First Try

Hey, biscuitgod, just finished reading your piece. I've put in some comments below... sorry for the formatting, but I like to put in comments as a I go along (compiling all my thoughts at the end of a long piece is difficult) and had to cut-paste from your PDF document. Maybe posting the thing in the thread will help next time?

Anyway.

Quote

Ok, first of all I enjoyed reading this. It has the hallmarks of a fast-paced kind of story, though I'm not entirely sure where it will go next. Something to do with Tide, I imagine, though I only have that glimpse because of the last paragraph. You also know a good turn of phrase when you see one. “When the blood ran, they built ditches just inside the cage.” for example.

A note about my infodump comments below: I’m the kind of reader who likes to hear about all kinds of things I’ve never heard of before, but I don't like it on the first couple of pages. I think a story needs to breathe a little bit before you slow the pace, which is what infodumping inevitably does.

Eli Weston
Paths in Chaos:
18th year between Tides, 892 years after Goan’s Fall
Stuck between the cage and the surging crowd, Taber wore a face of cool
disgust, alien and blasphemous in the mobs eager delight. His demeanor only
challenged when the glee of that surging crowd slammed against him, wrapping his
body further along the hot iron of the cage. He clenched his teeth, grunted, cursed,
and occasionally screamed in pain as his body collected hundreds of bruises and
cuts. He wouldn’t turn his gaze.

There are quite a few typos in this piece (e.g. apostrophes and incorrect words used in the place of others, e.g. "then" instead of "than"), a bit of wobbly grammar, and a couple of non-sentences “His demeanor only challenged...” But I won't point all of these out, as that's something you can do yourself.

It remained locked inside the cage, to an ancient set of armor used only for
the Denu’ Tally.
The month’s infamous murderers, gang leaders, or blasphemers were
declared Denu and clad in the oversized suits of armor. They would stand‐alone in
the iron cage until lesser criminals were sent against them, one at a time or in
various groups. While the mobs of criminals were armed they were not armored
like the Denu who had to use the weight of its armor until it gained one of the mobs,
often flimsy, weapons.
The Denu would slaughter endlessly, collecting ghosts to haunt them in their
afterlife, until they were killed. If they survived one day, they would simply be
brought back for another.
Though it was not a voluntary tradition for either side, when one of the lesser
criminals killed the Denu they were set free and often given whores and fame.
It was an old custom, created when Denu the Butcher claimed those he was
forced to murder brought on his greatest punishment. The city’s council, with their
affixation for easy solutions, upheld the tradition like an ancient monument.
Mobs were so easily satisfied by brutal executions.

Ok, this is interesting stuff but you’re diving into infodump far too quickly. I think you need to start with something more upfront, start directly in someone’s POV. The reader will love this stuff you have written, but not if it’s the first thing they read. You want them to get a little way in, and start thinking, “wow, the Denu stuff sounds pretty interesting. I wonder what it’s all about” and then BAM you hit them with what they want. But the key is that they have to want it before you give it to them.

That last line up there was great, though.

Long ago the Denu started simply taking off their armor. The response
involved nailing the armor to the victim. When the Denu would not kill they were
tortured, sometimes so broken they believed they could be freed if they survived
long enough.
Taber remembered that as a boy the battle was hard to see due to the dust.
The council had recently utilized the newly discovered process for concrete

“concrete” feels a little anachronistic here.

, and
paved the whole plaza.
When the blood ran, they built ditches just inside the cage.
Suddenly Taber felt the crowds loosen, the pressure on his back seemed to
hesitate.
He forced himself to turn around.
A man was flying towards him a scream of shock following in his wake.
Taber ducked and listened to the sickening crunch as the man hit the iron of the
cage.
The body collapsed on top of him, the man’s large buckle almost knocking
Taber out. Before he could pry himself free the weight of the body was suddenly
flung aside into the wide‐eyed crowd.
He got a glance of what looked like a Cheron before he was lifted by his neck
and slammed into the iron.
“This spot belongs to the Pan…”
Taber managed to make eye contact and the man who Taber now realized
was only half‐cheron, choked down his words before letting out a cautious breath of
stinky hot air.

Aha! This is where your story should have started.

The grip on Taber’s neck loosened and he feel to the ground.
When he got up he gave the half‐cheron a quick nod. The seven‐foot man,
frowning, small tusks pointing out with the expression, closed his eyes for several
seconds, a moment of defenselessness, the closest thing to an apology one could get
from his kind.
Afterwards the brute collected the projectile man and laid him out six feet
from the cage and stood over him. He gave a looked that dared anyone to step past
the body. If he followed the reputation his Cheron ancestors created long before
humans even existed. Such a challenge could only result in death.
The crowd remained parted, the line was drawn in the sand and the bell for
death rang out slowly.

I think you should maybe expand this scene out, as it’s a good opener. Leave the infodump unit later, or thin it out a little and sprinkle it throughout the scene. You have a bit of action, a bit of weirdness, and these are both good things to begin a book with.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………...
Elk’s torturer had been female.
Damn the luck.
He didn’t know her name, but he remembered her as Artha, it was the only
way not to hate her, hate would have made him weaker, easier to break.
Artha was someone else too. A pretty girl he had raped in his early days of
soldering. He was filled with drugs and battle rage at the time. Now the girl haunted
him every night. He hoped to hang in The Harvester’s trees for all eternity for what
he did. When he was a soldier his comrades learned to keep themselves away when
with a victim.
Perhaps through this torturer Artha got some revenge. Female torturers
always seemed to love the weakness men had in their crotch. That being the third
step in that bitch’s fun he finally broke.
He’d have to slaughter those poor bastards; he took hope knowing he’d kill a
rapist or two.
“Fuck, I’m a hypocrite” he chided himself

This last bit feels a bit clumsy. If the guy has raped someone before, you should maybe spend a bit more time dwelling on it. I imagine that if you had once raped someone and then come to regret it, you would not say “Fuck, I’m a hypocrite”, as though you were talking about eating the last piece of pizza. Spend more time with it, dig a little deeper. How would you feel in this situation?

With a few days and enough drugs to make him forget what sound a kitty
made, Elk occasionally gained freedom from his pain and the intense itching of
healing wounds. That is until he realized the miracle, and then, once again, the itch
and the pain.
Well fuck it

Just wanted to say here that I like the gritty approach you’re going for.

all that was good enough for his grand old law‐making buddies.
So, they promptly slapped on his Denu armor, oversized plate armor made of a
grayish white metal with dark yellow lining, and a big scary helm to fit the bill and
took him for a nice walk with his hands tied.
He barely finished his letter in time.
They walked him up what felt like a hundred stories of the underground
dungeon system. The heat began to rise letting him know they were close to the
surface, he vomited, “I’m sorry boys even a big old murderous soldier type like me
gets a little scared some times.” His entourage seemed to slump at the comment,
hiding their faces deeper in their black cloaks.
These were the cloaks of the Stalkers, the elite assassins, guards, scouts, and
most importantly wizard killers of the city‐state Empire of Esira. Under them lay
chain mail and more daggers then one could imagine to be hidden so perfectly. The
best of these elites carried all unis weapons, material with the ability to negate
magic.
These were true warriors and they had respect for Elk’s locally famous skills.
They felt shamed sending him to his un‐deserved execution. Elk tried to reassure
them. They were just doing their job. The city let them live in the dungeons; taking
care of prisoners was their rent.

Good worldbuilding.

They made it to the top. A big cast iron door was unlocked and slowly
opened. The jeering of what sounded like an enormous crowd quickly followed the
stinging desert sunlight.
As he was lead blindly out the door he noticed the famous smell of Esiria’s
great market. He felt him self‐walking from a concrete plateau to a wooden ramp.
When he made it down to the plaza he could hear the ramp being taken away. One of
the Stalkers cut his binding with out so much as a tug.
Rubbing his wrists and adjusting his eyes to the naked sun, Elk could feel his
guardians were nowhere nearby. He stretched his back, arms, and neck with eyes
squinted and wandered a little. He kicked something hard and heard it scrape down
the concrete grounds. He felt for it and eventually found two gauntlets and put them
on.
His eyes finally opening he saw the black iron cage surrounding him, and
beyond that the surging crowd of the desert city. Temples, monuments, palaces,
apartments, brothels, taverns, and merchant buildings filled the horizon, some older
then legends and others still being built. The city had been built, expanded,
conquered, razed, renamed, and re‐built more times then one of its famous desert
mutts could piss on it.
Elk had journeyed thousands of miles away while he was a soldier, never had
he seen a city with the fanatically rich culture of this city. That is except the dead
city.
Once Dira, the twin city to Esiria, the dead city had grown farther south on
the coast of the same desert peninsula Esiria thrived on, Ordia. Merchants from the
northern lands stopped at Esiria and used its mines to pass through the mountain
range that covered most of the southern coast across the continent. They would
then use Dira’s famous ship merchants to cross the Cutting Sea in order to reach
nearby islands and other continents. Commonly the continent Eldon ruled by the
holy council, the richest and most powerful presence in the known world.
Dira had become the dead city after the holy council used the powers of Tide,
the late great sorcerer and emperor, whose influences conquered the west side of
the continent and swept through the islands till it ended at Dira, against his own
cities. The weapons were the Jen’ Kory, ancient parasitic plants that fed off humans
and could even trap the human mind when strong enough.

Ok, infodumping again. This is good stuff, but it drops the reader out of the story. Leave it until later, when the reader has settled into the story a bit.

When Elk saw the city, giant gray tentacle like roots engulfed everything.
Human bodies were frozen in place with the roots either going through or sprouting
from them. The holy council had petrified the entire city. Stopping the weapons
supposedly unearthed by the terrible dictator, Tide, who had actually never used
them.
A ring of thick steel sounded in Elk’s head followed by a body toppling to the
ground. He looked around to find the commotion, a gray skinned cheron, with small
tusk giving it away as impure, charged a man recovering from under an unconscious
body that appeared to have been the source of the noise. Before the recoverer could
recover, the Cheron, whom Elk knew as Pile, threw the first victim back into the
crowd and choke slammed poor bastard number 2

“two” Sorry, but that really stuck out its tongue at my pedantic bear

Always spell out numbers.

into the Iron bars of the cage. Elk
recognized the red hair and apparently almost as quick the same recognition hit Pile
and he dropped his cargo and got back to work.
Pile, a giant nicknamed during his spear thrusting days (the pile of bodies he
always made), was a considerable member of Pan brotherhood. He had been
enforcing positions for his fellows along the sides of the cage. Elk saw many familiar
faces among the new first row of on lookers. He had been and he assumed still was
an official and publicized member of the political gang.
The Pan Brotherhood primarily consisted of Diran refugees or at least their
ancestors. These were the people who 20 years ago traveled through the
abandoned mine, and the desert expanse, which ran from Dira to Esiria. After
Escaping the torments of the Jen’ Kory brought on their city, they found nothing but
slavery at an Esirian unis mine. A process was required at the mine that poisoned
and killed hundreds of the survivors.
When an old general of Tide’s destroyed empire took over an expansive
island nation to the west a wave of paranoia broke out and a mob of Esirians
attacked the mines and slaughtered most of those who had survived its harsh
conditions. Those who bore the facial tattoos of those sworn to the old empire were
often tortured, raped, and burned alive.

Infodumping, along with the next bit too. Get with the action!

Elk’s mother was one of those tattooed and so was Elk. It had been Tide’s
wizard general, the Waster, who had saved him and his mother from death during
Elk’s birth. All he asked was that Elk would be given his strange name. The tattoos
were his mother’s idea. She had been raped and burned for the decision and her
son had learned he was a killer when he found the men responsible two months
later.
An old soldier annalist, a man who not only fought in the wars against Tide
but also wrote down what he had seen for the 12 years of his service, took Elk in.
His connections were the reason Elk got to join the army without taking of the robes
covering his tattoos.
It was the attritional war against what turned out to be a peaceful island
nation and the slaughter at the mines that eventually had citizens freeing their Dira
slaves and allowing the growth of the Han Brotherhood. New politicians arose
without the paranoia’s of the old and the Pan brotherhood helped them along.
The line was split down the middle and a political war was afoot, the old,
paranoid from the wars before and the new who had seen nothing but the pointless
war on the islands.
Elk had been a poster child for the Pan Brotherhood and the new politicians.
A tattooed Dira who had redeemed himself as a war hero, a man who fought for a
city that had enslaved him as a child and murdered his mother. Proof, that the
Dirans should be treated fairly and without prejudice. It had actually been fun for
Elk but when a Judge was murdered on the other side it was easy for people to
believe the brutish man Elk had done it. He still didn’t know who pointed the finger.
The bell rang and red armored legionaries, with long shields and short
swords marched into the cage. Inside the tight square of armor was Baurin Ostice a
judge and a close friend of the one who had been murdered. The square opened up
and encircled Elk and the judge. Someone hit elk in the back of the knees, made him
knell.
The judge raised a scroll in front of his face, unraveled it. “Elk Danuas Perter,
once a war hero of Esiria, greatest amongst the alliance of free cities that defeated
the evil dominion, has been tried and committed, for the murder of Prime Judicator
Ganis Belemus Dafu, to the struggle of Denu’ Tally. May the gods forgive you for the
corruption the Han brotherhood has cast on your soul and for these deeds you have
committed accordingly.”

Ok, this appears to be a pivotal scene, but it feels rushed. You’ve concentrated on the backstory, the history, and as a result this big event has just kind of slipped by. Take your time. Describe the smells. Is Elk shitting himself? Is his skin prickling with the adrenaline? Concentrate on the five senses. How does Elk feel about all of this? So far, it just feels like the event has been thrown at him, and at the reader, too fast for it to stick.

For once the crowd stood silent. If the judge was surprised, he hid it well.
Usually cheers followed the declaration. Apparently the crowd was afraid of those
who had just been insulted.
The judge left with a small escort of guards. The rest of the legionnaires stood
around the inside of the cage. Surprisingly a small knot of Stalkers came out of the
Dungeon entrance. Jumping from the concrete plateau right as the judge left from
the gateway on the other side. They fanned out the way the other soldiers had.
“Extra protection? Probably just a fucking show,” Elk thought, “they can’t
really think I’m that dangerous.”
The Second bell finally rang. It was ominously slow. Elk rolled his eyes and
batted his helmed head with two opened palms. It was an Esirian gesture for “lets
get this over with” the crowd finally lost it and the cheers rang free.
Elk thought about the woman he loved. Bad mistake, love like that made men
fear death, even Elk. He wet himself as the ramp on the plateau was replaced and he
could hear men running, being herded from the dungeons.

Did he wet himself literally?

Anyway, you throw in some good stuff here, “Elk thought about the woman he loved. Bad mistake, love like that made men
fear death”. I’d like to see more of this kind of stuff.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
Taber rolled his eyes, his friends sarcastic tendencies were funny only to
those who hadn’t been around him for more then 10 minutes. Sometimes Taber
wondered if his father was doing acrobatics in his graveyard knowing he had
befriended such an unprofessional cretin.
His father had been a high‐ranking officer, a talented tactician. He had always
been uptight and demanding, he wanted his son to follow in his footsteps. A few bad
investment later and Taber was joining the army so his father wouldn’t have
another mouth to feed.
The demeanor stuck and Taber found it hard to make friends in his service.
He had to take and save lives before he was one of the brothers in arms. It had been
Elk, who he had clashed with the most, who later became his closest comrade.
When Taber’s service had ended his father had all ready died and there was
no money left, so he went with Elk to Esiria, guarding estates as a profession.
Business was good, civil uproar was in the air and the rich all thought themselves
targets.
The second bell finally rang, it was too late, the judge probably delayed the
execution so he could figure just how to deliver a message about the brotherhood,
little arrogant bastard.
Taber turned around and headed out of the plaza, he hoped Elk didn’t notice
his disappearance; he was as sentimental as a priest once you got to know him.
Taber heard the cling of metal, screams of men, and the cheers of the crowd
that went with Elk’s dance of death, it would be a long one, and it would be his last.
All Taber could do was cringe when the sounds hit the back of his mind. “It
should have been together, as brothers.” He whispered, the nearest pedestrian
thinking him crazy. He reminded himself of his business, there were things more
important then honor at stake here.
Finally clearing out of the crowded plaza Taber continued on down the main
road. Street vendors, doomsayers, politicians, and recruiters yelled at him in six
different languages.

These little details you throw in are nice, they add colour to the piece.

The sound of hooves on the paved roads clamored with the
roar of everyday life, as horses carried their owner’s carriages.
Lost in thought Taber narrowly missed a black stallion carrying a carriage
marked with the seal of the Tebon family, his escape was thwarted as one of the
many self proclaimed prophecies backed up and was slammed down into a chaotic
mess with Tabor. The man’s words were lost sometime between, “The end,” and
“near.”
The whiskery old man with a shocked expression made eye contact as
Taber got up.
“You sir have no idea, how right you are.” The expression deepened and
Taber lifted the man to his feet.
A half hour later Taber was pretending to paint in a lonely square amongst
the noble estates in the three hills district of Esira. He was actually waiting, waiting
for a small boy who had been given a note written by Elk to the only woman he had
ever loved. On the back of that letter was a password, a password that would change
as the letter changed hands. Until eventually Taber would follow a path straight to
the one he sought.
A woman who was supposed to be a house slave, a woman who was being
protected so she could upstart the whole city.

Interesting stuff. This scene played out a lot neater than the previous one, largely I think because you stay in the here and now more often.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………….
The man’s attempted battle cry died out right before Elk’s helm smashed into
his forehead. The replacement was the sickening crush of his skull. Elk didn’t really
know what the man had actually been attempting, he had just kind of ran head long,
rusty broadsword raised by both hands slightly to the left of his head.
New weapon in Elk’s gauntlets he looked at a growing mob of nervous
contestants. Someone decided it was time for them to grow a pair and landed an
arrow through the middle of someone’s skull. The gang ran at Elk under fear of
their former comrades fate. The result was a slaughter, fifteen men died. The crowd
cheered and Elk vomited in his helmet.
The stench of vomit and blood in his mind Elk killed twenty more men. The
last one seemed to simply run into a spear Elk had picked up. Something in Elk’s
brain snapped as the man slide down the weapon, fighting feebly. He started to
laugh hysterically. The crowd cheered, they wanted the blood of this mad man.
Someone complied as eleven more men were sent charging.
They were actually trying. They slowed down and circled Elk, one had a
spear the others seemed to have various short swords, and a few had wooden
shields. Elk pulled his spear free and grabbed another from a near by body.
Someone tried taking a supposed opportunity and charged Elk; Elk hit him in
the personals

brilliant!

with his new spear. The spearhead had apparently fallen off but the
splintery end left behind didn’t feel good either. Pure adrenaline kept Elk’s assailant
going, Elk hit him with the back of a heavy gauntlet, when the man fell he put the
spike on the back of his plated boot through the opportunist’s temple. He never
stopped laughing and never looked down. Not that anyone would try to catch him
off guard again.
Elk’s spear gave him an advantage, he could prod them away before they
could use their short weapons. Elk knew it was a temporary problem for the pack.
Someone would get brave and take the bite while the rest f them came from the
sides.
With his armor he might be able to come on top he thought, then laughed at
the notion. He laughed some more when five more men showed up to try to kill him.
“Thought they would drag this out more!” the crowd jeered as Elk conducted
them through the madness, “ c’mon you fuckers, I’ve got shit to do today!”
Surprisingly Elk wasn’t disappointed with what he figured were his last
words.
Something clicked, then a whole lot of something exploded. The blast
knocked Elk and all his hopefuls over. Elk, remembered the ringing in his ears, these
were munitions, the same kind he had seen used during the war. They were
contraptions created by natives of Creder Island. This had been a big one.
He recovered to see stalkers killing guards, arrows being flung everywhere, a
mobs fighting itself, and so many just trying to get away. He saw the opening the
blast had made. He got up and tried to run.
Barker and Fall were in his way, both former soldiers, two of the bothers
among four that ran the Han brotherhood.
“C’mon brother it’s time.” One spoke Elk could never tell them apart.
“It’s all coming to an end, were going to win. Our friends are taking over.”
“Go a’… Go away,” Elk was still rattled, the words came slow, “I’m sorry.”
They moved aside, no questions needed to be asked.
“Then hope for us brother,” one of the two yelled over the roar of chaos,
“even the stalkers might not be enough without you.” Elk lifted a hand and trudged
forward.

This scene feels a bit disjointed, a non-sequitur. I’m not sure where it fits in with the trial scene we just had. What exactly is going on here with Elk?

……………………………………………………………………………………………………….
The strong smell of poa filled the room, smoke leaving the white elegant
furniture from the north in a thick haze. Rose coughed, her pretty face distorted in
an explosive manner. A servant came in, expertly hiding his disgust for Rose’s
habits, bearing a message. She gave him an approving nod and he walked out the
door.
Elk had written her a love letter. She was happy to take the compliment; his
last writings were for her. He had always been amazing with a pen, his mentor had
taught him well. She liked everything he wrote. Except when he wrote about love,
writings he usually meant for her. He seemed to lose himself in his hopeless
romantics. His sarcastic demeanor crushed by a fool’s errand.
Either her own mind or the poa, the distinction had gotten harder over the
years, allowed her to enjoy the irony. For all their lives, since their child hood
journey from Diran, Elk had loved Rose, and Rose had use Elk as a tool.
He had protected her then, at the mines, during the riots, and even now. She
had had sex with him. She did find him attractive. Yet, she could never see herself
fallen in love with anyone. That’s why she had seduced a former owner of the
mines. Now, while she was supposed to be his slave, she ruled from the Taligan
estate perch.
Money stopped coming and things got muffled. Rose and her partner had
only one chance left to sedate their greed and they took it.
A radical member of the dead Guard, a group who believed they could
somehow terrorize the planet into bringing back the old empire, had given them
something and had paid handsomely for the deed. They simply had to plant it and
leave this damned city and they would be given another payment.
A kings ransom in gold, enough to handle any amount of guilt.
Some judge had almost found them out. Her partner had to kill him. Elk had
been a perfect scapegoat. Once again, he was protecting her.
The letter finally came, the servant handed Rose the letter before she got to
see two hands grab his head and break his neck. She screamed inside but only
giggled when she saw who had been behind her servant.
“Can’t be, too much poa.” She mumbled.
Taber held his hand out. Rose giggled some more; the whole world seemed to
waver. She realized what he wanted.
“No! It’s all I… I’ve got left.” She reached into her pockets, handed him a bag
of Jen’ Kory seeds. There was no questioning the crazy bastard.

I love this. The woman Elk loves is the bitch who let him take the fall for her own crime. Good stuff.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………...
Taber hit her in the head, knocking her out. She deserved so much more but
he couldn’t kill her, one last favor to his dying friend. He heard a commotion outside
and looked out the window. It was the crazy bastard himself, ridiculous plate armor
roaring like a proud lion. He ran, he doubted Elk’s common sense would arrive
between the time he saw unconscious Rose and he killed his former friend Taber.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
Elk walked up the stairs. Fear conquered his mind as he counted dead
guards. The riots had gotten intense and riots like these always found their way to
the wealthy homes of the rich oppressors.
He walked through the door already slightly open. Rose was sitting against
the wall her body limp. He practically had to fall over as the armor made it difficult
to bend down. Her pulse was still there she was still alive. Elk picked he up and ran
from the city, knight in blood‐covered armor.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
Meanwhile the city burned, people died, women were raped, children were
abandoned, and the world was turned upside down. Chaos created memories,
memories that would make fates and change the world. Running off the lips of
killers and dyers until it became almost a grand chant was the name Elk. The name
of the last Denu’ Tally, the birth point of this chaos.
Elk was also the name of an ancient god, a lost and forgotten god. A god
whose name was known only by a few, such as a wizard general who saved a child
and his mother during its birth. The same man who knows this god would be
inclined to bring back his master, Tide.
Now, Blood is being spilled, fires are spreading, and people speak the name
Elk all the while. This is how one creates gods.

All in all some good stuff

I think you should go through this with a fine-tooth comb and your grammar hat on and pick out some of the superficial errors. The other major point is the infodumping, which I won't mention again (too late!).

Care to elaborate on what the overall plot of the thing is? I'm guessing Elk and Tamber go on the run, then find out that Elk has some kind of god ancestry, but other than that I have no idea.

Hope to read more of it soon!

This post has been edited by Yellow: 13 June 2009 - 04:22 PM

Malazan Empire: First Try - Malazan Empire

First Try Just want to know what you think

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