|
the wandering mountain, a false start?
I’ve been trying to write the same story for three years, and now after a long nap it’s time to really get serious. I’ve made a fair share of starts for the book, but I need one that will grab a reader’s attention. Do you want to know more after reading it? So, can this beginning swim or does it sink like a stone? Any advise on making it better is welcome and appreciated. I’ve still got along way to go writing wise, but I have had this story on my mind so long that it simply needs to be written, for better or worse.
_________________________________________
A travelling troop of actors was making their way to the next big city. The mood was slightly damp, as the whole night had been cursed with a heavy downpour. Their last performance had probably been cursed as well. It had been the sort of day where everything went wrong, from broken props to forgotten lines. Not to mention the fact that ‘young fair maiden Arlene’ was going from squeaks to rumbles in any sentence longer than two words. There was a general agreement that young fair Martin was perhaps not young enough anymore. After the dreadful performance had come to an end, they pretty much made a run for it.
They were moving on to better pastures, the leader had said. So they were now heading for a city they had never been to before. Starting with a clean sheet, he’d called it. The map that was their only guide was poorly made and tattered. Only the centre of it had a decent and recognisable layout, the rest was covered in foul-looking creatures and notes like ‘here there be dragons.’ The mapmaker was apparently not taking his chances on complaints about lack of fair warning.
Because of this, the rather large, long and rocky hill came as no surprise though it was only notable on the map with its complete absence. Without much fuss they merely made their way around it and did not give it much thought, except to it’s odd shape.
After a while, when the troop was out of sight, something quite extraordinary happened. The hill stirred, and it gave off sounds like that of a rockslide. An eagle took flight while it gave off an indignantly cry, and the hill began to uncurl. Crooks and ledges turned out to be limbs. Quite slowly, almost like continental drift, the hill stood up on two massive legs. It stretched what could only be defined as a head towards the sky. There was no doubt that it was an impressive sight, terrifying, but impressive. Lying down it had been a hill, now it looked more like a mountain. Maybe if it stretched it arms, it could almost touch the clouds. But it didn’t, instead it kept its head turned upwards. It was a slow creature, but it had never had any use for a quick body nor a nimble mind. And it was weary; it wanted to curl back up in a bundle on the ground and sleep. But for all its slowness and single-mindedness, it knew it had to keep moving. There was no time for rest, and it could not afford to waste a single day. After getting up its motivation and determination again, it began to walk. The eagle cried some more before admitting defeat, and left for a more stable environment.
It only took a few minutes before the hill overtook the travelling troop and passed them. Though they creamed and panicked, the wandering hill did not mind them. To it, they were nothing more than what mere ants would be to a human. A few weeks later the troop set up the play of ‘the wandering mountain’ with trolls, kings and all, except any fair young maidens. It turned out to be quite a hit actually.
________________________________________________
The hill is actually a mountain troll. In my world, the name is quite literal. Next I’ll cut off to my main characters. Strange things are going one, people gone missing, and other critters turning up. The main characters happen to be dwarfs by the way. Not the most popular kind, but I’ve always though of them that way, and I have no intentions of changing their species. Later they run into the troll, and gradually discover when and where things started going wrong in the world.
|
