Sci Fi & Fantasy / Planejumper ch 1-3
Planejumper
Book 1
Ch1
Moonlight glinted off the battlements of the castle walls. Guards marched down the walkways, making rounds, checking in, mostly doing things guards generally do while guarding on castle walls. In a certain corridor, a troop of such guards marched. They tramped down the hallway in lockstep, not stopping to investigate such things as shadowy alcoves or dark doorways. They got to the end of the hall and turned, continuing their route.
“Took ‘em long enough.” a man said, stepping out of one of the darker shadows along the corridor. He ran down the hall in the same direction the guards had, but took the left at the end, whereas the guards had taken the right. He ran down a staircase, taking them five at a time. At the bottom of the stairs there was a door with a grate at face level. He opened the grate and looked in.
He saw a long hallway with many doors lining it, all with grates in them, spaced at even intervals. Found it, he thought. He noticed a guard standing on the other side of the door he was looking through. He was the only guard in the hallway. Sliding the grate shut he threw open the door and, looking surprised and grateful to see the guard, said, “Finally, I’ve been lost for hours and nobody here gives proper directions. Think ya could help a guy out?”
The guard quickly about-faced and mastered his confusion at seeing this lanky brown-haired goofball who had wandered into his dungeon. “You’d best move along son. Whatever you’re lookin’ for, it ain’t here.”
“On the contrary, I have it from a very reliable source that what I’m looking for is here. In this castle, in fact, I believe that it is in this very hallway.”
“I don’t know who told ya that, but this here’s King Faust’s dungeon, and nobody ever wants to be here long.”
“Well….in that case,” and with that the brown-haired man leapt at the surprised guard, drawing his jeweled saber and lightly flipping the guard’s sword away to get stuck in the mortar of the wall. “Now tell me,” brown-hair said, with infinite menace, “where is the girl, and don’t act like you don’t know who I mean.”
With the man’s jeweled blade centimeters from his neck, the guard said the only thing he could, “Third cell on the left.” He motioned with his sword for the guard to open the door.
Ch2
Soft moonlight shone through the bars of her cell. She looked to the moon and sighed. Only this morning she had been a priestess-in-training, learning healing, holy spells, and writ. Suddenly, as if from nowhere, a troop of Fylgrian soldiers stormed in and declared all Priestesses and trainees enemies of the state, and arrested them. Now, she quietly awaited her fate with all the grace she could muster, given conditions. She was debating whether or not to use her magic and try to escape, or, to sit here and wait to prove her innocence, when she heard a voice speak up, tired but jovial, sounding lost. A gruffer voice replied, then a clatter, clang, then nothing.
All of a sudden the door to her cell swung open and the guard fell face first on the brick floor. Behind him stood one of the oddest men she had ever seen. He was of average height, with wild brown hair and a friendly face. He wore armor of a slightly purple cast, with white fur shoulder pads. The sword he held in his right hand was even odder than he was. The blade seemed to be carved from a large jewel, the same color as his armor. He had a large grin on his face. Stepping into her cell, he said, “Are you the one called ‘Hope’?”
She nodded, for she was, and asked him, “Who are you?”
“There’s no time, we must escape quickly,” he said.
“But what about the guards?”
“If we aren’t quick, King Faust’s men will be the least of our worries.” With that he raised the blade above his head and whispered a chant in some strange, sibilant tongue. The blade began to pulse and exude a purplish light. He walked to the back wall and, drawing a doorway with the sword, seemed to cut one out of the wall.
Just as he finished, a man in shining armor with dirty blonde hair and a very large sword appeared in the actual door. “Stand down and face execution magic-users.” he said.
Brown-hair turned, blade in hand, saying, “You don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into, but, fortunately for you, I don’t have time for this.” So saying, he shoved Hope through the gateway behind them, then fell backwards through it himself. Seeing the portal start to wane, the soldier dove through, screaming, “I won’t let you escape!”
Immediately he was thrown into pitch darkness, but it seemed to be…alive. He was falling, but slowly, as if through water. The blackness shifted itself into mind-twisting shapes he had no name for, which crept closer and gibbered loathsomely. He swung his giant sword, no normal blade itself, but it passed through the creatures, whose gibbering only grew louder as they came toward him.
The last thing he saw before sweet oblivion enveloped him like a blanket, was what could only be described as a face by someone most kind, with a writhing mass of tentacles for a mouth, and a gigantic clawed hand reaching for his face.
Ch3
The knight awoke with a start and a scream, reaching for his sword. Finding it missing, he raised himself up from what he now recognized as grass. With a flash he remembered the castle, his name, his job, and a man in purple armor carrying the strangest sword he had ever seen. He was Prince Coswicke, son to the king of Fylgria, captain of the elite guard, and his job was execution of all magic-users in Fylgria.
Fylgria, being a relatively new nation, had a strong border, strong army, strong king. Everyone knew that Coswicke would follow in his father’s footsteps, expanding territory to new lands. Seeing new species, and eliminating them down to whatever passed for the last woman and child. For Fylgria above all hated that which could speak, move, and do all that man can and more, and yet was not human. Magick had recently been declared illegal by the king for similar, if peculiar, reasons.
The way his father looked at it, magic was the most reprehensible of acts, being that which was ‘unnatural’ and being given to only a few. The king reasoned that government should hold power, not unnamable and invisible powers, capricious as the ‘people’ who reputed to use it for the ‘greater good’. That was why he had followed the girl and the brown-haired man, to bring them to his country’s version of ‘justice’.
Coswicke opened his eyes and stared up at the sky from his back. He started when he realized they were most definitely not in Fylgria any more. Fylgria had no vast forests of mighty trees that would take ten men to encircle. This place, this forest, was far older than any kingdom of man. Still lying on his back, Coswicke searched his eyes through the trees, for it was obviously day, but he could not tell the position of the sun. Yet, try as he might, his eyes could not break the dense foliage, which seemed to be hiding something for the sake of his sanity. For the moment he forgot what lay beyond the canopy, and looked around. It seemed they were in a clearing of some sorts, about thirty feet wide in a rough circle. He caught the scent of something cooking, realized he was famished, and immediately rounded on the source of the smell.
About ten feet behind him was a small cooking fire, over which was spitted some species of small bird. On opposite sides of the fire sat a young woman and a brown-haired man of about twenty-five. The woman was tending to the bird, but Brown-hair had his armor off, lying in the grass looking freshly polished and unpiercable. Coswicke noted that Brown-hair still had his sword strapped to his side. But what was curious was not the armor, nor the sword, (which was curious enough in itself to warrant none of his attention), but what his hands were doing. He seemed to be pinching what appeared to be tiny green leaves into what perfectly mirrored a small square of paper. He had bent the paper almost in half, so as to have one side longer than the other. Then, gripping it by the long end, he sifted the green dust (which could only, to Coswicke’s knowledge, be a ground herb) into the crease in the small paper square. After that, he grasped the paper with the herb between thumbs and forefingers and pinched it shut. Proceedingly, he rolled the paper up till it was half the size of a pinky finger. He licked the exposed edge of paper and fixed it to the rest.
Coswicke watched this with great fear and trepidation, knowing nothing of the sorcerous arts, and wondered feverishly what demon that small incense stick would summon to devour him, body and soul. He was shocked when Brown-hair stuck one end in his mouth and looked around the field. Finding a small piece of grass, he lit it in the fire and lifted it to the ’incense stick’ in his mouth. He lit it and flung the makeshift match into the fire. He took a long drag and held it for a moment, eventually letting go a cloud of smoke. Coswicke was not aware human lungs could contain that amount of smoke. He took another puff and made to pass to the girl, but she declined, saying, “I sense it would decrease my magical abilities.”
Coswicke stood and looked about for his sword and armor. They were nowhere to be found. Brown-hair looked over, smiled a toothy, wolfish grin. “Up, are we? Bout damn time.”
“How long was I out?” Coswicke ventured.
“Couple days or so, sleepin’ like a littlun.” Brown-hair was mocking him. That did not sit right with Prince Coswicke.
“I believe I am due a little more respect than that, good sir.” he retorted
“Very well,” Brown-hair spoke with mock servility, bowing at the waist. “I shall make introductions. This,” motioning to the girl, who lifted her hand in greeting, “is Hope, and upon her rests more than either of us will ever know. I,” he said, bowing again, “am Count Wylfrim of the Dark Tower, Planejumper, wielder of the single jewel blade called Yraxakis, known in many lands, on many planes.”
“Where is my sword and armor?” Coswicke asked petulantly, looking for but not seeing them in the clearing.
“Those will be returned based on behavior.” Wylfrim stated evenly. “I have hidden them and will return both to you, whatever your decision. Only you decide when.”
“What decision? I know of no…” He broke off as Wylfrim grabbed him by the arm and led him to the far edge of the clearing, just beyond the tree line.
“I offer you a choice, princeling,” the Count of the Dark Tower said coldly, “I can return you to your own plane, or you can accompany us, whatever your pleasure. The energy cost is the same.”
Coswicke, somewhat put-off at Wylfrim’s demeanor, said, “Return? Hah. You make a bitter jest. I cannot return without the girl. If I was lucky I would be stripped of possessions and title, and exiled. Unlucky, stripped and beaten to death in the streets. And, while I have no desire to accompany you, if you would be so kind as to hand over my sword, armor, and prisoner and transport us back to Castle Fylg, I would be forever in your debt.”
Wylfrim sighed a deep sigh and shook his head, “That is the one thing I cannot, will not, do. She is too important in matters far greater than a religious quarrel. You cannot have her.”
“Well…it seems you have left me no choice. I must travel with you until I can return. With her.”
“If you wish to accompany us, I do not begrudge you. Two swords are often stronger than one…” he stopped and crouched as he heard a rustling in the undergrowth. Suddenly, Hope stepped out from behind a tree thirty times her width. “Umm… don’t I get a say in this?”
“And that would be, milady?” Wylfrim asked.
“I… cannot return to my home, I am a wanted criminal,” she said, and Wylfrim was relieved to find her a realist, “…So I must go with you, Sir Wylfrim. I have no other choice.”
“So, at least we’re all on the same page,” remarked Wylfrim, “Going with that, we’ll be leaving this place within the next two days for my home, The Dark Tower between the worlds, Eezkeban’s Fortress Against Time, in which he works Wonders.”
“Why two days?” Coswicke asked, “Cannot you take us directly there, now?”
“Though my blade allows me to travel the planes,” Wylfrim explained, “The magic needs time to regenerate. I cannot call it forth at will, there is a waiting period between uses.”
“It seems a very odd blade..” Hope started.
“It was manufactured by a now extinct race because of the jewel’s strange abilities to allow them to travel the planes of existence, for they knew others existed but could not move between. Though the magic regenerates over time, it takes a while. There is only one way I know of to speed up the process.” Wylfrim stated.
“And that is?” Hope and Coswicke asked in unison, then blinked at each other.
“Blood must be spilt on it.”
“Is that all?” asked Coswicke, incredulous, “I’ve got a knife…”
“Lifeblood.”
“Oh…never mind then, I’ll wait.” Coswicke began to stride back towards the fire, for the bird was burning. Wylfrim sat down next to him and began rolling another smoke. Finishing, he lit it, then, a strange mood overtaking him, he spoke to Coswicke as Hope sat down, “How do we know we can trust you, Prince…”
“Coswicke, and you don’t. The fact is if I want to go home I need your help, and if I don’t want to return disgraced, I must bring the girl with me. So, I have no choice in the matter, I must help you.” This was said with a deep sigh. “So, what do you need with her?”
Wylfrim looked evasive, then stern, “All will be made clear at Eezkiban’s.” And with that, they ate, and slept, for now the sun was sinking far below the treeline.
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--Moonlight glinted off the battlements of the castle walls. Guards marched down the walkways, making rounds, checking in, mostly doing things guards generally do while guarding on castle walls. In a certain corridor, a troop of such guards marched. They tramped down the hallway in lockstep, not stopping to investigate such things as shadowy alcoves or dark doorways. They got to the end of the hall and turned, continuing their route.--
Normally I would not do something like pick apart your opening paragraph like I’m about to, but I know you’re a tough guy! I know you can take it! (This is the person who invited me to this site, so I could review his writing, in case anybody is wondering.)
You start off with a perfectly acceptable sentence: “Moonlight glinted off the battlements of the castle walls”—EXCEPT I consider the phrase “of the castle walls” redundant. Something you can count on in this crazy old world of ours is that there are not really battlements found anyplace else EXCEPT on castle walls. If you start off with “Moonlight glinted off the battlements” (period) or “moonlight glinted off the castle walls” (period), therefore, you do an adequate job of setting the scene, and your reader is not going to stumble over those extra words. (Just my opinion.)
But the next sentence is not so acceptable: “Guards marched down the walkways, making rounds, checking in, mostly doing things guards generally do while guarding on castle walls.” It sounds like you were trying to figure out a good way to describe the routine activity of the guards--again, building the scene--but couldn’t think of any really cutting-edge way to describe it, so you fell back on this sort of mild sarcastic humor, because you had to say SOMETHING to show the reader that there are all these guys in uniforms out there, moving around and doing stuff. I think you can come up with something better than this; I don’t think this is what you need here. The first few sentences are really what make people want to read your story or move on to something else; they have to be good.
--In a certain corridor, a troop of such guards marched. They tramped down the hallway in lockstep, not stopping to investigate such things as shadowy alcoves or dark doorways. They got to the end of the hall and turned, continuing their route.--Again, this description is necessary to set up your opening scene, but it’s handled in a clumsy manner. I’m not sure exactly what to do with this; maybe switch to the guy who’s hiding’s point of view, to wit: “In a dark alcove in a certain corridor crouched someone who seemed determined to stay hidden; holding his breath he watched as a troop of the guard marched by.” Something like that. It might be a bit smoother that way—or you could even start the whole thing off from this guy’s point of view, i.e., you telling the reader what he’s seeing as he hides in his dark niche…? maybe…?
--He noticed a guard standing on the other side of the door he was looking through.--Clumsy.
--The guard quickly about-faced and mastered his confusion at seeing this lanky brown-haired goofball who had wandered into his dungeon.--Though I never like it when, in the midst of some action, a writer breaks off to give us a long-drawn-out, effusive description of his protagonist’s appearance, I don’t think it would hurt a whole lot if you would perhaps expand on this part a bit. It could be from the guard’s point of view, right? “The guard turned, and quickly mastered his confusion at the sight of this (short description of protagonist that includes something more distinctive than that he looks like a “goofball”).
--Suddenly, as if from nowhere, a troop of Fylgrian soldiers stormed in and declared all Priestesses and trainees enemies of the state, and arrested them.--This is a pivotal event in your narrative and a pretty drastic occurrence for your female protagonist, I’m sure you can agree. It might help a little if you could sharpen this up a bit. I mean, it was a trauma for this lady to have this happen--a bit more description, maybe a short flashback, a little more emphasis on her confusion and upset…? (And if you leave it the way it is: ”...a troop of Fylgrian soldiers HAD stormed in”--which makes it more clear that she’s remembering something that happened in the past.)
--The last thing he saw before sweet oblivion enveloped him like a blanket--“like a blanket”...? Remember: This is the beginning of your story, and whatever you put in it is going to influence the reader either to keep reading, or stop.
--Brown-hair had his armor off, lying in the grass looking freshly polished and unpiercable--That is sort of confusing, as you have to read it again to make sure you’re talkin about the armor.
--Fylgria above all hated that which could speak, move, and do all that man can and more, and yet was not human. Magick had recently been declared illegal by the king for similar, if peculiar, reasons.--You should elaborate on this a bit more. I assume this is not an item around which suspense is going to be built, i.e., why magic is all of a sudden outlawed in Fylgria, so since it’s not like a mystery that they are solving, a bit more explanation would probably be helpful. You don’t have to add lots and lots of text, but just sort of keep your back story in mind while writing, and drop in history here and there; for example, when Hope is thinking about her abduction: “The Temple she served had stood for almost half an age, and now in the space of less than a week/a month/a year/whatever Hope and all her fellow priestesses had become outlaws, imprisoned and awaiting punishment, or fleeing for their lives.” Something like that.
Hell yeah, by the way—the hero likes his herbs!! ;) However, consider that you spent longer describing how Wylfrim rolls up his joint than any single other thing in your story so far. Coswicke has just been through something that would traumatize any doughty warrior, his mind is probably going to be somewhat more occupied with that, than with someone else’s mystifying custom.
Ok, moving on:
--Hope stepped out from behind a tree thirty times her width.--This is not a bad description, but in my opinion it detracts from the image you are probably trying to create here in several ways; for example, consider that “thirty times her width” is completely relative to how, er, wide she is, and we don’t know how wide she is. Here we were assuming that she’s probably a stone cold fox and fairly thin to boot, but now we have to think about how “wide” she is. It sort of injects a note of comedy which doesn’t seem entirely intentional, and detracts from me, your reader, getting a good strong image of what’s going on, and staying engaged with the story.
This is like the main problem I have with this: It seems that you are having difficulty deciding how lighthearted or serious you want things to be in this story. Naturally, there’s no law that says you can’t have both, but they have to complement each other and work together in such a way that they don’t detract from story you are trying to tell. I would liken it to a guy who, having been invited to a formal dinner party, decides to get a few laughs by wearing a pair of fuzzy pink house slippers with his tuxedo, instead of dress shoes—but hardly anyone thinks it’s all that funny and no one will talk to him, and he spends the evening in a sort of state of mild mortification, but having to tough things out and pretend to enjoy the party anyway. That is to say, the use of humor in a number of instances is not working, and puts a strain on the reader.
“Put off” does not need to be hyphenated.
--It was manufactured by a now extinct race because of the jewel’s strange abilities to allow them to travel the planes of existence, for they knew others existed but could not move between.--That’s a looonnng sentence, and confusing. Either explain more and put a couple or three sentences there, or make it shorter and more succinct, and find another place to drop in that information.
I am looking forward to reading the next chapter. :) I hope this review is helpful to you.
~ yours in Chaos, Scarlett
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Original and obviously you know what you’re doing with this. What I liked:
I was able to read through this without getting lost…it was pretty easy to follow. You gave us the reader a reason to keep going. They way they spoke fit the time period also.
What I didnt like:
I see why Hope’s so important to Wylfrim. When it comes to the Prince..she just seems like another magical person that was going to be executed. So his reason of sticking around just to bring her back was a little weak. Make the fact of her being executed a lot more important. What makes her so special from the other magical people locked in the dungeon?
Overall though you’ve set up the beginning nicely and I’m look forward to seeing why Wylfrim needs Hope and if he would just give her over to the Prince after using her.
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