[SS] A Place In The World

[Endrak]

Hi.

I wasn't sure what to label this one, since I'm not sure what it's going to end up being. The name is also not definite at this time, so bear with me.
This is the content that will most likely appear if I actually keep writing it:

Violence (including ritual dismemberment and graphic torture)
Mindscrew (possibly minor)
Romance (and at least one sex scene, but probably PG-13 since I don't like writing about sex for no reason)
Snakes (lots of them)

If you have a fear of snakes that extends to the written word, you might not want to read certain things I may post in here.

Ye Olde Synopsis Tyme:
Roderic kin-Kadayre. Nobleman. Warrior. Romantic. At the age of twenty-three, the young Count of Fallond has already distinguished himself in battle many times, and is hailed as a hero for his bravery and tactical brilliance. But there is a darker side to this man, and in secret he is called a womanizer, an egomaniac, and even a traitor. He has secrets, dark and dangerous secrets, that even he is afraid to face.
Now, he is lost in a far away place, and the only way home is down a road he knows only too well, deep in the twisting desert sands...

NOTES:
I'm open to comments and critiques, so don't be shy about posting below or sending me a PM.

[Endrak]

MONDAY MORNING HANGOVER
Or
Where the Hell Am I, and Where Has My Due Respect Gone?
________________________

The first thing Roderic noticed was that the sun was much too bright.
Normally, a man such as Roderic would ignore trivial things like this, but not today. No, today his head hurt something terrible, and the sun wasn't helping. Yes, Roderic kin-Kadayre, the man you can always count on to have a hangover on Monday mornings.

Even before he opened his eyes, some part of his mind came to realize that his headache was the least of his problems. The sun did not shine through castle walls, and last he'd known, he was in a dungeon for something or other. He didn't think it was serious, but the reason for his imprisonment was a blur. There was a nagging itch that he just couldn't place, though, and it irked him. The itch, he realized when he willed himself awake and tried to roll over, had to do with his sleeping on a beach with no clothes on.

As startling as this was, his quasi-drunken mind was more shocked by his rampant beard growth. Roderic had always been proud of his well sculpted chin and majestic cheek bones, but they were now covered with long, scraggly hairs that extended down beyond his waist. Furthermore, the beard was iron gray like an old man's, and Roderic was a mere twenty-three summers in age.

It occurred to him that maybe his rivals, men like Sir Glynden and his cohorts, were playing a cruel joke on him, or that maybe he'd finally found the limit to his ale consumption. He pondered this for a few minutes until strange sea-birds began circling. The hungry looks in their eyes reminded Roderic a little too much of vultures and barbarian cannibals.

As he clambered up onto wobbly legs, he began to take in his surroundings. Strange, frilly trees swayed in the light breeze, while crystalline blue ocean stretched out to the horizon. Tiny islands dotted the coastline, some with only a single plant sprouting above the white sand. It was a beautiful sight, but Roderic didn't appreciate this sort of beauty, even when he was sober.

He stood still for a moment and held his head, as if trying to decide which part of the ground wasn't moving, before sauntering off in a direction he hoped would lead him inland. There was really no way to tell in this place, a fact that Roderic found most disturbing. As a Count's son, and later a Count himself, he'd traveled enough in foreign lands that he thought himself quite capable of ascertaining his location.

As he walked down the beach, his head began to clear and his stride became more surefooted. He decided that it probably was just a prank of some kind. Logically, they couldn't have brought him too far in one night. If he walked far enough in any direction, he could easily find a small hamlet or even a town that he'd recognize. If not, then surely the villagers, no matter how simple-minded, would know the road to Gedrin.

Soon enough, he came upon a trail leading inland. It was little more than a game trail, the likes of which he'd seen on hunts, but it would suffice for now. He smiled to himself and stretched his arms above his head. Roderic kin-Kadayre; once was lost, but no longer. Once he got back, he'd think of ways to get back at Glynden ten times over for whatever part he'd had in this.

Before he had time to blink, he was hanging upside-down from a tree. Yelping in surprise, he reached up to free himself, only to find his ankle bound in a noose, which in turn had been tied to one of the frilly trees. He struggled in vain against the knot, but accomplished nothing. He let go, his weight causing him to bob like bait on a fishing line. He was not happy.

“Well, look what we've got here,” spoke a gruff looking man who'd emerged from the brush. “A crazy, by the look of him. Naked as the day he was born!” The man stroked his chin as he eyed Roderic's beard. “And with a hygiene problem.” His equally gruff friend emerged from the opposite side of the trail and circled around the trapped nobleman. “I'll say. I couldn't grow that even if I tried, and my wife would sooner take wool shears to me than let that much hair anywhere near my face.”

The two men chuckled, oblivious to Roderic's deepening annoyance. “Gentlemen,” Roderic said in his most Holier-Than-Thou tone. “If you would be so kind as to let me down? I'm not sure what the penalty for hunting nobles is here, but I'd be willing to bet it involved a lot of pain.” They both stared at him with skeptical looks on their faces. Good, Roderic thought. They're smartening up.

Suddenly, both hunters started hooting and howling, slapping their thighs as if he'd told some raunchy joke. “Noble? You?” They laughed so hard their eyes watered, and showed no signs of stopping. Roderic, being a man of little patience, didn't take it well at all. He hated being mocked, especially by peasants.

“See here,” he growled in a menacing voice. “I am Roderic kin-Kadayre, Lord of Fallond, and I demand that you release me and take me to your village magistrate!” Roderic considered himself a joker of sorts, and that opinion was shared by most of the Gedrish court. He was also notoriously arrogant, and hated the peasantry with a passion. To Roderic, humor among the common folk was something to be punished swiftly and decisively. Humor at the expense of nobility was a death sentence.

These particular peasants either didn't know he was Lord of Fallond, or didn't care. With the practiced finesse of lifetime of trapping, they cut him down, only to throw him roughly to the ground. They crouched down on either side of him, glaring at him with undisguised disdain. “You see here, crazy. It would take a blind man to call you a Lord, looking like that. We'll take you to the magistrate, but he'll likely take you to the gaol. We don't tolerate crazies in this port.”

Roderic had never been disrespected this much in his entire life. He was a Lord, and no Lord should be treated this way. It was an outrage. He seethed with anger, but could do nothing as the two men picked him up and hauled him further down the trail. Roderic was a warrior of some renown, but even a child could tell these two were stronger than him. Without a weapon, he was powerless against them.

At least, that's what he told himself. In reality, he probably could best them. He'd received some training in unarmed combat, and had used it to disarm a Sataaran mamluk in battle last year. In the end, though, he simply decided that he would not resist. They were taking him to the magistrate, and that was where he wanted to go. The magistrate, doubtless a man of some integrity, would right these wrongs.



<PAUSE BETWEEN PARAGRAPHS TO SIGNIFY A TIME LAPSE AND/OR CHANGE OF SETTING. ALSO A STATEMENT OF THE SHOULD-BE-OBVIOUS. CARRY ON.>



The magistrate was a tall, hairless man with an earring that marked him as a Tora from Cilcy. He wore a workers tunic beneath the red vest that marked his office, and was currently holding some kind of court in the town square. As Roderic was led forward, several ladies averted their eyes, reminding Roderic of his nakedness. He blushed, thankful that his beard prevented anyone noticing his embarrassment.

“No, that is unacceptable!” The magistrate was very obviously angry, his wrath directed at the man who stood before him. He took several heavy strides around the man, never breaking eye contact. “If we don't have the quota when the Duke's ship arrives, he'll double it for the next season and increase our taxes to boot! We're already working to capacity, and the last thing we need is more pressure! Go, and tell Harald that the slaves can rest after they pick, and anyone found slacking will be punished!”

It was a tongue lashing to rival most field commanders, and it made Roderic hopeful. A man like this would surely not stand idle at any injustice. Just in case, Roderic began formulating the best ways to exaggerate the grievousness of the situation. It never hurt to be too careful. Before he could get too far, though, he received a heavy whack to his shoulders and was sent sprawling.

“Begging your pardon, sir, but we found this mess walking our trail. Got himself caught in one of the traps. I've never seen him before, and neither has Erik, so we figured he was just some wandering crazy. Even so, best to make sure there aren't any grandfathers missing, right?” He snickered, but the magistrate silenced him with a gesture. He bent over to take a look at Roderic's face, then stood up.

“You have a name?” His voice was quiet, and Roderic could hear the faint hint of a Cilcian accent in the vowels. “Roderic, magistrate. Lord Roderic of Fallon, and I demand you bring me fresh clothes and a horse so that I may return there.” Silence. The magistrate glared at him for a good ten seconds, then glances up at the hunters. “Crazy, aye. Would you be so kind as to escort this nobleman to the gaol? I still have another hour here at least.”

Before anyone could react, Roderic was on his feet and had the magistrate by the collar. “You mock me, magistrate? I'll have your tongue for that! I am Lord of Fallon, and I am out of patience. Give me a horse and clothes. Now.” The world spun, and Roderic was on his back once again. The magistrate planted his boot on Roderic's chest and stared at him with a glare that would silence kings.

“For your information, the Lord of Fallon is our liege, Duke Edin, thirty years old. He is short, does not have a beard, and he is on his way here as we speak. His ship will be in port tomorrow. If you're a relation of his, which I highly doubt, any misunderstanding will be brought to light upon his arrival. For now, you'll be staying in my gaol.” He removed his boot and walked away, leaving Roderic on the ground. Without a word, the hunters grabbed him once again and hauled him in the direction of a menacing looking building on the far side of the square. This time, he didn't protest.

[Endrak]

SIR VERMILION
or
Something's Very Fishy Here
________________________

“Does he seriously believe he's Sir Vermilion? I'm not familiar with crazies, but that does seem to be stretching it.” Roderic awoke to a pair of prison guards chatting amiably outside his cell. “A bit. Yes, a bit,” the other responded. Roderic wondered if they were talking about him. He'd never heard of this Sir Vermilion, but he was the gaol's only occupant.

“Think he's awake, there?” The door opened and a fat man gazed in at him curiously. “I'd say so.” His trousers seemed like they wanted to burst as he hauled his massive girth into the cell. “Rise and shine, my lord, you've got a busy day,” he said as if he addressing a child. “The Duke wants to see you, and who knows? Maybe you'll offend him so much there'll be a hanging! Doesn't that sound exciting?” Roderic didn't think so.

“Let's get you cleaned up, then, shall we?” The next ten minutes were filled with soapy water and dangerously rusty razors as a pair of tired looking men prepared him for Duke Edin. They were overseen briefly by an imposing blond woman of Norse bloodline, who obviously believed that men and hygiene did not naturally go together. Roderic remained silent and apathetic, even as he was led to the Duke's chambers.

The Duke was indeed a short, beardless man. He had more than a little pudginess about him, and his jowls shook when he laughed. He was doing a lot of that. Roderic had already been here for five minutes, and the thick, sputtering laugh had not quieted at all since he'd introduced himself.

It was occasionally interspersed with with exclamations such as:
“Sir Vermilion? The Sir Vermilion?”
or
“On the glass ship and all?”
or Roderic's personal least favorite
“Blessed to be in your presence, eh, chump?”

At the moment, Roderic wanted several things. He wanted to strangle the Duke where he sat, spilling over the sides of his fluffy armchair. He wanted to leave the room and slaughter everyone in town mercilessly. But he knew that these desires conflicted with the one thing he truly wanted; to know who this Sir Vermilion was, to know why it was so ridiculously hilarious to be this Sir Vermilion, and to go home and get horrendously drunk with a tavern wench or two passed out beside him.

“All right, then, that's enough of that,” the Duke said, rasping as he took several long gulps of wine. “Aye, chump, Sir Vermilion is family of mine. A very distant relation.” Roderic's eyes widened at the first hopeful words to escape this pig of a Duke's mouth. The Duke smiled and leaned forward, causing the chair to creak. “Bloody hero. A Saint. He worked magic that made warlocks and even the king's personal magi think twice about crossing him, even with an army at their backs.” The duke paused to take another long gulp of wine. “Dead more than two-hundred years. Assassinated. That was such a shame.”

Roderic was, above all things, confused. This Sir Vermilion sounded like a legend ripped straight from the pages of The Great Book Ardentir. No, Roderic had nothing to do with this man. Which begged the question, why did they think he did? Roderic asked them as much, his words quiet. “Sir Vermilion's real name is Roderic kin-Kadayre,” the Duke answered, as if it was no more than an afterthought. “He's my four-times great grandfather's cousin. I am Duke Edin den-Kadayre, first of my name. And you're getting quite boring.” The Duke waved his hand, and someone grabbed Roderic's arm.

“Please wait, my lord,” someone said quickly. Roderic saw a beautiful woman move to stand beside him, facing the Duke. She had raven hair drawn up in a ponytail, and exquisite features the like of which he'd never seen before. She was dressed in a flowing white gown, covered in red flowery patterns, that was tied at her waist with a large red bow.

“This man is a servant of ours. He disappeared early in the year. We'd very much like to have him back.” It was a paper-thin excuse, and everybody knew it. Except, apparently, Duke Edin. “My dear,” he piped, raising his arms in a friendly gesture. “Why did you not say so sooner?” The mystery woman bowed very slightly, her body absolutely still. “I did not recognize him without a beard, my lord, and it has been a year. Forgive me for not speaking sooner.” She bowed a few inches more, locking her eyes on the floor in front of the Duke's feet.

“No problem! He'd just be filling up the local gaol if we kept him here. You have my permission to take him back to your mistress.” With that, the audience was over, and the woman in white rushed him out the door and down the hall. In an alcove, she wheeled and pinned him by the neck with a warrior's grace. “You fool!” she whispered harshly as her eyes bored holes into his. “You do not toy with magics such as this!” She stepped back, and Roderic gagged. He'd never seen movements like that, but damned if they weren't effective.

“What magics?” He coughed as needles of pain shot up his throat. “I have no idea what any of you are talking about. I'm a Gedrish Count, and I am Roderic kin-Kadayre! This Sir Vermilion bollocks can shove off and rot in the desert!” There was an awkward silence for a moment, then her expression softened. “You speak the truth. Yet you are...” She moved closer, studying him. “Come. We must speak with my mistress. She will know.” She grabbed Roderic's wrist and pulled him behind her with a strength he would never have guessed she possessed.

She had already dragged him out the door, down the street, and to the docks by the time he managed to pace himself. She was not leading him to a ship, he noticed, but to a nearby caravan. Among the usual wagons and carriages, there was one that stood out. It was larger, and made of a brightly colored cloth that made Roderic want to bury himself in soft pillows forever. Guards stood outside, talking to one another. They bowed deeply as the woman approached, and even helped shove Roderic into the carriage behind her.

The inside was much different than he'd imagined. Instead of mountains of fluffy pillows, there was a floor of polished wood and some tanned yellow mats. Several other women in white sat with their legs beneath them and their hands crossed on their laps. They were wearing veils that covered their faces and necks completely, and they did not turn to look at him as his companion ripped off his shoes and shoved him deeper inside.

“Mistress,” she said, prostrating herself on one of the mats. She laid one hand atop the other on the floor in front of her, forming the shape of an arrowhead with her arms. “This is the one who caused the disturbance. He smells of The Enemy.” Roderic did not know who The Enemy was, but the way she'd said it made him feel a chill.

There was no answer. Roderic waited for what seemed like several minutes in the still silence. He hadn't quite realized how dark it was in here before, but now he was starting to feel nervous. More time passed in silence. He did not even hear the guards outside, and the women in white were as motionless as when he entered, as if they were just dolls propped in elaborate poses.

“He is not one of them.” A candle flame came to life in front of him, and an old woman stared at him from beyond it. The shadows flickered across her eyes and skin, giving her a ghastly appearance. “You will come with us.” Roderic averted his eyes and said nothing. Something about this woman scared him, though he did not know what. He just wanted to leave this place.

“I'm not going to stay here, or go with you. I'm going to go home, and none of you can stop me!” He rose and turned away from the old woman, but found himself unable to take a step. “Roderic,” she said in a voice like ice. “Roderic.” He turned his head, and his eyes met hers. They were not human eyes. “Vashkah,” she said, and in the candlelight Roderic saw her teeth grow long as her skin stretched across her face. “I know you.”


<DRAMATIC PAUSE, LIKE IN STAR TREK! GETTING A LITTLE SUSPENSEFUL HERE. I WOULD APPRECIATE SOME COMMENTS NOW THAT THINGS ARE ACTUALLY HAPPENING. :3>


Roderic opened his eyes, and was happier than he'd ever been to see the sun. He lay still, gazing up at the sky, feeling a wagon move beneath him. “Drink this,” a voice said, and he found a water skin in his hand. He drank deeply, and the woman in white smiled. “She did not mean to scare you. She is not one of them.” Silence, and then she continued. “We need you with us. You won't understand why. None of us truly do, but we follow our Mistress down any path she may take.”

It wasn't comforting to hear her say this, but he knew she was trying. He set the skin on the wagon bed and sat up. The caravan was on the move, traveling along a mountainside that looked out across the ocean. “My name is Aiyona,” his companion said. She took the water skin and returned it to a sack beside her. “I must leave you now. You have free reign of the caravan.” She hopped off the wagon and made her way to a covered carriage further down the line.

There were some things in the world that should never see the light of day. Secrets that should remain forever hidden. That old woman knew all too well the memories she'd dredged up in his head. She knew he'd be drawn to follow them now. Deep in thought, Roderic leaned back against a sack and closed his eyes. He would not sleep well tonight, for nightmares would plague his dreams.

Nightmares of torchlight demons and endless screams, lost beneath the cold desert moon.

[Akirai Narumi]

I've only read the first section so far, but I'll give you some feedback on it. I'll do the remainder later. These are all just my personal takes and you're free to disregard anything and everything.

The first thing Roderic noticed was that the sun was much too bright.
Normally, a man such as Roderic would ignore trivial things like this, but not today. No, today his head hurt something terrible, and the sun wasn't helping. Yes, Roderic kin-Kadayre, the man you can always count on to have a hangover on Monday mornings.

You've switched tenses, which is confusing. You don't seem to use this style anywhere else throughout the section, which makes it awkward... It's always kind of weird for the narrator to address the reader directly, unless the story is framed so that the whole thing is structured that way. Here it just looks, well, unrefined. Also, after reading just this section, the story doesn't seem to take place in modern times, so the terminology of "hangover" doesn't seem to fit with the time period.

Strange, frilly trees swayed in the light breeze, while crystalline blue ocean stretched out to the horizon.

Frilly? I think you could come up with something a lot better.

“Gentlemen,” Roderic said in his most Holier-Than-Thou tone.

I'm not sure why this is all capitalized.

Roderic, being a man of little patience, didn't take it well at all. He hated being mocked, especially by peasants.

This is a little bit too blunt. You should show this attitude of his through speech and actions, not just tell us out front how he took it and how he felt.

Roderic considered himself a joker of sorts, and that opinion was shared by most of the Gedrish court. He was also notoriously arrogant, and hated the peasantry with a passion. To Roderic, humor among the common folk was something to be punished swiftly and decisively. Humor at the expense of nobility was a death sentence.

Again, this is kind of a drag to read. I don't want all the complex details of his personality listed out on the page. I should get the vast majority of this through his behavior which is interwoven (or should be, rather) throughout the piece.

Roderic had never been disrespected this much in his entire life. He was a Lord, and no Lord should be treated this way. It was an outrage.

Meh, whine whine whine. XD I'd say elevate the vocabulary here so it doesn't sound like a melodramatic teenager.

At least, that's what he told himself. In reality, he probably could best them.

This sounds, again, unrefined because of your word choice or something. I can't put my finger on it. The writing just sounds too casual, which is what throws me off. It sounds like someone is just... rambling on to themselves when the actual content of it really isn't needed.

He'd received some training in unarmed combat, and had used it to disarm a Sataaran mamluk in battle last year.

Err, what? Is this information really that important that it has to be included in here? As a reader I don't care about events in the past that don't affect the present or the future.


I think the biggest thing you need to work on in this particular piece (or what I've seen of it so far) is your word choice. You made some really good choices that elevate your writing, and then you dashed it with bad choices that brought it down.

As startling as this was, his quasi-drunken mind was more shocked by his rampant beard growth. Roderic had always been proud of his well sculpted chin and majestic cheek bones, but they were now covered with long, scraggly hairs that extended down beyond his waist. Furthermore, the beard was iron gray like an old man's, and Roderic was a mere twenty-three summers in age.

This part in particular was an example of a good group of sentences. They have a pretty decent structure, the grammar is fairly correct, and the descriptions are good. You could have just said, "He was drunk. He noticed his beard had grown longer. It was gray" and blahblahblah, but here you had some nice details that weren't just put out there in a deadpan narration, as you did in other spots.

The interaction between Roderic and the two men was funny and energetic and I enjoyed it. The only things that bugged me were what I already mentioned, like the fact that you did more telling than showing as far as how he was reacting to them.

Well, that's all for now. I'll try to do the rest of it soon.

[Endrak]

Thank you, good sir or madame! I've been waiting for some real criticism! The other people I've shown this to said a lot of the same things, so I'll fix it up a bit after I get more written down. It's all saved on my computer, so you won't see any changes up here, but once I get a large chunk of the story typed, I'll work on it and probably post it again.

Anybody else who wants to say something critical but is scared I'll eat them if they do, don't worry about it. Criticism is how I improve, so please don't refrain from saying what's on your mind.

@Akirai Narumi

If it's not too much trouble, could you point of any specific parts that bug you in the second section as well? It's a big help.

[Akirai Narumi]

Yep.

The magistrate was a tall, hairless man with an earring that marked him as a Tora from Cilcy.

Okay, so, I don't know what a Tora is and I don't know where Cilcy is, so this makes no sense to me. I feel like there should be a little more description. Break it into two sentences if you have to, but don't get too lengthy.

The magistrate was very obviously angry, his wrath directed at the man who stood before him.

Yes, it is obvious, so no need to state it.

It was a tongue lashing to rival most field commanders, and it made Roderic hopeful. A man like this would surely not stand idle at any injustice.

Are you trying to be sarcastic here? Maybe it's just me, but it's probably the way you've written; the magistrate was just bitching some guy out about taxes and slaves and this Roderic guy thinks he's a good, tenderhearted protector? I'm confused, unless you're trying to be ironic... but you don't quite implement that effectively.

“You have a name?” His voice was quiet, and Roderic could hear the faint hint of a Cilcian accent in the vowels. “Roderic, magistrate. Lord Roderic of Fallon, and I demand you bring me fresh clothes and a horse so that I may return there.” Silence. The magistrate glared at him for a good ten seconds, then glances up at the hunters. “Crazy, aye. Would you be so kind as to escort this nobleman to the gaol? I still have another hour here at least.”

Whenever a new person talks, start a new paragraph. Otherwise people get confused as to who's speaking (like I did XD) Also, why has his voice suddenly changed to a mousy murmur? Two seconds ago he was bellowing.

“For your information, the Lord of Fallon is our liege, Duke Edin, thirty years old. He is short, does not have a beard, and he is on his way here as we speak. His ship will be in port tomorrow. If you're a relation of his, which I highly doubt, any misunderstanding will be brought to light upon his arrival. For now, you'll be staying in my gaol.”

This part was really funny to me. Kudos.

the hunters grabbed him once again

I feel like the word "grabbed" needs to be replaced by some more elevated vocabulary.

[Endrak]

I love you. :3

I don't think I'm going to post anymore in here until I get more chapters set, otherwise you're just going to be saying the same things for different parts of the story.
One last question. Do you think this has potential to be a decent read on its own?

Anyone else, feel free to leave your own comments. I'd like to hear them.

And now, I will follow in the footsteps of Peter Chimaera, and dedicate this topic to the brave FBI.

[Banshee56]

The sun was much too bright? Niiice.

I love the mild sarcasm running through this, it made me smile several times. In the first, the beach with the 'frilly' trees is well described and it gives a definite place where the action is, but, in the second piece, I can't help feeling a little lost. You're describing all the people, but I think it could really do with some more setting, the jail isn't really described either, so I think you're missing a trick there, and the action feels mildly disjointed, like there's a bunch of people and chairs floating randomly around. Even if it's something vague, it would help the story run better.

That's my main criticism, but it's a good piece - I salute you and I'll keep an eye out for more