Please tell me what you think of this beginning.

[Cheomesh]

[ooc]I'm attempting to write yet another story taking place in my DnD setting.  This time I thought I'd get feedback on the very beginning before moving on too far.  Plot wise, it's about a young prodigy who took himself from a street rat and made himself into one of the brightest priests yet know.  In his youth, he came across the existence of a secret society dedicated to eradicating witches.  He wants in, and is using people he's met in his past to get him there.  The usual stuff, you know?[/ooc]

To begin:

For most people, the 33rd day of Fif was a day like any other.  Warm, sunny and fresh, the weather pleasant, an ideal match for the mood of one Dæn Wolton, priest of Pjoc.  This particular morning was extraordinary for this 19 year old.

The coming of spring marked the end of five years of education by the priests of the Good Gods.  Far removed now was he from his orphan years as a street rat working laborious and hazardous jobs.  He had, through intellect, charisma, and down right faith, worked his way quickly through his clerical training, and wielded considerable power in the name of Good.

He sat now, half dressed after a morning of service, in his chambers.  Only yesterday he had assumed the full rank and responsibility of a priest of the True Faith.  The ceremony had been short but powerful, the air nearly crackling wit the divine energies of his sanctification.  It was decided that he would serve here in Geweorc, under the tutelage of the Custodians of Text. [ooc]There was an incident on the streets where a young woman was being robbed.  A flash of divine power accompanied the then 14 year old boy in his assault against the assailant.  A priest witnessed this event, and he was immediately taken in.  Or so it goes so far.[/ooc]

He was stooped over his desk when a knock at the door drove his attentions from the scroll spread across his desk.  The book, an ancient manuscript written in sanctified inks upon the flesh of some now unknown beast, contained some secrecy that Dæn worked endlessly to uncover.  Written in a cryptic verse of the God-Tongue, the parchment was considered by many to be the work of a mad sage, and only four known men before this boy had ever claimed to discern meaning from it.  It was rumored that these four ascended to Celestial status upon their death; a feat not re corded since the warrior-saint Guils d'Mour.  Another knock broke his fantasy.

Calling for the visitor to enter the room, Dæn rose to greet him.  The visitor, an older man with the look of a well worn soldier, strode into the small and paper cluttered cell.  He was Golvin Tral, former member of the watch and close friend of Dæn.  Nay, the closest thing to a father Dæn ever knew.  The man was tall, standing over six feet to Dæn's five nine, with the same bronzewood hair.  He had darker brown eyes, a contrast to Dæn's blue.  Most, however, would notice first that his right arm was missing at the elbow; a gristly trophy of a suicidal battle outside the city walls.

On this day, however, there was little time for pleasantries.  This meeting was to help cement Dæn's place in the future of the church, and amongst more valued clergy.  Golvin spoke first.

"I suppose you have that message for me then, your eminence?"  His face was set grim.

His face broke nearly instantly into a grin, the two smiling together at a needlessly corny joke.  It wasn't too long ago that Golvin was one of the guards on the patrol for trouble makers like Dæn was in his youth.

"And I suppose you think you can freely enter the chambers of one so lofty without my escort?" Dæn deftly commented, bringing another smile to Golvin.  Of course there was no escort; Dæn had only yesterday become a priest, and prodigy or not he was still a low ranking member of the clergy.  They chamber they stood in wasn't even fully his.  Only by virtue of luck did he not share the tiny space with another member of the cathedral.

He handed Golvin a small rolled scrip.  It appeared as a personal letter, without an official scroll case or seal.  The off white parchment was thin and clearly a cut away from a better sheaf.

"I trust you will see to it that our friend Unterhill receives it.  I made sure I kept the vernacular within his reading abilities, as well as they are these days." [ooc]Most people in Væl cannot read or write.  It is simply not a required survival skill as it is in this day and age.  Unterhill is another former watchman, who served in the battle that cost Golvin his arm.  He was kicked from the watch for disobeying the suicidal orders that lead to Golvin's arm being removed.  He makes a living now as a hunter, bagging particularly vicious magical game for special customers.  He's a friendly man who will always share his day with you.[/ooc]

Dæn slid two small sacks across the table towards his swarthy friend.  

"One sack each.  There should be one hundred silver there.  I cannot tell you how long it took me to garnish it from the donation pots."

Golvin hefted them one at a time; the weight felt right.  The coins made the distinctive sound of clattering silver.  They were fine sacks, too; likely worth a few silver alone.  The joys of the cloth.

Dæn shifted to a more serious air.  He was trusting this man with a lot; more than he really had.

"I want to thank you in advance for helping me on this most holy of tasts, friend.  You have always been good to me.  When the time has come, you will know your reward well."  

The two embraced.  Golvin, sliding his charge into his walking bag, made his leave before he felt any more coked up.  He knew Dæn felt his pride, but he did not want to appear tearful and feminine in his presence.  He strode out quickly, leaving Dæn to his studies.  On his leaving, he heard the mumblings of prayer and felt the familiar tingles of divine energies... [ooc]As you can no doubt tell, something seems just a little off with this kid.  He cast upon his one friend a prayer to guide him in his day, like he has done on multiple occasions when they've met to talk business.  Here, the scene changes to a run down tavern on the edge of town...[/ooc]

The Broken Arrow inn was the only tavern to be found outside the walls of Geweorc.  While this did not afford patrons the constant protection of the other two inns, it did spare them from the Palisade Tax, allowing the owner to pass on cheaper meals and drinks.  The owner of this particular establishment was an elderly man in his sixties.  His proper namy may have been Sevean, but everyone knew him simply as Old One Eye.

He actually possessed both his eyes, but what appears to be only one iris between the two.  His left eye has a black or very dark brown iris, giving the man a strange appearance.  Which eye is supposed to be the "real" eye is anyone's guess.

Today he was alone at his drink table, balancing his simple wax account books.  Being as it was late morning in the middle of the week, few people were occupying his common room.  The single fire on the far end illuminated and warmed the room enough to make it cheery, if a little stuffy.  In his old age, Old One Eye often felt cold.  Low muttering from the far end and the clacking of the stylus against the wax tablet the only sounds filling the spacious room.  Golvin and his ugly companion Unterhill occupied a small table near the door, exchanging hushed words over cheap ale.

 [ooc]Here, I shall end it for now.  Let me know how well I have done so far, if you can.  I have a little more written, but I do not like the way I present the next paragraph at all, so I'm rewriting it.[/ooc]

Thanks.

M.

[Steerpike]

[blockquote=Cheomesh]To begin:

For most people, the 33rd day of Fif was a day like any other. Warm, sunny and fresh, the weather pleasant, an ideal match for the mood of one Dæn Wolton, priest of Pjoc. This particular morning was extraordinary for this 19 year old.

The coming of spring marked the end of five years of education by the priests of the Good Gods. Far removed now was he from his orphan years as a street rat working laborious and hazardous jobs. He had, through intellect, charisma, and down right faith, worked his way quickly through his clerical training, and wielded considerable power in the name of Good.

He sat now, half dressed after a morning of service, in his chambers. Only yesterday he had assumed the full rank and responsibility of a priest of the True Faith. The ceremony had been short but powerful, the air nearly crackling wit the divine energies of his sanctification. It was decided that he would serve here in Geweorc, under the tutelage of the Custodians of Text.[/blockquote]Not a terrible introduction - its clear and informative.  You do an awful lot of telling and very little showing, however.  In my mind, the best way to introduce characters and information is to slowly reveal it, preferably through incluing/insinuation rather than straightforward infodumping or statements of fact.  It's an interesting character idea, though, and I like the names. [blockquote=ibid,]Most, however, would notice first that his right arm was missing at the elbow; a gristly trophy of a suicidal battle outside the city walls.[/blockquote]I think trophy is the wrong word here, as is suicidal.  "Trophy" implies an object taken as a record of victory/some other event.  So, if the solider that stole Golvin's arm kept the arm, that'd be a trophy.  Golvin's lost arm is an absence, not a presence.  Also, the battle clearly wasn't totally suicidal - or else Golvin wouldn't have survived at all.  I don't think hyperbole really works in this instance. [blockquote=Ibid.]"I trust you will see to it that our friend Unterhill receives it. I made sure I kept the vernacular within his reading abilities, as well as they are these days."[/blockquote]There's something awkward about the last lines.  I'd change "as well as they are these days," to "such as they are."

I do like the lack of literacy.  It bugs me that in so many medieval worlds, literacy is the overwhelming norm, when that probably wasn't the case for many regions of Europe (especially for women).   So well done.
[blockquote=Ibid.]"I want to thank you in advance for helping me on this most holy of tasts, friend. You have always been good to me. When the time has come, you will know your reward well."[/blockquote] "tasts" should be "tastes."  The last part again feels weird to me, stilted.  Perhaps instead of "you will know your reward well," you could say "you will be well rewarded," or "you will be handsomely compensated," or something similar.
[blockquote=Ibid.]The Broken Arrow inn was the only tavern to be found outside the walls of Geweorc. While this did not afford patrons the constant protection of the other two inns, it did spare them from the Palisade Tax, allowing the owner to pass on cheaper meals and drinks. The owner of this particular establishment was an elderly man in his sixties. His proper namy may have been Sevean, but everyone knew him simply as Old One Eye.

He actually possessed both his eyes, but what appears to be only one iris between the two. His left eye has a black or very dark brown iris, giving the man a strange appearance. Which eye is supposed to be the "real" eye is anyone's guess.
[/blockquote]Again, you're telling, not showing.  You could choose to introduce the (quite interesting) character of One Eye more gradually.  Your language is also rather colloquial for a third person narrative, here, and I'm not sure how intentional that is (or how well-suited a colloquial tone is for the story).

Overall, I liked details of the story and the story itself, but it feels more like an outline than a fleshed-out narrative.  There is little sense of atmosphere apart from a few lines (for example, the bit about the manuscript's sanctified inks) - I don't feel the world you're creating.  There's a sense of richness, but I feel held at arm's length from the world - I don't feel there.

It's up to you of course but consider, at least as an exercise, rewriting/revising the above passage from a first person viewpoint.  I think it might feel more "on the ground" that way.

[Nomadic]

I think trophy is the wrong word here, as is suicidal. "Trophy" implies an object taken as a record of victory/some other event. So, if the solider that stole Golvin's arm kept the arm, that'd be a trophy. Golvin's lost arm is an absence, not a presence.

What, you've never heard someone call a scar or other injury a trophy of battle? Cause I personally have heard that saying quite a bit myself.

[Steerpike]

Maybe a scar.  I think more of like an enemy's dog tags or something as a trophy.  Or dirt from the beaches of Normandy.  Or something to that effect.  I don't think of a missing limb as constituting a trophy, personally - its something you lost, not something you gained (arguably scars can be trophies in this sense more than phantom limbs).

Just struck me as odd.  Maybe it wouldn't bother most readers.

[Cheomesh]

Thanks for the feedback.  I think my weakness is that I create a rich world at a distance; will the "showing" bit help, or are there other things that need to be taken into consideration?  At first, I began to ease it in, but I remember a few people saying I was taking forever to describe someone, and that they couldn't "picture" the person from my description.

"Tasts" should be tasks :p.  The bit about the missing arm as a trophy is literary irony; the counter assault would have left all 19 men in the patrol dead, had it not been for some chance assistance.  Mr. Unterhill has his own trophy, in the form of a smashed in nose.

Your language is also rather colloquial for a third person narrative, here, and I'm not sure how intentional that is (or how well-suited a colloquial tone is for the story).

Not quite sure what a "colloquial tone" is, to be honest...I looked it up and it has something to do with a conversational tone -- isn't that the opposite of what I've got here?

M.

[Steerpike]

"He actually possessed both his eyes, but what appears to be only one iris between the two."

That's the line I was thinking of in terms of a colloquial tone.  It sounds as if the narrator is literally speaking, conversationally.

[Cheomesh]

Good point, that does sound rather blah.

I'll revise my hand copy (I think I think better that way, personally) and post up some revision.

M.