K-P

This is the first two scenes of a short story; I've got about half written so far. I was stuck as to where to go, so I just wrote up a second draft of what I had. I'll post the rest later today.
Please, be as harsh in your critiques as you can. Tell me what works (if anything) and what doesn't.

In this story, the heroes deal with an unscrupulous arms dealer who attempts to create discord between townsfolk and aboriginal peoples in order to make a profit.

I'm really questioning myself on the second scene....


“These hick towns. I tell you, they make me sick,” Buzzard said. The top portion of his corpulent body slumped over the counter of the bar. He looked into his beer with sour eyes and continued complaining, “This brew here? It’s like someone took the mug, dunked it in some outhouse slop, put a bit a’ the ol’ fizz on top and charged me a shiny for it.”

“Quit yer whinin’ ya fat ogre,” Tomtom said. He was hardly a quarter the size of Buzzard and thin as twine, but his tongue made him seven feet tall. “All I’ve heard since we left Anchortown was you cryin’ like a lil’ girl who lost her dolly. Frankly, me an' Richie here are tired of listenin’ to it. Ain’t that right, Richie?”

Richard sat at the far end of the bar, separated from his companions by more than a few stools. However, he couldn’t escape them completely; he never could. Like a ghost born from a dusty patch of road, he was silent and draped in earthen toned robes that covered him from head to toe. He was taller than even Buzzard (a giant of a man), but he was far more slender; he stooped as if he lived in constant fear of smacking his head on the stars. He turned to his companions and his deep voice echoed from the depths of his hood. “We’d best find a room at the inn. It’s late and we’re leaving here at first light.” Flickering torchlight illuminated a glint of blue, like a metallic sky, beneath his hood.

“Bah!” Buzzard scoffed, “I ain’t leavin’ ‘till I find me some fine country trim. You in, Tom?”

“Buzz, ol’ pal, you sent my heart a flutterin’!” Tomtom cheered. He waved his arms in celebration, spilling half his beer on his leather shirt.

Rich rose from his seat. “You idiots do what you like,” He said, “But if you happen to guzzle down some common sense, you know where to find me.” Rich’s robes swept the dirty floor as he walked to the door, sopping up spilled booze and leaving a damp snail’s trail behind him.

Buzzard hardly noticed his companion’s departure; he was too busy tossing handfuls of salted nuts into his mouth. He chewed loudly, making noises one might expect from pigs at a trough. As he ate, air whistled through the gaping nostrils of his nose, a nose that was both monstrous and awe-inspiring; it looked as if it had just erupted from his face like a volcano.

The trio had arrived in Pesquin Valley a few hours before sunset and immediately hit the local tavern called the Thirsty Mule. The townies were not accustomed to many visitors, especially ones as strange as these three, and displayed a wary congeniality towards the group. However, they avoided the mysterious man hidden behind layers of dirty wool as if he were a leper (which many suspected him of being).

A pair of harlots long past their primes and a sparse assembly of drunken farmers populated the Thirsty Mule. The whole place reeked of urine and stale beer, and the stools creaked like a chorus of tortured souls singing along with a fiddle-playing farmer in the corner. A few of his peers had gathered around him, clapping their hands, and dancing a jig reminiscent of an epileptic seizure.

Bored with their usual customers, the prostitutes sauntered towards Buzzard and Tomtom.

“Hey boys,” The younger one said. Layers of makeup did little to cover the deep, dark circles under her eyes. One might have been able to count those circles, like the rings of a tree, and accurately guess her age. She had been working this bar three decades, servicing the same townies nearly every night. Hers was a job that sucked the youth from her bones like a leech. “You goon’ buy a coup’la pretty ladies a drink or three?”

The older trollop pressed her fleshy body against Tomtom, nearly swallowing him in her whale-like rolls of blubber. Her whiskers prickled his cheek and she smiled with lips like circus tents; opening flaps that revealed rows of freakishly misshapen teeth all screaming to come out.

Buzzard looked at Tomtom and shrugged. “Better than nothin’,” He said.

“Barkeep!” Tomtom yelled, “How ‘bout a refill and a coup'la beers for out lady friends here.”

Bosoms bounced like rubber balls as the women danced. They moistened their men’s faces with kisses that were all tongue and no lip. The other patrons glared at the outsiders with equal parts jealousy and hatred.

“So, what are you boys’ names?” Jesse asked.

********

The clucking of chickens accompanied Rich as he walked the dirt road to the inn. Pesquin Valley was silent, as were most rural towns that late at night. Passing clouds obscured the moonlight, swathing the land in near pitch-blackness. Rich was glad to be alone on the streets though; his eyes glowed softly like distant stars as they adjusted to the lack of light. The sounds of the sleeping town, the snores of slumbering villagers and the rustle of straw beds, emanated from the thin-walled hovels that lined the road.

Rich spotted the inviting torchlight of the inn up ahead. To his left he admired a large manor, home to a noble, maybe the town’s mayor. A guard leaned on a post just outside the manor’s entrance, using his sword to steady his body as so he could manage to sleep standing up.

Rich doubted his party would be leaving in the morning; he doubted those two buffoons would even be back at the inn before noon. Nights like these, and there were plenty, he hated Buzzard and Tomtom; he cursed their existence, their families, and the air they breathed. Nevertheless, they had saved him from a life as a circus attraction, they had given him a purpose, a career and never asked anything of him in return, save for his patience. Being a mercenary was not the type of job he would have chosen for himself, but it paid well and he was actually very good at it. Unlike his companions, he saved his coin, and a small bag hidden inside the folds of his robes contained his life savings. It was not a grand amount, but if the war with Groznya went well he would double, maybe triple, his savings and retire, build a house on the coast and fritter away the rest of his years with the salty breath of the ocean on his face.

A distant rustling in the bushes off the road broke Rich from his walking dream. He paused mid-step and listened. At first, he thought it was a dog, maybe a rodent, until he heard anxious whispers. Rich crouched down, blending effortlessly into the darkness. Behind a row of bushes that lined the manor’s courtyard, three figures schemed.

“You boys ready?”

“Yeah. Remember, the boss don’t care if this is done clean or sloppy. He just wants it done. Got it?”

“Right. Let’s do it.”

The figures placed hefty helmets atop their heads. The helmets bore antlers as wide as a condor’s wingspan and, top-heavy, they crept gracelessly towards the manor.

Bandits, Rich thought. He followed them, quiet as creeping death. The moon broke free of the clouds and cast a ghostly light over the town. The bandits carried long, serrated spears and bore thick furs that draped over their bodies. They looked anything other than human.

Suddenly they broke into a run, their heads lowered as if to gore anyone in their path. They hooted and hollered, screaming guttural war cries and waving their spears through the air.

Rich slid his sword out from under his robes and dashed after the brigands, but a blow to the back of the head knocked him to his knees. He slumped to the ground; his word fell a few feet away, just out of reach. A heavy boot stomped on Rich’s back as he scrambled for his weapon.

“Look at what we have here,” The boot’s owner said, “A regular Saint Nobody comin’ to rescue the Mayor, eh? Who do ya work for?”

The grass muffled Rich’s indignant cries. Dirt filled his mouth and turned to a muddy paste.

A din of voices shattered the silent night, but not just the hoots of the horn-capped men; cries of pain and mournful wails erupted from the manor. Then all was silent. From his vantage point on the ground, Rich saw the three costumed men running from the mayor’s home. One brigand clutched a small bundle in his arms.

The business end of a sword replaced the boot on Rich’s back. “Get up, you,” The captor said. The sword jabbed tiny divots into Rich’s skin as he stood. The bandit who had caught him was dressed in black. A cap, pulled low over his eyes, shadowed much of his face. He sneered and his sword danced threatening circles around Rich’s chest.

The others approached, still bearing their furs and masks. They were dressed as the savage beast men of the wood, the Dreydum; wild, antlered brutes that lived deep within forests; pockets of barbarism inside otherwise civilized lands. They Dreydum were constantly at odds with their neighbors, with whom intimidation and bloody skirmishes were common on both sides.

“Captain!” One of the masked men said, “What’s goin’ on?”

The muffled cry of an infant arose from under the bundle of blankets one of the brigands carried. The bundle twisted and strained against his arms.

“You tell me,” The captain said. He jabbed his captive once more; rivulets of blood trickled own Rich’s back. “I come up here to check you guys’ progress and I catch this shiny knight stickin’ his nose where it don’t belong. You boys was s’posed to be more careful. The boss won’t be happy.”

“Well, what do we do with ‘im now?”

“First, let’s see who this joker is,” The Captain said and then yanked the hood from Rich’s head. Seeing Rich's face, the men stumbled backwards, their eyes wide, their mouths gaping open.

Metallic blue scales covered Rich’s head, and his eyes were twin moons burning in golden fire. There was no nose, but there were tiny slits, undulating gills on both sides of his face.

“What is it?” A bandit asked.

“It’s a goddamned fish. That’s what it is.” The Captain muttered. He touched a tiny pendant that dangled from his neck.

“Is it done?” The pendant glowed softly as the voice spoke through it.

“Yeah, boss,” The Captain replied, “It’s done. But we got ourselves a guest.”

“You what?”

“I caught this… thing spyin’ on my boys. Never seen nuthin’ like it before. It’s some kind of fish-man, or something. You want I should take it along?”

“Yes, yes. I’d like to see this ‘fish-man’ of yours. And, do hurry Captain; the guards are on their way.” The pendant’s glow waned; the voice had gone.

A ways down the road, a troupe of guards ran towards the manor, swords drawn. The Captain slammed the hilt of his sword into Rich’s face, knocking him out. One of the bandits slung Rich over his shoulder and the group disappeared into the night.

Moments later a guard detachment arrived at the Mayor’s manor. A young private found a sword nestled in the grass. Runes, etched along the blade, glimmered with a faint light. He studied it for a moment until he heard shouts coming from the manor; the Mayor and his family were dead, and his youngest son was missing.

SwanZa

I'll read over this again in the morning when I'm properly awake, and give more in-depth comments. For now, this is nicely paced and well written. I'll be more helpful when I have a semi functional brain.

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-Mandy-

K-P

Thanks. I'm looking forward to it

SwanZa

Hi K-P!

Hoping we don't get power cuts while I'm in the middle of this...*sigh*

Mostly minor things because I really do like your style.

I don't know about that. Maybe fleshy, or thick - but that's probably just me!

Do you mean size as in height or weight? Gives me a very vague picture, and twine being thin... maybe something like: hardly a quarter of Buzzard's weight/height - a full head shorter (something like that) and as wiry as twine.

The reader doesn't know that he's something other than human yet, so that gets confusing. I had thought you meant his eyes!!

Too many noses; I would write something like: 'Air whistled through the gaping nostrils of a nose that was...'

LOL, I'm picturing him as Shrek!

Not sure if it makes sense to single him out there? Otherwise, earlier on it could be 'displayed a wary congeniality towards Buzzard and TomTom' as group would indicate more than two - removing the third person from 'the group' - umm am I making sense?

plural not necessary there.

Otherwise, in my opinion a well written and humorous first scene!

Now on to the next scene...

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-Mandy-

SwanZa

Ok; what aren't you sure about in the second scene?

I thoroughly enjoyed it.

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-Mandy-

K-P

Thanks. That was the kinda critique I was looking for. Hmmm... THanks a lot for lending me the second pair of eyes.

Wisp

Hello K.P. Thought I would throw in a few inputs on the story.

First of all, I love the voice of each character. Looks like a great diologue.
just seperate will do.
I like this simile, and the one about the beer.
Should have a semicolon or a comma, not exactly sure.
Our (I think it was a typo)
Tell how Rich walked. Ex: as he walked strongly, as he walked gloomily... ect.
Nice touch.
May want to add another 'eh' at the end of "Who da ya work for, eh? Just an opinion.
Sounds funny. Use forest.
Nice twist, didnt expect that

Nice job, looks great- I would like to see the next part.

K-P

Thank you, thank you.

I have a question: With some obvious work, do you think this story would be publishable? Of course, it's not finished and I don't mean to jump to conclusions; but, as it is now, what do you think?

Or, do you think that I should continue writing, putting my stories on here for critiques, and wait until later for any prospective publication?

Wisp

I really am not sure , I havn't had alot of experience in that part of the field. But from another writer's view, I would say that yes, it has potential. You have a unique story line, so I think it has a chance. You will definately have to continuously revamp it, but yeah- it has a chance.

Blackhawk_t

I liked the first part, when they were at the bar, it seemed to flow pretty smooth, and you had nice description of people. Of course when you were referring to the ladies, I'm not sure if nice was the right word.

I found the second part a little rough, especially when describing the action scene. I could follow what was going on, but maybe extend it just a little bit.

You can see a set up going on here, so it's going to be interesting how you keep this story new and fresh. In fact, when I first read it, you hadn't change it to them removing his hood. You just had them knock him out. So, this was a nice touch. Adding some flare to the story. I'd like to check out the rest and see what you are gonna do with it.

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K-P

*cough* I redid the second part. It's in the workshop forum.

But thanks for waking the dead!

Blackhawk_t

So, I screwed up and posted on the wrong one. Sorry bout that, but the important thing is that I did get to it. I will check out the rework of it.

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