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July 09, 2020, 12:51:45 am


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Re: So I started writing the story for my mod....

Started by mekk_pilot, July 22, 2012, 12:32:47 pm


July 22, 2012, 12:32:47 pm Last Edit: July 22, 2012, 08:07:11 pm by mekk_pilot
I don't know what happened to my OP, but here it is again:
Oh yeah, working title "Hierophant"

With much noise and much violence the river crashed o'er the rapids-rock, which mutely protested the unceasing cascade.  Boulders uncrested, dry where touched sunlight, stood in defiance of the prophets of flux.  You will yet yield, thought Griselm, in her moment of reverie.  She searched the chaos for hints of pattern, knowing these to be merely projections of mind.  There is only one thing that can be known about the river:  the ungraspable flow breaks all that resists.  The vanity of these rocks!  No, not vanity.  The ignorance.  If agency was theirs, would they seek this rage?  But they have agency not, and as all, act their role.

The path cut through cedars had led them uphill, where snowmelt in this season made war with the earth.  Brynn was resting against rock, spear lain cross his shoulders, gathering strength for the trial soon coming.  Brynn, of the crimson robes, blonde hair thick and cut at his ears.  Of the Thunder Priests, the mediators between storm and man, perhaps two dozen remained.  The old faith, which for generations had held men in thrall, was being routed by men who put faith in the demos.  A mob, the master?  A crowd, the king?  Such blasphemies issued from the new temples.  Temples to the One who laughs.  Be we the rock?  Be we the river?  Griselm pondered.  I would wager that even a jester can bleed.

The bridge cross the rapids, swayed in the carrying, of the other would-be avenger, eldest of their party.  Greying hair tied back, but shortspiked on the top, the style of warriors serving the crown.  Anachronistic, and as defiant as Brynn's vestments.  Xaviuus approached, resting hands on twin machetes, hung crossed off his hips.  He was pristinely eager to draw them from behind him, to interrupt a life with an iron exclamation.  Brynn raised his head and regarded him.  Xaviuus spoke:

--They will be here anon.

He said, and looked at Griselm.  Then, addressing Brynn:

--Thy confidence she has?

Brynn said, laconic:

--She will not fail us.  She has yet to fail us.

And Xaviuus:

--This time there is no surprise.  You wished to confront them direct.

And Brynn:

--There is no other place where meeting is certain.

Xaviuus, again:

--These men, when awoken, will become as clockwork.  She must pierce as an arrow, should she send the visions.

Griselm spoke, then:

--It is not a matter of sending, it is a matter of awakening.  The presence of gods will wash over as surf; like grains of sand, it will bind their delicate cogs.

Xaviuus seemed unconvinced.  Then he spoke:

--It is foolish of me to express doubt however.  They are nearly upon, and it will be what it is.  Brynn, will you pray for us?

Brynn straightened himself, and held his spear upright.  Xaviuus and Griselm bowed their heads as Brynn intoned:

--O Destroyer.

Brynn paused, then continued:

--O Destroyer, O Eater of Worlds, grant us thy presence; for we seek to make offering.  Fight we the arrogance, fight we the insolence, of the builders of dwellings of delusions of men.  Readeth we thy will in the Book of All-Living, readeth they their lies in the book of men.  Help us to decipher this world-prison mathematick, help us to dance as you flicker through the unreal.  Thy flicker the promise of consuming fire.

Brynn cleared his throat and recited:

--The dancer stalks the energies; detects the fearful symmetries; absorbs all forms by mimicry; and manifests zoologies; morphologies distinkt; species differentiated; for all is of warrior descent; and by blood consecrated...

Xaviuus interrupted:

--They come.


It's a nice sample, but precisely what is your mod going to be about?

Also I'm not going to lie, but the prose is going to be hard for me to read. Chalk it up to videogame induced ignorance.


As I've said in IRC, this is too descriptive to the point where the descriptions of the scenery is distracting from the characters.  I get the sense of tension and that an enemy army is coming and they are somehow connected to religious decay, but overall, your characters speak and think immediately in the jargon of whatever magic ritual they are to perform.  Combine this with the attempt by both the narrator and the characters to talk in a pseudo-medieval English style, you leave the reader/player with virtually nothing to relate to.
The destruction of the will is the rape of the mind.
The dogmas of every era are nothing but the fantasies of those in power; their dreams are our waking nightmares.


OK, hold on, before I say anything else, let me throw this up before my internet dies again:  (next part)

And indeed, Ustrur, Magistrate of Free City Gelta, was across the river with his retinue, a half dozen knights.  Waited they at the far side of the bridge, weapons drawn, speaking lowly.  The magistrate came forward, and addressed the three:

--It is not Mid-Summer yet, and if it were, thy choices of costume are of extremely poor taste.

Brynn yelled:

--I am Brynn, Thunder Priest as my father before me, and as fathers upriver in time but farther.  Do not beg for your life, you will not be spared!

The knights prepared to advance, but Ustrur held up a hand.  He spoke:

--Thunder Priest, have you not heard the Good News?  The One Who Laughs has ascended higher than heaven.  He has transcended these petty games powers once played.  He desires nothing but peace and mirth among men, and their enjoyment of the earth's bounty allotted.  Surely, you do not wish to follow the Destroyer.  He would make ash of our striving, of what we've acheived!  An end to all Kings!  He mocks their vanity!

Xaviuus spoke to Brynn.

--Brynn, we did not come to parley.  This man is to be killed.  Please, pray of the Dancer to expand my time.

Brynn began an incantation, audible barely.  After a moment, streaks of light began to ascend around Xaviuus.  Xaviuus looked up at the sky, and prayed in silence, before drawing his blades from behind him to ready.  He held them at invert, the leather loops around his wrists, and pushed he the dull sides of the blades gainst his forearms.  He began to walk across the bridge.  The streaks of light disappeared.  Ustrur's knights shifted on their feet, as nervous steeds.  Ustrur spoke:

--Knights!  Be not afraid of the damned magic!  They are outnumbered, and employing no strategem!  Slay these ones who will not join us in brotherhood!

A pair of knights began crossing the swaying bridge.  Xaviuus, advancing, was three parts in four crossed.  Brynn aimed a look with much meaning to Griselm, then started his own crossing o'er the river.  Griselm slowly behind, awaiting her opening.

Xaviuus met the first knight, who wielded a greatsword.  Xaviuus first wheeled, his right blade snapping out.  The knight parried, but it was a feint;  as quickly Xaviuus spun his left through the neck.  The artery erupted as the knight dropped his sword, a mere moment he had to consider his death.  The follow through had turned Xaviuus facing rearwards, and he slightly stooped before thrusting skyward foot left.  It caught the dying one below the breastplate, and lifted and threw him back towards Ustrur.  He was dead when he landed, and now Xaviuus and Brynn running, the second knight raising his shield to meet. Xaviuus jumped, letting go the right handle, flicking his wrist till the blade was upright.  Left blade to parry, right arm raised for the striking, he kicked at the knight's shield as he dropped like a fell-star.  The knight staggered back, thrusted, was parried, the right blade of the quick one slashing the sword arm.  The spin of Xaviuus continued like a cyclone, and left blade, inverted, thrust out and pierced belly.  Drawn out quickly, spun he back the other, upswinging right through the face of the knight. 

Ustrur dropped back, jaw-slackened, behind knights;  Xaviuus now had fully crossed.  Brynn right behind, soon was abreast, together they stood, inviting the four.

Griselm moved, and she considered, what name shall she call to harm these knights?  But perhaps she would let them attack first.  In confusion of battle, the mind is more open, to visions of gods that shred mortal minds. 

The knights fell upon them, swords raised in high guard, and the two dodged and parried, eyes open for error.  Brynn held his hand half-staff on the spear, and as a knight drew back, he threw the spear outward.  He let the shaft slide on through his loose grip, till it found its mark, in the knight's side.  Then grasping the spearshaft, he drew it out-wound, leaving the knight to drop sword and die.

Xaviuus in his spinning, was slashed down the back, and wearing no armor, it cut to the bone.  As he dropped back, Brynn advanced to guard him, and Griselm knew that Brynn would soon make an error.  But it was more prudent to call the Dryad, to heal the wound Xaviuus had sustained. 

She focused on a path, cut through the forest, which never existed but in her mind.  Concentrate on the leaves, the bark, and the mists, bring forth the soul that animates growth.  She saw raindrops on a leaf.  Then superimposed, a tree-face ambiguous, both wizened hag and maiden untouched.  She saw the face smile, and her calling was answered, green specks like blinkflies shot round Xaviuus.  He began to rise, and rising he bellowed:

--My body...cannot....die!

Then even past Brynn he stepped to the knights, who shocked, hesitating, began to swing at him.  He spun, evaded, and as they in awe of his healing, he quickly caught them in his quick deadly arcs.  The last knight to fall, staggering rearwards, was lanced below plate by Brynn, who advanced.  Ustrur was kneeling, prostrate and begging, and as Brynn advanced, he spoke these words:

--Be you now beyond games of power?  We are playing a game, yes, but no man is above it. 

Spoke Brynn, and then buried the lance, heart-peircing; then removing, and Ustrur bled out.  Xaviuus spoke:

--We must quickly away; in a matter of hours, hounds will hunt the blood on our hands.

He turned to Griselm.

--Thank you, maiden.  The healing is wondrous;  my pain became a glowing light of joy.

Griselm responded:

--My duty, sir.

Brynn wiped the blood on his spear through the grass.  He spoke:

--Let us to the farm then, may it serve as a haven.  The elders will contact us with tasks further.


@Doku:  Now that I've started this, I might just write some FFT-inspired fiction, rather than make a mod, at least ATM.  I will remain a fan and player of FFH.

@fdc:  I'm not really trying to recreate any medieval tongue, I'm trying to create something wholly artificial, to draw attention to it's artifice (it should read as if "you are not in this world");  another reason the syntax is so messed up is because I'm trying to write quasi-metered prose (try reading it aloud), and I need to put a lot of things where they wouldn't normally be written....which adds to the artifice.  And it's meant to be vague...dropping a lot of exposition in the beginning of the book is usually known as "terrible writing."  I'm trying to write something a little mysterious, a little intriguing, in short, something FANTASTIC.  That said, I appreciate the criticism, but what's important to me is that I'm having some fun writing it, for now.


dropping a lot of exposition in the beginning of the book is usually known as "terrible writing."

I was not suggesting you do that.  I was suggesting, however, that you keep your focus narrow enough at the start so you can widen the plot, but your second post mostly fixed that.  We now have a plot and a direction.

which adds to the artifice...I'm trying to write something a little mysterious, a little intriguing, in short, something FANTASTIC.

I know this is definitely a difference in taste, but artifice is definitely a turn-off for me.  Fantasy is achieved by writing something contrary to reality on the page, not by being "pretentious".  However, from my debates with others over the WotL script, I know that other people feel that putting things in verse or using archaic speech/grammar can enhance the feel of fantasy.
The destruction of the will is the rape of the mind.
The dogmas of every era are nothing but the fantasies of those in power; their dreams are our waking nightmares.