[Gust Hubb]

So, it has been a while since I have tried my hand at a story. I am just toying with an idea I had a short while back and I am hoping somehow to break some fantasy tropes (I know, SE wannabe, though I recognize I will never be him, so don't mock me for dreaming). But, I am just curious to see the reaction of dozens of fantasy fans to this idea. I hope I won't be broken, much. Oh, and one other caveat, I know that you will see many elements inspired by my recent SE reads, so please forgive me if I seem like a copy cat. Not my intention, but I wanted to preempt any such thoughts with this confession.

Chapter One: A Finger's Length

The wet snap and crunch reminded him, unfortunately, of the crispy snap peas he had eaten only minutes earlier.




"You see, Pergie, there is an element of sacrifice to all forms of power," Remeina gave a lopsided smile as she wrapped a corner of her tunic around the seeping stump after setting down the shears. "What most denizens fail to realize is how available such power is. That or they lack the stone to pay the fiddler."




Remeina carefully lifted her detached ring finger, holding the bleeding nub upright so as to loose as little blood as possible. Pergie sat nearby on a milkmaid stool he had been instructed to bring in from the barn by Remeina before they began their third lesson. Remeina, despite her many years, still maintained the appearance of vigor and youth, her dark skin lacking wrinkles and gray hair shining as if drawn from silver. She, like all the other "Lepers" of the hamlet, seemed ageless and many of the more ignorant citizens believed the Lepers to be eternal, immortal, perhaps even minor gods. Not that Lepers were revered, feared perhaps, but still few could see these practitioners as worthy of worship with the mutilated extremities in stark mockery of their more perfect faces and figures.




Pergie sat rigid at Remeina's instruction continued. "This single finger has far more potential than the pails of blood used in the crude 'magic' associated with the planting celebration. Our bodies contain many elements in opposition, and it is this tension that creates what we know as magic. Are you old enough to remember the Cynthiama Incident?"




How could he not remember that, even if he had been a babe still sucking at the breast. Much of the reason he had grown up never leaving the Four Village Hinterland was the result of the terrible geographic alterations resulting from that Incident.




Pergie nodded solemnly and Remeina grinned. "I for one am glad of the ignorance of our customers. We have enough injuries and death from the primitive tools of rage as it is." While she talked, she took a slim deboning knife and cut up the finger's length, exposing the bone and joint capsules, though not even leaving either with a scratch. Pergie had never seen such art even from the veteran hunters, and even as he regretted his inability to join them on their glorious adventures, he suddenly felt as though their tales would pale in what he was about to witness.




"Ok Pergie, I think it's time you really understood what it is to be broken." After clasping the knife blade with her teeth, Remeina suddenly lunged toward Pergie, who had only time for a sharp intake of breath. Remeina, with uncanny strength, shoved Pergie off the stool and face-down onto the wood boards of the floor, her forearm bracing his against his head and her knee pinning the back of his thighs.




"Wait, what..." Pergie gasped as Remeina yanked up his shirt and dragged his breeches below his bottom.




"It's ok dear," Remeina murmured, her words distorted by the knife in her mouth, "I know your fathers and mother despaired of any future for you, but that's why you are here and not mucking out the stables." Pergie felt the cooling flesh of the severed digit slap against his contorted back. Suddenly, it all clicked in place and Pergie began to flail frantically. His struggles fell away after the blade slid through the finger into his spine. To stunned to do anything but tremble, he felt something soft and fleshy, like a boneless finger, stroking his face. But Remeina had not removed any of her limbs from holding him down...




"There there. You are now a Leper my child. Peace."


EDIT: as instructed by those who notice things

This post has been edited by Gust Hubb: 29 May 2011 - 05:43 PM

[Aptorian]

Typo:

Quote

"This single finger is has far more potential than the pails of blood used in the crude 'magic' associated with the planting celebration.

Well, if that is your opening passage it suddenly works. The prose is good (imo), the dialogue flows and the scene is mysterious and macabre enough that I want to read more.

EDIT: Anyway, what is the potential story idea? You have some kind of magical group called the lepers. And you have reference to some prior catastrophic event. Want to expand upon the premise?

This post has been edited by Battle Plaptypus: 29 May 2011 - 05:28 PM

[Gust Hubb]

Battle Plaptypus, on 29 May 2011 - 05:14 PM, said:

Typo:

Quote

"This single finger is has far more potential than the pails of blood used in the crude 'magic' associated with the planting celebration.

Well, if that is your opening passage it suddenly works. The prose is good (imo), the dialogue flows and the scene is mysterious and macabre enough that I want to read more.

EDIT: Anyway, what is the potential story idea? You have some kind of magical group called the lepers. And you have reference to some prior catastrophic event. Want to expand upon the premise?

Thank you for the both the edit and the kind words! I am afraid, in the tradition of most fantasy, I will have to tell you to read on (of course, that means I need to get writing, eh?) If it doesn't work, I will freely share and hope that someone can get milage out of the ideas, if they themselves are worthy.

[Aptorian]

Okay but please tell me this is not about a twelve year old boy who has fingers fused into his back that grows to become the hero of the nation and full fills his destiny of slaying the bad God King or something generic like that.

[Gust Hubb]

Nope, avoiding that at all costs. I'm aiming to have fun after all...

[Gust Hubb]

***

Sinton-Shink lounged on the slope of the knoll, running a blade of sawgrass through his teeth. Next to him, his kit's contents were splayed out much like him revealing a mixture of tools, scraps, and outright garbage. He reckoned he ought to go fish or hunt or start walking towards the nearest township, but even his empty stomach held its peace as if agreeing this moment was worth the discomfort. A pawn-knacker, Sinton-Shink was used to the price of traveling with no home to call his own. Folks relied so much on their fellows to provide what they needed and wasted their stamina focusing on a single, mundane task in hopes of filling a marketable niche. How dull. Sinton-Shink sighed and turned his head from the passing clouds to glance at the Dril sunning themselves on the sludgy beach of the Delve. Few knew that the Dril were actually intelligent and thus the beasts were happily left alone (though the odor they exuded probably helped in that respect as well).




In fact, the only reason Sinton-Shink knew of their sentience was his ability to remain so very still for so so very long. What was his record again? Ten days and nights? Sinton-Shink could have been a philosopher or priest of the Godheads, bless their holy pates, but Sinton-Shink wasn't lazy. No, Sinton-Shink considered himself to be more of a town wall, collecting both the filth of smoke and drunken spatter and the intricacies of carefully carved expressions of love hidden in a angle shadowed by an abandoned tower. Sinton-Shink took in far more than he gave out, although he was often recognized for the paucity of the later.




A Dril grunted and rolled over exposing the mud-smeared fur of its sinuous back. Five eyes blinked in his direction and then the three used for long distances slowly disappeared under sleepy lids. The other two eyes maintained vigilance for any more proximal threat.




Well, as much as he would like to top his record, Sinton-Shink had plans, for once, that required further action. He swept up the debris from his bag back into its musty confines, using his 7 fingered hand like a rake. If he ever decided to be a Leper, he would be a powerful one indeed.... but no matter. There were somethings even Sinton-Shink didn't do for himself.




The day continued to bestow warm sunlight and a cool breeze upon Sinton-Shink's lobster red skin as he strode across the plains following the line of the Delve. Damn fair skin he thought. Curse his fathers for giving him such a legacy. At first when he began his travels, he had attempted laying out in the sunlight for hours on end to tan his hide, but unfortunately, all he was able to manage was a scarlet hue that only added pain to his movement in addition to the relentless burn of the sun. However, farther south, the sun was much weaker and he had learned to ignore what pain still tormented him. Now his stomach growled, as if finally deciding it would no longer wait patiently.




Or maybe it was the sight of the hamlet up ahead. Hamlets now that the Delve had divided the one massive village, not that one could see the other half across the watery expanse.




Sinton-Shink had visited Half-town, once know as Roderek's Vale, once before, and he was pleased to return to such a welcoming place. Sinton-Shink had been mere days away from the once Roderek's Vale when the Delve had been scored into the plains. That year had been the longest he had remained in one place since he had ran away from his home village, what was it, 54 years ago? No one really seemed to know what had happened, but it was as if the fabric of the earth had been tugged apart like a chunk of bread from the main loaf. Within two days after being knocked flat on his back by the shockwave of the forming of the Delve, Sinton-Shink had arrived at the banks of the rocky canyon, already at that point half full of the water bleeding from the sides of the deep cut. Sinton-Shink had ended up arriving a mile away from Roderek's Vale and the sight of smoke and the eerie wails of grief had inspired a rare moment of compassion in the still young pawn-knacker.




Now, Half-town was a unique entity on the Winterfast Plains, where the few remaining residents all were capable of being self-sufficient, but still somehow maintained cohesion. Someone putting siding up on a barn spotted Sinton-Shink and waved amicably. Sinton-Shink couldn't be recognized at this distance (except perhaps by a Dril, but who really knew?) but it was easy to be friendly when everyone in the town was armed to the teeth.




"Hallo sir," said the woman, setting down the panel of grass woven siding.




"Hallo, Jezza, right?" Sinton-Shink said. Recognition flared in the woman's eyes, and a tentative smile flitted across her face. Well, it was a rare moment of compassion after all. Sinton pressed on, "Do you have an inn yet? Last I was here..."




"Yes, of course," Jezza interrupted. "But you probably need to see the Lady Weaver first. You know how she hates waiting on people, and she probably already knows you're here."




Sinton-Shink grimaced, but kept a curse under his breath. He had worked with the town folk to help them learn the skills lost with those consumed by the Delve, but he had been unable to convince everyone of the necessity of learning more than one trade. Lady Weaver should have passed on by now, but apparently the old bird was tougher than even he could imagine.




Jezza led him to the tired structure farthest from the Delve as people stopped what their work to either glare or wave cheerily at him. Most of the glares came from the older residents, but at least he could hope to get a better reception in the future if he outlive the old codgers.




"Shink, what a miserable surprise. And it was such a nice day," said Lady Weaver. Sinton-Shink went cold. She looked exactly the same as she did 40 years ago, except for her stubby hands. "I guess this time you've come to stay."

This post has been edited by Gust Hubb: 29 May 2011 - 06:56 PM

[James Hutton]

Well, I'm not a specialist on writing/storymaking/etc., but I like it!

Me want moar!

[Gust Hubb]

Excellent: here is the next section (still in process, but I am ready to spit out what I have).


***
Not many from the surrounding hamlets considered The Copse to be anything but an anomaly, a natural one. While most flocks of Purckanian Geese, Swiflows, Great Ducks and Awnas flew in and out of the region depending on the season, The Copse, ruled by towering redwoods and fleshed out with thorny scaled firs, was always occupied by hosts of birds. Despite this lack of interest, the denizens of the hamlets gave The Copse a wide berth, especially with the threat of being swarmed by the territorial birds if one ventured too close. Moreover, everyone knew, more often than not, that the sting of a scaled fir brought the worst rash known to man, itchy, purulent, and searing all at the same time for two weeks or more.

If asked, older villagers would claim that there was more to The Copse than merely hostile birds and trees. Unfortunately, the few old witnesses of the hooded wanders were not reliable, due to senility or idiocy, and for the most part the witnesses stories went unnoticed, if not reducing interest in The Copse.


Ironically, the senile and insane were for once more acute than their neighbors, and their supposed hallucinations were not fiction in the least.


But Thorbeck was relieved, if not wondering, at the continued ignorance of the surrounding populace. Thorbeck turned its beak to scratch an itch on its shoulder through the robes. Gorben, Thorbeck's Speaker, glanced up with disinterest before returning his blank stare to the moonlit hills surrounding The Copse. Thorbeck had grown exceptionally fond of its new Speaker. The dwarfish, ill-kempt man was not only quiet and dutiful, but his mop of sandy-colored hair maintained a rich ecosystem of blue algae and furtive bugs, a tasty treat for the ever-twitchy Thorbeck.


Thorbeck on the other hand was usually gangly and tall and always slightly misshapen. Those few "crazy" villagers privileged enough to catch a glimpse of a Murder had a hard time describing the individual beyond their robes and strange proportions. This made a lot of sense, considering that a Murder was just that, a flock of jackdaws, crows, ravens, magpies, and rooks filling out a crude robe into a vaguely humanoid shape.


Contrary to what would be popular human opinion, this crowded arrangement of birds was actually very comfortable and lulling. It helped that a Murder was animated through a linking of avian minds, allowing it to move in a surprisingly flowing, if not sinuous, manner. However, from their millennia of collective experience, Murders attempted to mimic mankind's movements as closely as possible. Humans had the unfortunate tendency to attack and destroy that which they did not understand.


Of course, Thorbeck thought, we aren't so different ourselves: driving other birds out of their nests, swarming any moving thing coming too close to The Copse, fleeing from the slightest startling. Thorbeck nipped another irritation through the robe. Stupid mites. It was all Thorbeck could do to keep from exploding apart and seeking out a vigorous dust bath.


Milre stepped up next to Thorbeck, Gorben briefly nodding at Milre's Speaker Coose.


"Are you ready to begin the next forage, Thorbeck?" Coose asked in a strangely masculine voice for her delicate appearance.


Gorben cawed resignedly and rasped, "Yes Milre, we are ready. Though I must confess that I have reservations with this forage. We already attract too much attention as it is."


Milre's body rippled sickeningly and then regained a more solid appearance once more. Milre was one of the newest Murders, an experiment in fact, including cowbird here and there throughout its form. "You know the Flocks require me to have at least one forage this eight season, and besides, we need to assess the current state of our good neighbors," spoke Coose.

[Aptorian]

Couple of observations.

Sinton-shink is an annoying name. It's like saying a persons first name and surname every time you mention them. But then again, maybe it grows on you.

Are there many "5 eyed" or 5 limbed creatures in this world. The reason I ask is that I surmise that the Drill are natural creatures and if they are natural, if evolution exists or something like it, it would mean that there would have to be lots of 5 eyed or 5 limbed creatures because that is how evolution works. More so, 5 is not a good number, it lacks symmetry. How many brain sections do they have? 3 or 5 does not really make sense. 2-4-6-20 that makes sense. All though there better be a reason why the body uses so many eyes, when fewer would be more economical.

What do you mean when you call them intelligen and sentient? All animals, you could argue, are sentient. They just have different levels of sentience from ours. They don't have our intelligence but they do display emotion. They feel. They show self awareness. So are the Drill not actually animals? Are they a tree with fur? And that is what is throwing people off? Or are they human level intelligence beasts?

How does SS know about the Lepers? I thought it was a secret ritual? But then again SS sounds like he is from some kind of super-knowledgeable race. Again, like the eyes, I don't like the 7 fingers. Are his fingers displayed in a different pattern than a human hand? Does he have more thumbs? One thumb and 6 opposing digits would logically be an ineffective evolution.

EDIT: Oh you posted more stuff. Reading the next section now.

This post has been edited by Battle Plaptypus: 04 June 2011 - 05:59 PM

[Aptorian]

Regarding this Thorbeck section.

I think you are showing and telling WAY too much about them. I think it would make more sense to show Thorbeck from the perspective of the Murders Speaker. If you are going to show Thorbeck from its own POV I still think you are being too descriptive. Consider that when describing yourself you would not really bother explaining that you consist of arms, legs, head, bones, blood. These are a given to you as such you would not even think of it.

Still. It's a kind of interesting idea this murder. Would certainly look freaky. What is a Murder exactly? It consists of birds, but travels like some kind of humanoid(?). Why? Are Murders actually spirits that use birds to form an avatar? If not, what purpose would some kind of sentient bird society have in walking the earth in a clump? Why not just fly in a mentally linked flock?

This post has been edited by Battle Plaptypus: 04 June 2011 - 06:09 PM

[Gust Hubb]

Great observations Apt. I will continue to develop these creatures/characters. But remember, at least with the seven fingers, there are many cases of polydactyl people and often the extra digits are useless. I don't remember if I have him using all of his digits yet, but the original idea stemmed from that genetic malformation (and as you can see, a spare digit may have uses).

As for the five eyed Dril, I think that while evolution needs to be taken into account, a major problem with sci-fi/fantasy is an anthropomorphic bias where every non human creature is just a variation on the theme of two legs, two arms, a head, and maybe if we are lucky, a tail. I mean, if you want confusing eyes, look at the jumping spider (let me see if I can get an image). A perfectly natural example of WTF.

And S-S. Yeah, meant to be. Sorry bro.


 250px-Mystaceus.jpg (12.76K)
Number of downloads: 0

[Gust Hubb]

Battle Plaptypus, on 04 June 2011 - 06:08 PM, said:

Regarding this Thorbeck section.

I think you are showing and telling WAY too much about them. I think it would make more sense to show Thorbeck from the perspective of the Murders Speaker. If you are going to show Thorbeck from its own POV I still think you are being too descriptive. Consider that when describing yourself you would not really bother explaining that you consist of arms, legs, head, bones, blood. These are a given to you as such you would not even think of it.

Still. It's a kind of interesting idea this murder. Would certainly look freaky. What is a Murder exactly? It consists of birds, but travels like some kind of humanoid(?). Why? Are Murders actually spirits that use birds to form an avatar? If not, what purpose would some kind of sentient bird society have in walking the earth in a clump? Why not just fly in a mentally linked flock?

Also some excellent points. I think with Thorbeck, we are seeing a viewpoint where the figure a Murder assumes is an attempt to disguise the reality of what it is. Thus, it makes sense that Thorbeck would consider its size and shape to make sure it was inconspicuous as possible to make sure those wily hominids didn't get too uppity. But I think that perhaps I remove too much mystery in such descriptions... I am throwing out story ideas, so if this continues to work out, I want to edit out some of the giveaways and tighten up the personalities. But as you said in your earliest posts, you're curious, and since this may not come to fruition, I'm being a little more giving with information so you can do what you're doing right now: helpful suggestions.


Oh, and don't give up on the Speaker yet. He's going to get some.

Edit, one other comment

This post has been edited by Gust Hubb: 04 June 2011 - 06:16 PM