The Campaign Builder's Guild

Hello all. Over the past few months I've been trying to improve my fictional writing. It still sucks, I'm afraid. However, I figure it couldn't hurt to fish for criticism on some of my stories. If you have the time, please read something I've written and tell me what you think. Be honest and specific. I'm looking for criticism, not kudos so try to point out flaws and offer suggestions.

[spoiler The Hunted]
Written 11/12/06.
This is a short combat scene I'm thinking about using as an introductory bit of text. The reader is not intended to have any knowledge of the world.
[ic The Hunted]   Fierce winds tore across a barren mountaintop, alone amidst a sea of trees. Far below, strange creatures found nowhere else leaped through the jungle canopy cackling and hooting. The wind was not especially cold, but it was fierce, blowing away the clouds to leave a vast blue ocean overhead, broken only by a thin golden band from each horizon; a planetary ring composed of dirty ice and crystal. Onto the mountain summit climbed a being. Much like a human he was, but his pointed ears, golden eyes and tail set him apart instantly. Brown fur covered his skin as though he were an animal but he wore a heavy black cloak and underneath that, a deep green tunic sewn by his sister. His hood was up, concealing his face, and it was not for the wind. Sunlight beat down on his body like a hammer, threatening to awaken a curse worse than death. His name was Fehran, and he was being hunted.

On the mountainside below, Fehran heard the beast coming. He had hoped the open air and merciless sun would repel the monster, but he was wrong. The sharp snap of branches was his only warning. A hundred feet down, where the trees could not climb and further, a black shape burst from the vegetation sending shards of wood spraying outward. Six scaled legs with obsidian claws tore across the ground, ignoring the slope. It's huge reptilian body was nearly at the summit when Fehran drew his blades. The dark blue metal of the shortswords reflected the midday sun. It was said that the metal came from the heavens long ago. Fehran didn't know if this was truth or not, he only hoped it wouldn't fail him. A spike, as black as night, shot toward him driven by the monster's giant tail. Fehran leaped backward spinning like a gymnast. A swift crack sounded as a sky-born blade deflected the bony spike. As Fehran landed, the beast had reached the summit, it's tail swung high above like a thick scaly vine.

The beast was no creature from this world. At some point it may have been a child of the earth, but the foul taint of the miasma had darkened its bones and warped its body. A massive maw filled with rows of black teeth opened in front of Fehran. Long strands of saliva fell off all three of its jaws and the cloaked figure could see a gnarled, purple tongue lash back and forth in the center of the three-parted mouth. Fehran could see no eyes, though it was clear that the monster could see him. As swift as a thunderclap, the scaled head shot forward on a neck that seemed to have no limit to its elasticity. Fehran dropped to the ground, launching a swift double-kick to the monster's face at it shot out over him. Continuing with the motion, Fehran flipped up to his feet. The black tail spike shot downward and a nimble motion swung him once more to the side as the unnatural weapon slammed into the mountaintop, embedding itself in the rock. Seizing the opportunity, the two swords shot out in unison, hewing though scale, muscle and bone. The severed tail whipped backward in a high arc and the creature screamed with the sound of stone grating on stone. It leaped upon Fehran then and for once his agility did not save him. Claws that burned like fire slammed into his chest and pinned him to the ground. Fehran watched the world reel as his head cracked on the hard stone knocking the hood off of his face.

High above, the sun beat down on the combatants. Realizing defeat, two golden eyes turned toward the light. Three boneless jaws hovered over Fehran's body as his eyes clouded into white orbs and the curse overtook him. Fehran lost consciousness then, as his body spasmed and his clothes burst. What overtook him was something more; something feral. Giant claws shot from his fingertips and he grew and warped into a muscular hulk. Stricken with fear, the twisted, reptilian predator backed away, baring it's teeth. The being that was once Fehran, was once a nyamm, that once had a family and once had known fear thrust itself to all fours and leaped. Six scaled legs scrambled and tore at the rock, seeking a retreat, but it was too late; death had come. One monster fell on another and terrible claws found blood. With a roar of triumph, the sun-cursed Fehran tore the monster's twisted head off and held it out for the world to see. A gust of wind splattered blood against the hard rocks as the victorious figure strained and collapsed. The sun's evil power had taken its toll and the crippled body once again became that of Fehran. He lay there, on the mountaintop under the sun and the wind, dreaming of home.[/ic][/spoiler][spoiler Initiation]
Written 11/14/06.
This is a short blurb I wrote for fun. It follows a young foaleen shaman's first experience of entering the spirit realm.
[ic Initiation]Yahmin watched the crackling flames of his campfire with glazed eyes. The chirping of insects in the woods added to his sense of peace and the lazy smoke of his incense filled his mind with hazy thoughts. The pale moonbeams drifting through the bloodneedle pines above him were the last thing he saw before the calmness of the woods overtook him and he fell into a trance. For years he had been taught how to become one with the spirit world, and at last he had done it. The excitement of the moment almost overtook the young shaman before he calmed himself and opened his eyes. Nothing. The forest was gone. Sight was gone. There was only himself. Fear clawed at him like a wild animal, his heart began to beat faster, though he could not feel it. He was lost in the void.
In the darkness that was no darkness he felt something. A warmth drifted on the edge of his mind, saturating him with a quiet warmth. Afraid of the void, he called to it; reached for it. His bones began to warm as the spirit of flame came nearer. He still could not see, but somehow it was alright, like the warm embrace of his grandmother. The flame whimpered as a swift, cold presence whiled overhead; the wind.
His fear gone, Yahmin reached beyond the wind and felt strength run through him. The strength was the earth, and it was life. It reached out and enveloped him and as he became one with it the world shot out in a blast of power, emotion, life and light. He could smell winter winds and rushing streams. He was one with the owls on the night air and the mice in the grass. The world filled him and brought him to his knees in a screaming burst of ecstasy and might. His eyes snapped open.
The campfire had been blown down to a pile of coals  and Yahmin found himself breathing heavily. Sweat soaked the foaleen's coarse fur and he shivered in the night air. The young shaman silently packed up camp and started the journey back to his tribe. As he strode between solemn trees in the moonlight he could almost feel the warmth of the campfire filling him from within.[/ic][/spoiler][spoiler Uslar]
Written 12/16/06
I wrote this page as practice. It's an idea for the opening of a story involving the early life of Uslar Worldstrider (at this point Uslar Blackfoot). No knowledge of Phaedoras is required.
[ic=Uslar]The imperial city of Ubau Issa lay sprawled across the fertile riverland before Uslar. The tropical night air brought smells of the kitchens downstairs. From his window perch, hundreds of torches, brazers and cookfires could be seen in the dark, mirroring the sky above in a pale manner. In the sky, the Great Road could be seen, its glow muting out the stars near it. Once, Uslar had heard that the Great Road was actually a band of tiny stars, like a cloud of diamond-dust cast into the heavens. Parallel to it was the Archer's Path, a much thinner, brighter line across the night sky. Thought the combined lights of the imperial capital might mimic the lone stars above,  nothing resembled the mighty cross that was made from the two stellar roads.

In the street below Uslar's window, he could see patrons entering and exiting the restaurant. Uslar lived on the second floor of the stone structure, his bed amongst jars and bags of dried food. As a babe, he had been given to the restaurant's owner, Klas Crystaleye, as a slave. For five years he had lived in the pantry, cleaning, waiting tables, running errands and taking stock. It wasn't such a bad life, really. He remembered times when beggars had come to Crystaleye's door looking for scraps. Klas had cast them off with threats to call the guards, but they returned now and again, hoping for a change in heart. What a horrible life that would be. At least I'm well fed and have a roof to keep off the rains, he thought. Despite his â,¬Å"fortuneâ,¬Âin being adopted by Klas, Uslar found himself unhappy with his life.

The night breeze against his cheek made him look to the south. Somewhere beyond the rolling farmland were the south seas. Perhaps when he came of age next month he could sail down the river  Ainul on a Morimikan ship to foreign lands. He pay for his voyage by preparing food, a trade he had managed to pick up despite only making food when one of the cooks was sick. Yes, surely someone would be looking for a free pair of hands.

Standing up from the windowsill, Uslar stalked among the shelves of food, dreams of far off lands still in his head. Against one corner of the room was a shard of mirror that Uslar had found in a pile of junk that sat in an alleyway a few buildings down from Crystaleye's. The shard was about as big as his head and heavily scratched, but Uslar was still fond of his find. The dark, glass surface was difficult to make out in the dark, but Uslar knew his own face well. He envisioned wearing a broad-brimmed hat, like the wealthy sailors wore, made from hardened leather and shaped to keep rain and sun away from the face. A cloak, dyed green would make the outfit complete. Uslar Blackfoot would become Uslar Windcatcher, or Horizonwalker once he had the chance to escape this place. He hated the name Blackfoot. It was a boring name, the name of a servant boy, not an adventurer like in the stories.

Putting down the reflective shard, the servant boy headed back to his windowsill but stopped when there came a knock from the trapdoor. The upper story was minute compared to the size of the actual building, and the only way up was through the window or the ladder in the kitchen. The trapdoor opened to reveal Missan, one of the older cooks. Missan was a remnant from the restaurant's early days, back when it was owned by some lord. She had been a child-servant too, though she was now old enough to be his mother's mother. In a way, the old cook represented everything Uslar hated about his life. To stay here and work until he was old and bent seemed to him like finding a hole, crawling in it and dying. In his eyes, Missan had given up on life and now carried on with her duties an empty body.

Despite his views, Missan was still a kind person whom he cared for greatly. She always dressed in a heavy brown shift and seemed to smell like grease. Like Uslar, she was a shinubru, one of the â,¬Å"reptilianâ,¬Â races of the south, though her scales were much more dull and worn than Uslar's, a product of old age. Shinubrux, like he and Missan, were born into the worker caste, unable to take part in politics or own land. Klas Crystaleye wasn't even the true owner of the building, merely the manager for some wealthy emodu merchant. The real owner never visited the restaurant, so Uslar had always seen Klas as the real owner.

In the starlight, the cook's old eyes took a moment to find him. Her voice, while being kind and gentle, sounded like crumpled paper in the wind. â,¬Å"There you are, young one. You are to come down, Klas has come back. He said he has good news, but that boy never knew good news from a Garu's smile...â,¬Â The old maid called everyone a child, even those who were nearly as old as she was. Uslar suspected that she enjoyed being old, almost as if it made her superior in a minor way.

Uslar thanked her and followed down the ladder to the kitchen.
[/ic][/spoiler][spoiler A Human, Dwarf, Minotaur and Lizardfolk]Written 01/01/07.
Here's something a little more d20 for y'all...
[ic Walk into a Bar]Rain was coming down in sheets and Gorn's hooves sank into the soft earth as he walked. All around him were the structures of men, wooden and frail. His two compainons, the dwarf Elsrik and the human Tiana were overjoyed when they had reached this hamlet, but Gorn was not pleased; it was no place for a minotaur.

Kelthisi, the lizardfolk from Jeh'vod scurried over the mud toward the three companions, her cloak soaked, black and heavy. Though he never fully trusted the reptile, he felt comfort in her presence, she hated this place more than he.

â,¬Å"I found a satisfactory place of rest, redbloods. There is a loud house down that street where the humankind drink and dull their senses. In the loft, there are beds for resting and foods for eating.â,¬Â Kelthisi's manner of speech was hard to follow, but Gorn was pleased by the news of a tavern.

Tiana smiled warmly at the news, her magician's staff glowing unnaturally in the gloom. â,¬Å"Perhaps the tavern owner would let us rest the night there. I would hope that we would not have to intrude on a farmhouse.â,¬Â

The party traveled wearily along the street. A horse, tied to a building, watched the demi-humans pass with wide eyes. As the bar approached, Gorn noticed Kelthisi pull her hood up, though the emperor's truce was still in effect, little was certain in these lands. Lightning flashed overhead and as the tunder boomed, noble Tiana opened the door. Inside was a ruckus of activity as weary farmers chose to drink away the thoughts of flooding rather than return to their cottages alone. As the men noticed the newcomers, the room hushed. Gorn stepped over the threshold, twisting to make room for his horns, and as he stood to his full height, more than one man gazed in fear. He would have to be careful this night, for frightened animals often attacked, even small ones.[/ic][/spoiler]

Thank you and good gaming,
 - Rael

Very nice indeed.

The only thing I'd say is (and it is quite a little thing, really)... one sentence, "It was said that the metal came from the heavens long ago, Fehran only hoped it wouldn't fail him."

It just seems somehow a bit clunky. I'm not sure really how to suggest an improvement on this except perhaps put the word "but" in place of the comma.

Overall, though, its a great little piece :)

EDIT: Thought of a better modification. Perhaps change it into two sentences... something along the lines of "It was said that the metal came from the heavens long ago. Fehran didn't know if this was truth or not, he only hoped it wouldn't fail him."

A most excellent suggestion. I will edit your suggestion in. How was it in terms of clarity, imagery and interest? My writing needs to help convey what phaedoras is, what it feels like in addition to keeping the reader interested.
I take it you have never read my work? If so, did the story in question:
* Explain that phaedoras is an alien planet
* Convey that there are monsters in the world and that they are somehow magically evil
* Show an example of a non-human race, the nyamm
* Express that the nyamm have fur and tails but are human in most aspects
* Touch on the subject of the sun curse

Those were the core ideas I wanted to express with the work, and since my reason for writing is to convey the setting, I want to make sure I get come level of comprehension out of my efforts.

Thanks a bunch for reading! ^_^
 - Rael

Now, just do one of these for every race, and maybe I'll stop bothering you about your anthropomorphic turtles. :P

Oh yes, the writing is clear and cogent.  As flavor or introductory text, this passage serves well.  The only thing I would edit is the verbiage of the description, and then only because it's a little distracting.  You should consider the source, here - my style is so spare, I have to constantly recheck to make sure I haven't left out something vital.

Quote from: DeeLThe only thing I would edit is the verbiage of the description, and then only because it's a little distracting.

Wow. I guess you're not a fan of George R. R. Martin or Robert Jordan? I feel like my stuff is lacking in detail if anything. Perhaps you can produce some examples of what you consider verbiage? You've piqued my interest.

Practice makes perfect. I just wrote up about a page of material about Uslar Worldstrider that can be found up top. Enjoy.