Sigil, the city of doors…
It was raining a caustic, acid-like rain. But that didn’t matter because it was the status quo of the city of doors. Some of the less-endured people scattered from the street to escape the painful bombardment. Not even the celestials stayed outside, even though they were more than capable of ignoring the pain. It probably had something to do with trying not to ruin their feathers. Now all that was left was He, a lot of different fiends, and some of the more weathered adventurers and planewalkers.
He walked through the streets. He ignored the the acidic rain. His hooded cloak kept out of his face and off his skin. He didn’t care that the acidic water was beginning to slowly get deeper and deeper. Nothing mattered except for that something. He didn’t know what it was but when he did find it he would know.
There are many disadvantages to walking while looking at the ground. The first being; you can’t really see what is a head of you. This disadvantage is only augmented by the acidic rain and over-all darkness that has currently befallen the city of Sigil.
He felt something touch his shoulder. It was a heavy something. It was as cold as a stone. Just then something pulsed through him. His eyes widened and he ducked away from the thing. He drew his sword in a flash and looked around to see if there was anything.
There was. It was huge, as tall as a man and a half. It was thick and burly too. I wore golden armor that shined through the haziness like the sun on a clear day. It skin looked like onyx and was criss-crossed by dull yellow lines that looked like they could be veins. It’s face could not be seen because it was shielded by it’s helmet. Though two glowing orbs appeared where it’s eyes should have been. It didn’t carry any weapons with it…but then again it didn’t need any.
Marut . He remembered what it was. It was a marut. It was not human or anything organic. It was a construct, a lifeless machine that ended the lives of those it hunted. It came from the plane of Mechanus where law and order ruled. Maruts where an enforcer of a just single law across the multiverse, he could not remember which one, but he did know that it was important. He had matched up with many before but didn’t quite remember what it was capable of. For that matter he couldn’t even remember what he was capable of. He would just have to do what felt right, and right now ending it’s existence seemed like it felt pretty right.
He raised his sword in front of his body in a defensive position. He would let it make the first move. See what it could do. Then react appropriately. It seemed like a perfectly logical idea.
Unfortunately, the massive stone man moved faster the he’d suspected. The marut’s right fist came down on him like a runaway cart filled with stones from a quarry. An extremely bright flash of light followed the blow.
For just a second he was blinded. The world hazed back in the Marut was gone. He looked around franticly. Things like that just don’t knock you down and leave. The beat relentlessly until you’re a bloody pulp.
From behind! The Marut used some kind of spell to teleport behind him. He ducked out of the just as the marut’s left fist came at him.
He recovered from the roll and brought his sword up again. He waited. Seeing what the marut would do next.
The marut charged at him. It cocked back it’s right fist for the attack. It swung with all of it’s force at the warrior. This time he was ready though. He did what felt right. He jumped, not away, but up. He landed on the fist. The marut saw this and attempted to attack him with his left fist. But the warrior also foresaw this attack so he jumped up again. This time he managed to get much higher than the first jump.
The marut was now completely off balanced by the odd angle of the second strike. It shifted it’s massive body to try and regain some stability. Though it was probably better than falling over, it left it’s back wide open to an attack.
Big mistake! The warrior came down on the unbalanced construct. His sword began to glow. It left a trail of white light that cut through the haze itself. He cut through the marut’s shoulder and down the right side of it’s back leaving a deep gash. When the warrior landed the trail became a pillar of light, which dispersed in an explosion. The harmless blast did nothing more that push away the haze and rain clouds. Strike of the Setting Sun.
The marut stumbled forward then turned around to face the man it hunted. It rushed the warrior again. The warrior was ready and prepared to dodge, but the marut moved faster. It pummeled the warrior with it’s right fist. There was a blast of light like the first time but it did not seem to affect him as it did. Though this time the blow had much more force behind it. The single punch sent him slamming through a window of a near by house.
When he opened his eyes he was surrounded by people. Different types of people, who came from all walks of life, but none of them looked like they could take on a marut. Them they scatter and scream as they ground shook. The marut was doing that just for the point of theatrics. Who knew that they had the ability to think like that? Maybe it was just trying to scare away the people inside the building. You know, lower the collateral damage for killing just one man.
The marut smashed through the wall without lifting a fist, it walked right through like nothing was there. He looked around. His sword was too far away for him to reach. The others in the building weren’t going to give it to him because they were too busy trying to save their own skin. He would have got up to get it but there were two reasons why he did not; the first was the most obvious, there was giant man made of stone standing over him, the second was he was in too much pain to even stand.
The marut picked him up by his torso. For a moment it paused and looked at him. He did not know why. The maruts he had fought before were relentless attackers. Unless it was having second thoughts. Or just had not figured out away to deal with him yet. In a few second it wouldn’t matter.
It threw him. Right through the hole it made, across the street, and though the front wall of the building on the other side of the street. He finally stopped when he hit the wall of the other building. There was nobody in this building. It was an empty shop. Three seconds is what it took for the marut to cross the street and break through the wall of the empty shop and find that no one was there. It scanned the building, but he was gone.
For underneath the marut he leaped up with his sword in hand. His attack gashed the marut down the center. It stumbled back into the street. He followed closely.
How did he move so fast? How did he get his sword back? Where was his newfound strength coming from? He had forsaken everything he knew to finish as ingle task. This was the tragic fate of a ghostwalker.
When he walked he exuded a dark mist. Vengeance would be his against those who tried to stop him from finishing his allotted task, whatever it may be. Dark magic and adrenaline pushed his body over the edge. He could hear the drop of a pin, he could see the details of a raindrop and he could dismantle a marut in seconds.
He heard the twang of a bowstring, not once but five times. It came from behind the marut. Was someone helping him? The marut stumbled forward. This was his chance to attack. The marut was at his weakest. He ran towards at full speed. His body slipped in between Sigil and the Plane of Shadows. It made his image flicker in and out and increased his speed by a great percentage than if he had only just ran at it.
He came at the marut with a horizontal swing. The sword cut through the marut’s right arm life a knife through warm butter. The sword kept going until it got to around the center of the marut’s chest. He held his sword there in the marut’s chest and planted his feet on it’s upper abdomen. Another series of bowstring twangs sounded off.
Smiling he said something in a low whisper. Only so the marut could hear it. A single word. Banzai. And with great force he twisted the sword and pulled it upward. The sword cleaved through the construct’s chest and head. The warrior landed on his feet just as the marut fell backwards from the force of the attack. His fury ended and the black mist dissipated
When it fell the ground shook. He saw who fired the arrows. A girl. She had long red hair that was tied back into a loose braid. Her eyes were dark blue with a hint of purple. Her quiver had many different types of arrows. She wore leather armor and had two swords on either side of her waist. She walked towards him unafraid. What did she want? Money? A favor? Something? Nothing is free, so what could it be?
He also took note that the weather improved greatly. The rain subsided and the clouds lifted. But it looked as though it would rain again…very soon.
The warrior looked at her and asked, “Why did you help me?” His voice was calm and cool, like a spring rain shower.
“No reason. I just wanted to help. The poor sods in this city are stuck whether they like it or not. Sometimes you just want to make things better.” She said.
“How do you know that I won’t kill you?” He asked.
“I’m quite capable of defending myself. I would feel sorry for any cutter that tried to attack me. Besides you look like someone who just attracts trouble, you don’t mind if I follow you for a bit? You know just for the excitement.”
He was quiet for a few moments. It would be good to have company. Someone to help you out. Someone who knows what they are doing. He nodded his head, “No, I don’t mind.”
“By the way I’m Silvia.” She told him.
The warrior took off his hood. His skin was pale but it did not seem like it was because of sickness. His eyes were yellow, a rich honey colored yellow. His hair was nearly white with a hint of blue to it. Most of was tied back in a small ponytail that was wrapped so it would stand straight back.
“My name is…” He paused. “I can’t remember my name.”
This was normal in Sigil, the City of Doors. Attacks on the streets, nameless hooded warriors, and fellow adventures helping each other out even if they did not know one another were all normal. After awhile the unusual becomes the usual at the hub of the Great Wheel. This was all status quo in Sigil.
My one issue with the story is pretty simple: an implied connection between Sigil and the plane of Shadow. There's isn't an overlap between the two. But hey, artistic license. I'll forgive. ;)
Not bad, but very much unfinished it seems. Also, while the action is detailed well you don't really much get into the character's head. It seems like he's more just a part of the story than the center of it, since the perspective of the storytelling is more from an outsider watching events than from inside the nameless guy's mind. *shrugs* Thats what I got from it anyways.
But criticism aside, I did like it
Name? Well..."Strange City"?
You appear to use the same method of describing attacks as Robert Jordan when you say 'Strike of the Setting Sun'. I like this and I, personally, would love to see more of it.
The intervention of the female archer (Sensate?) furthered the third person limited point of view, but appeared to switch to reading the stat sheet for a character in the game. He was also very wary of her presence, but decides to trust her with intimate knowledge of his lack of memory. This could be better pulled off if he saw her shake her braid and it sparked the memory of his sister, or a similar literary device. Speaking of which, if the rain was caustic and acid-like, why isn't she wearing a hood? Why isn't she described as soaked? Is she under an awning from a nearby building?
Personally, I would have spent more time establishing the tone and mood by focusing on the rain and those that were in the street, rather than mentioning the celestials. The darkness, both of the streets of Sigil and its denizens, would contrast greatly when the protagonist finally encounters a celestial.
I would recommend more clearly defining the narrator. A bard telling the story is one way, but I would prefer to see the story as told from the point of view of the protagonist you refer to as He. (Referring to any character this way is bound to draw literary comparisons from the Bible. Try using a different former of identity- similar to the way PS:T called him The Nameless One.)
Your use of active verbs vs. passive verbs makes the action sequence rather nice to follow. Well done.
Something else that I had trouble envisioning was the dialogue with the girl. After the protagonist had fought the marut, he speaks to the girl in a calm and cool voice. This would make sense if the character was a construct, but he is alive. It would be more believable if he was laboring for breath while gritting his teeth trying to maintain a facade of clam in the voice of this stranger.
Overall, the plot seems interesting, and I would be willing to read another installment if one was available.
PS- I hope I didn't come off as too much of a jerk. I am sincerely trying to provide some points to help you with your writing.
Using your story, look at the way the archer is described. The description begins with her hair and eye color. Physical features- this is very common since humans rely on sight for the bulk of their sensory input. More importantly, look at the words you selected- dark blue with a hint of purple. Using the word 'hint' implies mystery, and when a man uses this to describe a woman, it also implies sensuality and attraction in a subtle way. Noting that the hair was tied back in a loose braid also conveys this image, loose hair implies a carefree outlook. The fact that it's in a braid at all conveys an image of pragmatism, which I personally like about people in general. This leads me (the reader) to think that this character is a possible love interest for the protagonist.
Contrast this with the next few sentences. It is just like reading the stat sheet for a NPC. There is no emotion behind the voice, no way to see what's in the protagonist's mind as Shemeska noted. This leads me (the reader) to think that this character is simply going to be used and discarded once the protagonist (I'm going to type hero) gets what he wants (arrows or swords) from her.
Can you see the confusion? Now, I agree that identifying these items may be essential to your story, but I think you should handle their introduction differently. For example, you stated that she approached the hero unafraid. This is a perfect opportunity to mention those items.
She lowers her longbow and approaches me with measured steps, twin scimitars swinging from either hip, but failing to hinder her movement. Her free hand rests easily on her quiver, displaying a variety of feathered arrows, then raises to brush aside a fallen hair. I realize that she is observing me as much as I am her, and I try to regain my breath. She looks at me, waiting.
"Why did you help me?" I ask, trying to regain my composure.
Hopefully, this demonstrates my point. Granted, I don't know if the archer is meant to be a future love interest for the hero, but you should be able to see how the hero sees her. I also didn't leave much room for subtlety in my example, I apologize for that.
Similar approaches can be used with the media and enterainment. Watch how politicians dance around words-
Would you accept the vice-presidency if it was offered to you?
I am running for the Democratic nomination, and I will win because I feel I best represent the party and have the best chance at beating George W. Bush in November.
No real answer given- didn't say yes, didn't say no. Most people pick this up intuitively. Listen to the way people talk, the words they use. GW appealed to a lot of voters simply because he spoke like a normal person rather than a Washington, DC bureaucrat.
A trip to the doctor's office is revealing as well. If a doctor is speaking to a nurse or another doctor, I expect to overhear a lot of technical/medical terms and that doctor to actually understand what's being said. When he talks to me, I don't want to here about a hairline fracture on my metatarsal- I want him to say my toe is broken. The first demonstrates competence, while the second is bedside manner.
My point is that all you do is take situations like this and apply it to the written word. Many stories have similar plots, but what sets aside a classic from garbage? I would recommend reading both good and bad books to gain an understanding of what makes them good and bad.
Most people have some level of talent, it just needs to be refined. That requires a lot of effort. The story by Choleric Psion shows there is potential, as well as room for growth (no one is born a Shakespeare).
As for analysis on what is written/said/omitted, yes I went to the US Army Military Intelligence School at Fort Huachuca, AZ. I also have real world experience in several locations- the past three and a half years in Kosovo. I wouldn't get wrapped around the axle about it, though. There is definitely an intangible quality to the job. Maybe a few ranks in Search, Spot, Sense Motive, Decipher Script, Forgery, Knowledge (any), and high Wis & Int scores help as well. I think I'll cut it here; I appear to have deviated from the original post quite a bit.