the growing sheen of frost, not truly realizing how groggy he was until he was standing fully erect. His head spinning, he surveyed the carnage around him; a battlefield it seemed. The carnage displayed here was immaculate. Impaled corpses lay strewn about the sparkling ground, blood freezing in pools. The ravens had clearly been at these poor men. How long had he been out here he wondered silently. At his feet lay what appeared to be the burnt out remnants of an old torch and beside that a dagger inlaid with gold and a few shabby gems. “What the hell happened here” he said, still taking in the gore that surrounded him. Then like a whisper: “pick them up.” “Who’s there?” he shouts, but no one is there to answer. “What happened here? Who am I? Answer me dammit!” He screams at the top of his lungs, making a show of his frustration. “Pick them up.” “Pick what up? Who are you, forget that, where are you? Am I dead? What the hell is going on here? Please answer me!” “Pick them up.” Bending down, the man picks up both the torch and the dagger.

“Now, that’s much better, did you really have to wait so long? I mean, what else have you got to do?” This startled the man. The voice was like none he had ever heard, much because he was not, in fact, hearing it. The voice was in his head. Spinning full circle, searching, he says “Where are you speaker? Show yourself!” Then, “Now, now, Greyven. Do not be so hasty. What if I had an arrow trained on the back of your head? I could let fly this moment and you would never know what happened. Alas I cannot do that. You see, Greyven, the beautiful dagger you hold, that’s me.”

At this revelation the man known as Greyven dropped the dagger, as soon as the weapon hit the ground with a dusty dry thud, the whisper. “Pick it up.” Not sure what else to do Greyven picks up the dagger and immediately the voice fills his head. “What are you some kind of bloody imbecile? Have you gone mad Greyven? Just listen to me, for once Greyven, just listen. Can you manage such a daring feat? Can you listen? Just stand there and bloody listen? Please, it would make this much easier for the both of us.”

Confused but not sure what else he can say he replies, “Yes, of course. Please, speaker, tell me what has happened here.” The speaker made a sound most closely related to a sigh. “Right, I will tell you, it’s not like I have a choice to begin with. If you haven’t noticed I’m a thrice damned bloody dagger! Well, I’m not a dagger so much as my life force has been trapped in here by… never mind. What we have to do is get off this battlefield before the Mercy Men get here. Do you still have your compass Greyven? You keep it on your belt.” As Greyven was moving his hand to his belt he caught the slightest glimpse of what seemed to be the silhouette of a man moving beyond the horizon.




posted on Mar, 6 2012 @ 03:17 PM
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I enjoyed it.

Could use a little editing in the Format department but that's easy to do.
Very interesting story, my friend! Good luck!



posted on Mar, 6 2012 @ 05:02 PM
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Originally posted by GreenEyedVixen
I enjoyed it.

Could use a little editing in the Format department but that's easy to do.
Very interesting story, my friend! Good luck!


I agree and I would love to hear more!



posted on Mar, 12 2012 @ 01:28 PM
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thank you , i'll post more as it comes, looking forward to honest critique.



posted on Mar, 21 2012 @ 06:44 AM
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Originally posted by CagliostroTheGreat
Hello all.

So, i have been thinking recently that i would like to begin writing a fantasy novel in the vain of george martin and R.A. Salvatore. This is what i have so far.

Please be brutally honest.


Introduction
He awoke with the warm irony taste of blood still lingering in his dry mouth. Slowly he pushed himself to his feet brushing off the growing sheen of frost, not truly realizing how groggy he was until he was standing fully erect. His head spinning, he surveyed the carnage around him; a battlefield it seemed. The carnage displayed here was immaculate. Impaled corpses lay strewn about the sparkling ground, blood freezing in pools. The ravens had clearly been at these poor men. How long had he been out here he wondered silently. At his feet lay what appeared to be the burnt out remnants of an old torch and beside that a dagger inlaid with gold and a few shabby gems. “What the hell happened here” he said, still taking in the gore that surrounded him. Then like a whisper: “pick them up.” “Who’s there?” he shouts, but no one is there to answer. “What happened here? Who am I? Answer me dammit!” He screams at the top of his lungs, making a show of his frustration. “Pick them up.” “Pick what up? Who are you, forget that, where are you? Am I dead? What the hell is going on here? Please answer me!” “Pick them up.” Bending down, the man picks up both the torch and the dagger.

“Now, that’s much better, did you really have to wait so long? I mean, what else have you got to do?” This startled the man. The voice was like none he had ever heard, much because he was not, in fact, hearing it. The voice was in his head. Spinning full circle, searching, he says “Where are you speaker? Show yourself!” Then, “Now, now, Greyven. Do not be so hasty. What if I had an arrow trained on the back of your head? I could let fly this moment and you would never know what happened. Alas I cannot do that. You see, Greyven, the beautiful dagger you hold, that’s me.”

At this revelation the man known as Greyven dropped the dagger, as soon as the weapon hit the ground with a dusty dry thud, the whisper. “Pick it up.” Not sure what else to do Greyven picks up the dagger and immediately the voice fills his head. “What are you some kind of bloody imbecile? Have you gone mad Greyven? Just listen to me, for once Greyven, just listen. Can you manage such a daring feat? Can you listen? Just stand there and bloody listen? Please, it would make this much easier for the both of us.”

Confused but not sure what else he can say he replies, “Yes, of course. Please, speaker, tell me what has happened here.” The speaker made a sound most closely related to a sigh. “Right, I will tell you, it’s not like I have a choice to begin with. If you haven’t noticed I’m a thrice damned bloody dagger! Well, I’m not a dagger so much as my life force has been trapped in here by… never mind. What we have to do is get off this battlefield before the Mercy Men get here. Do you still have your compass Greyven? You keep it on your belt.” As Greyven was moving his hand to his belt he caught the slightest glimpse of what seemed to be the silhouette of a man moving beyond the horizon.


Just a couple of pointers, constructive criticism of course


Good intro, good few hooks and well written, but if you're going for epic style novel, a few more details in the opener is always good. If you'll notice the beginning of a movie shot, it goes wide scene, vista, give the audience to take in, then centre on the main focus.

The man and the dagger are main focal points, again don't be scared to elaborate more on what he looks like, small details like this often make the difference when describing someone as an opener. The only time you want to avoid this is when you are creating a person of mystery or a bad guy, where it helps to have a more fudged view of them.

The knife is the same, go for details, even if little things, like the color of the gemstones, is it rusted or silvery, maybe it's covered in dried blood, adding another whole dimension to exactly what has happened here.

Lastly, each spoken sentence should be on it's own paragraph, and don't be afraid to use synonyms of words other than "said" to describe what is being told here. An example;

"What the hell happened here?" the man said; try;

"What the hell happened here?" the man breathed, his words barely a croaky whisper.

You see how that extra few tidbits added an extra dimension to a simple sentence?

Good work overall though, a bit of fleshing out and you have the makings of a great writer.
Feel free to U2U me if you need any advice, always happy to help out



posted on Mar, 25 2012 @ 12:16 PM
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reply to post by 74Templar
 


thank you so much for the pointers! thats why i posted here, i knew i could get some good advice.



posted on Mar, 30 2012 @ 11:40 PM
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reply to post by CagliostroTheGreat
 


If you want to get it noticed by the ATS writers community, throw an edit in the Short Stories Forum. Lots of good folks in there






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