Mod Story

[wizardmirth]

I'm rather bad at writing real prose so anyone well-read (or even better, a real writer) who can help with this would be extremely helpful. The aim here is to deliver Part 1 of highly-condensed, stylized sort of mini-novel for Oblivion. The sort of thing you would expect to read in a RPG that is cut-back enough and yet still appealing. Just look for 'Black Horse Mail Box' in my sig link if you want to experience the damage in-game. (Rather proud of the poetry therein, just not sure about the prose!)

 

Grim Eve, Part 1

 

Zerlas stalked the streets of town, finding its cobbled stones empty for the seventh night in a row. He tried to spit out the bitter taste this always left in his mouth and he cursed his luck again when it still lingered.

 

Verily, all good luck had seemed to vanish with the living world, when the death of the farmer Percal and his wife Elnora had frightened the townsfolk into early retirement each night. The old couple had been found cleanly beheaded in the square last week, each head taken in a single bloody cut.

 

In the town's estimation, Death had returned to reap their souls. In Zerlas' more educated mind, it was simple and more probable that necromancers from the wild forest nearby were to blame for this--a gang of clever misfits that had used the power of legend to cloud the minds of the simple country folk. Zerlas had come here a few months prior from the big city, to start a new life of pretense and abandon old troubles, and he had heard stories of such necromancers before. Though even the pilgrim clerics and traveling merchants seemed to be held dumb by the superstition that abounded here.

 

And so every night for a week since the murders, Zerlas slipped into the leaf-littered streets and alleyways, enrobing himself in cloak, hood, and scarf, hungering for a good mugging--his most prized service and favored fare. It wasn't even that he needed the gold so much as the taste of the fruit his secret art could bear, so that he could feed on it like Death himself. Though instead of needing souls, Zerlas needed only to catch a single person unawares and take through fear what the victim would not normally give.

 

"I am the Death of Thievery," Zerlas thought, dispassionate. "And the real Death, true or not, is my rival now."

 

Flung fast from this ill-thoughtfulness, Zerlas spied a figure ambling out of the cold post-harvest mist. Tall and lean, it walked slowly towards him like an angel sent out of a dream.

 

"If you are a necromancer then I will kill you," Zerlas thought, "but if you are some poor, hapless wanderer with gold enough to eat then better still." A grin spread across his face, stabbing his cheeks with warmth and ache. Either way he would taste gold or his own blood tonight, he reasoned.

 

Zerlas crouched low against the wall of the alley and waited. To his amazement, a dozen or more coins clinked ahead and Zerlas could see a large pouch swinging at the traveler's side. The only other sound aside from the distant footsteps were the beats of Zerlas' heart thrumming somewhere high up inside his skull, like a small wild animal scrabbling against its sudden constraints.

 

The figure appeared to be an old farmer dressed in overalls, perhaps a late-night tavern-feaster who had missed an earlier opportunity to retreat back to his home, or perhaps one that had simply refused to believe the superstition.

 

Peeling the dagger from his belt, Zerlas bounded at his mark.

 

"Give up the pouch, old man!" he said in his guttural bark, lifting the scarf a little further aloft his nose with his free hand. He didn't expect anyone this old to put up a fight, but the old one did not react in any way that Zerlas had ever seen before.

 

The old man kept walking towards him as if Zerlas was not there, into the point of his knife. Unable to kill for his take because fear was his weapon, Zerlas turned the blade in, striking out at the man's stomach with the pommel of his dagger. His hand flew through the form of the old farmer as if he were made of air.

 

"What's this," Zerlas thought, taken by the chilling revelation of passing through what his eyes told him was solid. The old man followed through without the slightest sign of hindrance, moving past Zerlas in a cold sheaf of wind like a hundred winter nights.

[species5478]

I'd love to read more. It's hard to form a definitive opinion on small segments of writing.

[wizardmirth]

I'd love to read more. It's hard to form a definitive opinion on small segments of writing.

 

I'd love to share more but I'm mostly looking for feedback on the writing style more than the story itself. Sure, it's just a small scene with crucial backstory bundled in, but does the writing flow well enough for my goals? This is part 1 of a series, so the idea is to hook the reader enough so that they will want to read more.

[Maharg67]

Your writing style is good. I see nothing wrong with it. I can only see it becoming richer. Characterisation is good. Flow is good. Description is good.

 

One very mild negative. Using words to promote style like 'verily' and 'retirement' enriches in some ways but also can go against clear communicating of the story. The words 'go to bed early' or 'retire to home' are clearer than the use of the word 'retirement' in this context since the term 'retirement' is fixed into the minds of many readers as 'retirement' employment wise. In other words I saw the word, had a few seconds of confusion, and had to go over the sentence again.

 

You are not rather bad at writing but rather good at it.

 

:thumbsup: :bunny: :banana:

[species5478]

If the story is about Zerlas, and you don't plan on changing the narrative, then stay with the format you have. I don't see anything wrong with it. If I were to add something to this chapter, it would be more environmental descriptions. Setting is very important in a piece like this. A proper description of the environment can set the mood with the same effectiveness that you achieved when describing the character. And when describing the character, you used environmental synonyms quite well. If you can give the setting similar identity, the piece will read like a published work.

[wizardmirth]

Your writing style is good. I see nothing wrong with it. I can only see it becoming richer. Characterisation is good. Flow is good. Description is good.

 

One very mild negative. Using words to promote style like 'verily' and 'retirement' enriches in some ways but also can go against clear communicating of the story. The words 'go to bed early' or 'retire to home' are clearer than the use of the word 'retirement' in this context since the term 'retirement' is fixed into the minds of many readers as 'retirement' employment wise. In other words I saw the word, had a few seconds of confusion, and had to go over the sentence again.

 

You are not rather bad at writing but rather good at it.

 

:thumbsup: :bunny: :banana:

 

Thanks for the kind words, Maharg67! Retirement was just a consolidation choice. Sure I could have taken a few more words there, but video-gamers tend to have short attention spans. I will keep this in mind on the next follow-through for this mod. After all, when you think of it, I am competing (not that I'm really) with 10,000 other mods out there, most of which are about new armor or clothes. That's much more exciting than a good read! Reading anything longer than a dialogue box takes too long and is too cerebral, but visual beauty is instantaneous.

[wizardmirth]

If the story is about Zerlas, and you don't plan on changing the narrative, then stay with the format you have. I don't see anything wrong with it. If I were to add something to this chapter, it would be more environmental descriptions. Setting is very important in a piece like this. A proper description of the environment can set the mood with the same effectiveness that you achieved when describing the character. And when describing the character, you used environmental synonyms quite well. If you can give the setting similar identity, the piece will read like a published work.

 

Trying to write publishable works is what got me in trouble in the first place. I've had my writing go side by side for review with fantasy authors that have gotten book deals from the likes of Del Rey and gotten huge advances, like Elizabeth Bear (I think she reviewed me once (blush). It's pretty damn tough unless you have natural talent or time to develop it. I'm pretty good with dialogue, names, and general story ideas but not paragraph by paragraph, consistent prose. That is the clincher, at least for me. So I figure I'd stick with something more elementary and see what I could do from there. I also don't have time to write every day since I have so many other interests and am a huge multi-tasker.

 

I hear what you're saying about the setting though. That I was hoping to keep generic, like lack of town names, again, to keep everything as consolidated an unobtrusive as possible, but I'll keep that in mind on the next walk-through.

[Herculine]

I'm eager to see what becomes of this.

[wizardmirth]

Part 2A

 

A vision like no other in the world gripped Zerlas. It froze him in place as easily as the baleful eye of an ice-witch. The gray world of cobbles and timber as he knew it fell away in melting colors. In its place a pale dream bubbled up and swam around him as though he were sinking into some forgotten bog.

 

“Am I dying?” he thought, angrier than scared; he refused to die in this back-border town. But then, “no,” he thought. He could feel his short ragged breaths and the pulsing of his heart, though they were ghostlike. Shapes began to form before him. The vision finally revealed itself.

 

The town square lay before him at night. There beneath the solemn moonlight, an old couple spoke in soft and pleasant tones, strolling arm-in-arm around the statue of the harvest goddess the people here worshipped. They sat together on the stone bench at the south side of the statue. The man spoke again and the woman chuckled beneath her hand, soon using it to swat his shoulder.

 

Then silently, ominously, a flock of ravens fluttered down on the west side of the statue, though instead of fully touching down on the cobbles they merged together and transformed into a sickening tall lean shape clad in wispy folds of black. Drawn slowly from its robes with the deliberation of a murderer, the hooded figure pulled a long scythe which gleamed in the moonlight. The wood handle looked haggard but the steel blade was clean and polished, and slightly hooked near the razor-point.

 

“Get out of here! Run!” Zerlas cried, but his mouth would not open and the voice he thought he had merely echoed in his skull.