First Chapters

[Thought]

Inspired by the First Lines thread, I thought it might be an interesting and useful practice for writers to review other people's first chapters (and post their own first chapters for review).

For the review of first chapters (and we can tackle prologues, too) of published works, probably what is most useful would be to identify what we like, what works, and try to figure out how the author did that. This would be less of a critique, then, and more of a deconstruction.

For the review of our own chapters, I think deconstruction might still be better than critique, but I think it might still be good, in classic Moshe style, to try to identify what doesn't "work," so that then the author can try to fix it.

Since I suffer from "Eternal First Chapter Syndrome," I can't offer up one of my own chapters to get us started, but if I might be so bold, I'll put forward Sanderson's own Warbreaker. The advantage here is that because Sanderson is awesome, we can actually look at different drafts of the work. It is possible to look at what he did right in his 1.0 draft and then track how he refined that and polished that over the subsequent revisions. The fact that he was kind enough to put it and leave it online also means that it's easier to work with than, say, the first chapter of The Family Trade, from the Merchant Princes series, by Charles Stross.

Anywho, here's a link to Warbreaker: http://www.brandonsanderson.com/book/Warbreaker/page/20/WARBREAKER-Rights-and-Downloads

I'll give people some time to formulate their own thoughts, and then see about posting my own regarding v1.0

[Aeshdan]

This isn't a complete first chapter, but i'd appreciate feedback.

Melenius Tersius was troubled. He perched at his desk, staring at a map with many little pins stuck in it. The map described the vast stretches of ocean he’d been assigned to watch. To the east was the coastline of Secundum, colored Aquilon red. Tiny pins, also red, indicated the positions of Imperial garrisons or the private legions of the various Houses.

Near the center of the map was the tiny island of Doldrum, on which he stood. The pins here were quartered red and white, to indicate the Imperial forces he commanded as Governor. Further to the east was the Rotten Land, colored green for the monsters that prowled it. A handful of green pins were stuck there, indicating known locations of monster nests. It was these last that gave him pause. More and more of the smugglers he tapped for news were vanishing, and those that did return described massive build-ups of monsters.

His tired brain wandered back to when he’d first tapped the smugglers. At the time, he had no particular interest in the behavior of the monsters. His interests lay elsewhere.

He had been a young eagle then, just having come of age. He had been dispatched to Doldrum immediately, as his appointment to become its Governor was already made. His predecessor had served well in the post for several decades, and was now well due for retirement.

Melenius’s immediate concern lay in the fact that he was engaged. His mate, Tirillia Argentius, was beautiful and sweet, and they were very much in love. She was about six months younger than he, which was why they were not married yet. Thus, his personal goal over the next six months would be to find a way to give her a life on this island at least vaguely like what she’d been accustomed to at home.

Unfortunately, this would not be easy. Though House Argentius had relatively little political influence, having only acquired Senatorial status recently, they were fabulously rich. And Doldrum was a small little island, with no particularly useful natural resources. The only reason it rated a Governor was that it was the closest island of any size to the Rotten Land.

There was, however, one extremely lucrative trade that flowed through it. The same omnipresent toxicity that made the Rotten Land uninhabitable also made it a wonderful source of strange drugs, especially poisons. And Doldrum was one of only two or three places which were close enough to the Rotten Lands that you could sail there and back without reprovisioning. Those two factors meant that a vast trade in drugs, poisons, creatures, and other byproducts of the Rotten Land went on behind the scenes.

Such trade was, of course, highly illegal. But Melenius had had a brainwave. As Governor, he had the power to swear any creature to Imperial service. And, as part of this, he could issue a general pardon for illegal actions performed during such service. So he simply put the word out that such commissions were available for the smugglers. .

[Thought]

While I am happy to deconstruct your section, I'd argue that it would be more useful to you to deconstruct it (and other works) yourself: that is where you'll gain a better understand of writing. That being said...

ReaderAtPost

Melenius Tersius was troubled. He perched at his desk, staring at a map with many little pins stuck in it. The map described the vast stretches of ocean he’d been assigned to watch. To the east was the coastline of Secundum, colored Aquilon red. Tiny pins, also red, indicated the positions of Imperial garrisons or the private legions of the various Houses.

Near the center of the map was the tiny island of Doldrum, on which he stood. The pins here were quartered red and white, to indicate the Imperial forces he commanded as Governor. Further to the east was the Rotten Land, colored green for the monsters that prowled it. A handful of green pins were stuck there, indicating known locations of monster nests. It was these last that gave him pause. More and more of the smugglers he tapped for news were vanishing, and those that did return described massive build-ups of monsters.

His tired brain wandered back to when he’d first tapped the smugglers. At the time, he had no particular interest in the behavior of the monsters. His interests lay elsewhere.

He had been a young eagle then, just having come of age. He had been dispatched to Doldrum immediately, as his appointment to become its Governor was already made. His predecessor had served well in the post for several decades, and was now well due for retirement.

Melenius’s immediate concern lay in the fact that he was engaged. His mate, Tirillia Argentius, was beautiful and sweet, and they were very much in love. She was about six months younger than he, which was why they were not married yet. Thus, his personal goal over the next six months would be to find a way to give her a life on this island at least vaguely like what she’d been accustomed to at home.

Unfortunately, this would not be easy. Though House Argentius had relatively little political influence, having only acquired Senatorial status recently, they were fabulously rich. And Doldrum was a small little island, with no particularly useful natural resources. The only reason it rated a Governor was that it was the closest island of any size to the Rotten Land.

There was, however, one extremely lucrative trade that flowed through it. The same omnipresent toxicity that made the Rotten Land uninhabitable also made it a wonderful source of strange drugs, especially poisons. And Doldrum was one of only two or three places which were close enough to the Rotten Lands that you could sail there and back without reprovisioning. Those two factors meant that a vast trade in drugs, poisons, creatures, and other byproducts of the Rotten Land went on behind the scenes.

Such trade was, of course, highly illegal. But Melenius had had a brainwave. As Governor, he had the power to swear any creature to Imperial service. And, as part of this, he could issue a general pardon for illegal actions performed during such service. So he simply put the word out that such commissions were available for the smugglers. .

First, sorry, I'm a bit of a language and history nerd, but why would someone with a Roman name be on an island with a Gaelic name? And by "Tersius" I am assuming you mean "Tertius," but both aren't proper Roman nomen (Tertius is a cognomen, while Tertinius is a nomen). Melenius isn't a proper praenomen, nomen, or cognomen. And, speaking of which, Melenius is either missing a nomen or a cognomen. Basically, the same goes for his mate.

Second, allow me to parrot Howard from Writing Excuses: in late, out early. This scene opens with a man standing in front of a map. There is no action. At all. There is nothing going on in the physical scene, and, indeed, almost nothing is going on in the mental scene (he wondered for a brief moment about smugglers). Start when things are getting interesting, and leave just as they start to become uninteresting: don't waste time on the windup or the follow-through.

Third, this seems to be an info dump. And, unfortunately, it isn't a very heinleinish info dump either. Sprinkle this information throughout the book and trust the reader to pick it up as he or she goes. It would help, I think, if you switch from a third person omniscient POV to a third person limited. This will force you to be much more creative: there's no reason for Mr. QuasiRoman to tell us about the Rotten Land (which is a very Germanically, not Romantically, named place) randomly, so leave it out until a character can reasonably explain it (or reasonably ponder its history, etc). The same goes for his brainwaves, his mate, etc.

Fourth, if you aren't already familiar with it, a good goal for a second draft is the original draft's length - 10%. However, I think currently you could cut more. Why do you spend so much time on the color of those pins, but skimp on what the character looks like, or the room looks like, or, really, everything else? Currently, the reader is left floating in a void with colorful pins which are, presumably, a throw away detail.

Fifth, a few things that I liked were those comments that you left unexplained. "He had been a young eagle..." Was he a bird, is that a rank, etc? Who knows. We don't need to know now, but it is enough to let us know that this world is different. We can pick things up as we read, but this is a sign that we need to pick stuff up, that this world isn't the world that the reader might already think they know.

[Shard of Choice]

Here is the first chapter/prologue of a story I started a long time ago, Would love feedback and critiques.

Neshir smiled as he watched his mother tend to her plants. She carefully tended to each one with her gentle hands.

Neshir watched as she came to a plant limp and all but lifeless, its life giving roots strangled by weeds. A look of consternation clouded her face. She stared at the plant, and her eyes changed from normal looking to being solid green without a pupil or iris. As if oppressed by and unseen force, the weeds grudgingly retreated into the soil. Simultaneously, the plant seemed to regain a flush of health, its leaves and stem stiffening, it flowers wilting a bit less.

“That’s better” his mother said with a satisfied tone “How about we go inside and have some lunch.”

“Sounds great” Neshir nodded.

Neshir and his mother walked inside, up the stairs to their small space in the slum building. Neshir’s family was not very wealthy, and was of the lower class, having never produced a rare eye. His father was waiting inside, plates of fruit and sandwiches already prepared, just waiting to be eaten. Outside some clouds were beginning to gather, Neshir’s father looked outside with a frown.

“Let’s see what we can do about those” He said. His eyes changed to a solid grey color, Neshir’s father was not particularly strong in his eye, in fact clearing clouds was nearing the limits of his abilities. The clouds were pushed away, the summer sun once again shining and a cool breeze wafting through the windows. Neshir’s father breathed a sigh of satisfaction “That’s better, now let’s eat, and while we do need to talk about . . .”

He would never finish his sentence.

There was a massive thud followed by an audible crack as the door was beaten in by two men. One was a redeye, evident from the large dog that followed him a little too well. Neshir’s mother reacted and turned on her greeneye. Red and Green were opposite colors, the second she turned on her eye, both were canceled out, the color fading from both of them. The redeye shouted in anger as the dog ran away. What the others eye was Neshir would never know but he was far more aggressive than the redeye.

The man shouted “Give us all your money, and any Blumestones you got.”

Blumestones? Neshir thought. Aren’t those supposed to be really rare, why would a family living in the slums have even one Blumestone?

Neshir’s father raised his hands above his head, saying “You don’t have to do this, we have no Blumestones, and very little money, please just leave us alone.”

The man laughed “No Blumes and no money huh, well I guess we can just go then.” Then man began to turn, but stopped and ran towards Neshir’s father, drawing a knife from his coat, the man stabbed Neshir’s father. Both Neshir and his mother shrieked wordlessly, the redeye turned and ran down Neshir’s mother, killing her too. Neshir scrambled into a corner, crying and afraid. The men turned to him and began to close in, Neshir was more afraid than he had ever been in his entire 15 years of life. He glanced around the room in panic, looking for a way out. Near him he saw a mirror. Neshir saw his own eyes, and they were turned completely black. Neshir’s sadness and fear were all but gone. He looked back at the men who had just killed his parents.

And saw the look of men who knew they were going to die.

Neshir stood, with far more calm than should have been possible. He walked slowly towards the two men, the terror rising in the both of them. The skittish Redeye made the mistake of attacking. To Neshir all of his movements seemed sluggish, just a bit . . . off. Neshir caught the man’s hand as he lunged forward with his knife. With a slight twist, the Redeye’s hand was broken. With his free hand Neshir took the knife. Moments later the Redeye was dying on the floor, his blood gushing from his throat. The other man had the sense to attempt an escape.

He would never make it

Neshir ran after him. When he was about four feet from the killer, he pushed of the floor hard, jumping over the man. As he landed he brought the knife down through the man’s skull with more force than was possible for a normal human. The man died instantly. Neshir kicked over the dead man’s body, and walked casually to his room. Donning a black cloak and retrieving a few of his things, Neshir passed through the scene of death once again. As he approached a window, Neshir stopped briefly to stand above the corpses of his mother and father. Far in the depths of his mind, and emotion stirred. Perhaps sadness, or anger, but as soon as it appeared, it flitted away again. Blackeye still activated, Neshir jumped from the window, a hollow voice reverberating through his mind like the whisper of a forgotten friend.

More. . .

5 Years Later

Neshir perched on a protrusion on the roof of the building. The rain was coming down in a dismal, slow shower. His hood was drawn up and he wore his usual all black clothing. Neshir stared down at the passing people, and as always the Voice whispered in his mind Kill, Kill, More, More. When Neshir killed the Voice rose from a whisper to a frenzied scream, and Neshir could find himself chanting along with it. With his BlackEye was on as always, Neshir’s head tilted to the side as he heard his target approaching, he was farther away than any normal ear would have been able to hear from. With a swirl of his cloak, Neshir dropped off the building, falling five stories to the ground. With a soft swish, he landed in an alley. Using his ears he began to follow his target.

Neshir reached the house of his targets, having followed them to their dwelling. Five men, one woman, all around Neshir in age, within the hour they would be nothing but memories to the world. Neshir jumped, his legs sending him sailing through the air, and grabbed hold of the second story window, climbing easily through the window. Below him Neshir heard the targets conversing and laughing. He walked almost lazily through the halls of the rather large home. Neshir was not surprised, as his targets were often wealthy.

Neshir reached the stairs and descended down into the lower floor of the house. There sat the six targets around a large table. Neshir had killed so many and it came so easy that now he liked to make a sport of it. He strolled to the bottom of the stairs, rapped on the wall and said lightly “Knock Knock”. All the targets turned their gaze upon him. One look at his eyes was all the needed to immediately attack. One of them, a small man, grabbed his cup, his eyes flashed purple for an instant and he cast the contents at Neshir. Dancing out of the way with ease Neshir watched as the greenish liquid hit the wall . . . and melt right through it, Acid. Purpleeyes were corrupters and they typically used their powers to make acid, poison, and the like. Neshir smirked, and a moment later the PurpleEye gurgled, blood and air trying to fight past the blade in his throat.

With that the men went on the offensive. Two men drew swords at their hips, brandishing them in what they probably thought was a threatening manner. It never ceased to amaze Neshir that though people knew how dangerous Blackeyes were, they still seemed to think they had a chance of winning. The men’s movements seemed slow and sluggish to Neshir, as normal humans always did. One man charged forward, a sword too large to be used indoors clutched in his hands. Neshir flicked his wrist fast as lightning, sending another knife straight into the throat of the charging man. Neshir casually side stepped his sliding corpse as he advanced on the others. Sliding his pair of black short swords from the sheathes on his back. The Voice echoed in his head, as Neshir spun through the room like a whirlwind of death. They never had a chance, not a single of their strikes even came close to striking Neshir. After the fighters were finished Neshir cut down the final man, standing against a wall, with a look of sheer terror painted across his face. Neshir breathed deeply, and even smiled slightly. Within moments, he had eradicated every male in the room. All that was left was the girl. Neshir approached her, were she stood in the corner of the room, an image of stunned disbelief and boundless sadness slowly filling her pretty face. Neshir limbered his swords for the attack . . . when the impossible happened. The girls eyes flashed white, then faded to normal. Neshir was struck by the most intense feeling of fatigue ever. Five years of little sleep and heavy action fueled by the BlackEye hit him all at once. Neshir collapsed, darkness quickly clouding his vision as unconsciousness began to enroach. He looked around and saw the devastation he had caused, and felt guilt for the first time in five years. Neshir looked to the girl and said “I am so sorry.” Neshir faded into unconsciousness, but just before he did, he had a realization . . . The Voice was gone.

Edited July 6, 2012 by Shard of Choice

[Yados]

This isn't a complete first chapter, but i'd appreciate feedback.

Melenius Tersius was troubled. He perched at his desk, staring at a map with many little pins stuck in it. The map described the vast stretches of ocean he’d been assigned to watch. To the east was the coastline of Secundum, colored Aquilon red. Tiny pins, also red, indicated the positions of Imperial garrisons or the private legions of the various Houses.

Near the center of the map was the tiny island of Doldrum, on which he stood. The pins here were quartered red and white, to indicate the Imperial forces he commanded as Governor. Further to the east was the Rotten Land, colored green for the monsters that prowled it. A handful of green pins were stuck there, indicating known locations of monster nests. It was these last that gave him pause. More and more of the smugglers he tapped for news were vanishing, and those that did return described massive build-ups of monsters.

His tired brain wandered back to when he’d first tapped the smugglers. At the time, he had no particular interest in the behavior of the monsters. His interests lay elsewhere.

He had been a young eagle then, just having come of age. He had been dispatched to Doldrum immediately, as his appointment to become its Governor was already made. His predecessor had served well in the post for several decades, and was now well due for retirement.

Melenius’s immediate concern lay in the fact that he was engaged. His mate, Tirillia Argentius, was beautiful and sweet, and they were very much in love. She was about six months younger than he, which was why they were not married yet. Thus, his personal goal over the next six months would be to find a way to give her a life on this island at least vaguely like what she’d been accustomed to at home.

Unfortunately, this would not be easy. Though House Argentius had relatively little political influence, having only acquired Senatorial status recently, they were fabulously rich. And Doldrum was a small little island, with no particularly useful natural resources. The only reason it rated a Governor was that it was the closest island of any size to the Rotten Land.

There was, however, one extremely lucrative trade that flowed through it. The same omnipresent toxicity that made the Rotten Land uninhabitable also made it a wonderful source of strange drugs, especially poisons. And Doldrum was one of only two or three places which were close enough to the Rotten Lands that you could sail there and back without reprovisioning. Those two factors meant that a vast trade in drugs, poisons, creatures, and other byproducts of the Rotten Land went on behind the scenes.

Such trade was, of course, highly illegal. But Melenius had had a brainwave. As Governor, he had the power to swear any creature to Imperial service. And, as part of this, he could issue a general pardon for illegal actions performed during such service. So he simply put the word out that such commissions were available for the smugglers. .

This is a bit of an infodump. Instead of Melenius' "tired mind" going over these things, why not have him going around doing things that would involve all these things. Then you can split up the information and inject at least some movement and character interaction in with everything else.

Shard of Choice:

Neshir smiled as he watched his mother tend to her plants. She carefully tended to each one with her gentle hands.

Neshir watched as she came to a plant limp and all but lifeless, its life giving roots strangled by weeds. A look of consternation clouded her face. She stared at the plant, and her eyes changed from normal looking to being solid green without a pupil or iris. As if oppressed by and unseen force, the weeds grudgingly retreated into the soil. Simultaneously, the plant seemed to regain a flush of health, its leaves and stem stiffening, it flowers wilting a bit less.

“That’s better” his mother said with a satisfied tone “How about we go inside and have some lunch.”

“Sounds great” Neshir nodded.

Neshir and his mother walked inside, up the stairs to their small space in the slum building. Neshir’s family was not very wealthy, and was of the lower class, having never produced a rare eye. His father was waiting inside, plates of fruit and sandwiches already prepared, just waiting to be eaten. Outside some clouds were beginning to gather, Neshir’s father looked outside with a frown.

“Let’s see what we can do about those” He said. His eyes changed to a solid grey color, Neshir’s father was not particularly strong in his eye, in fact clearing clouds was nearing the limits of his abilities. The clouds were pushed away, the summer sun once again shining and a cool breeze wafting through the windows. Neshir’s father breathed a sigh of satisfaction “That’s better, now let’s eat, and while we do need to talk about . . .”

He would never finish his sentence.

There was a massive thud followed by an audible crack as the door was beaten in by two men. One was a redeye, evident from the large dog that followed him a little too well. Neshir’s mother reacted and turned on her greeneye. Red and Green were opposite colors, the second she turned on her eye, both were canceled out, the color fading from both of them. The redeye shouted in anger as the dog ran away. What the others eye was Neshir would never know but he was far more aggressive than the redeye.

I think you have the opposite problem here. You're setting things up a bit too quickly without giving us, the reader, time to get even the tiniest bit into the story before blowing it up. If you want us to care that these people are dying, let us get to know them or at least compartmentalize them as people we like before pulling the rug out from under us. Maybe start mid-scene with everyone already in the middle of interacting and have the knock come as a more abrupt interruption.

When you start the action, I think you need to block it out more. You seem to have created a system where people can do some magic with their eyes, but that doesn't mean we can't have a bit of a struggle. Draw it out a bit perhaps so it doesn't merely seem like a list of who died and how.

It occurs to me that maybe the flashback is so brief because you mostly want to get it out of the way instead of use it as a scene in and of itself. If that's the case, consider cutting it and letting us get that backstory some other way.

You're also throwing the magic in thick right at the get go. Consider toning it back. Remember, even though Kelsier was doing things as a Mistborn in the prologue of The Final Empire, we didn't get the explanations as to how the magic worked until much later in the book. It can just be about character development in the beginning, not setting up the magic.

As for me, here's the first chapter of my current project, The Mortal Coil.

I'll let it stand on its own but for a slight language and violence warning. Nothing gratuitous. I'm writing for YA.

The rhythmic, eager beats of cudgels on wooden shields were enough to cut through Coil’s shock. He breathed in and let the frigid morning air mix with his dread. It was happening.

Coil was going to have to fight a girl.

“I changed my mind,” he whispered to Boar, the hulking mass of a guardsman who knelt beside him, wrapping Coil’s knuckles in thin strips of leather.

“Aye,” Boar said, almost keeping the chuckle from his voice. “That’s to be expected.”

“It wasn’t supposed to go like this,” Coil continued.

“You’ve got to best a watchman to become a watchman. This is how it goes for everyone.” Boar finished wrapping Coil’s right hand and, almost gently, started on the left. Coil grunted but said nothing. He’d known the law. That was how it had all gone wrong.

He couldn’t help but stare at Irna as she ran through her exercises. The top of the Wall at Sight’s End was not so wide across as to permit a true circle, but these were men and women who were familiar enough with the uneven stone to hazard an oblong ring. In the center, Irna showed them all just how much trouble Coil was in for.

The morning was frigid and blustery, but she had shed her mail and jerkin. The lean, ropey muscles in her arms were getting more visible every second under her tan skin as she continued pushing herself off the stones and into the air, clapping and catching herself. Suddenly, she was back on her feet, swaying side to side. She looked right at Coil and grinned. Her teeth were jagged where they had been broken; a chaotic set of fangs. Coil wondered what his face must have looked like to make her laugh like she did.

“Can I fight someone else?”

“You could have fought any of us, lad,” Boar said, not meeting his gaze. “You chose Irna.”

“I just thought,” Coil trailed off. “We’re the same age,” he supplied weakly.

“Don’t mean she’s not a head taller than you.”

“She was sitting down.” Coil explained. “And she had her shirt on.”

“Careless,” Boar grunted. “You’ll learn.” He finished Coil’s other hand and looked up him. Boar frowned. “Maybe.”

“Wait,” called a voice from below. Coil didn’t have to look down; he knew the voice well. The circle of guardsmen ignored the shout, guffawing at some vivid act Irna had doubtlessly promised to commit in a few moments. He let his shoulders slump and cursed himself for panicking. He could have waited. Soon, Hael was beside him atop the wall, kicking snow from one boot with the other.

“I’m late,” Hael supplied by way of explanation. Coil didn’t respond, just looked at him in mute horror. His cheeks were rosy from exertion and clashed horribly with the bright orange shocks of hair that stuck out from under his helmet. It was crooked, like always. Usually Coil would have smiled at that. He didn’t now.

“Okay,” he went on, “here’s what you do. Just walk over to the group and say ‘I challenge Guardsman Hael for entry into the Brotherhood of--” he trailed off, seeing the circle of guardsmen for the first time.

“Why has Irna got her shirt off?” he asked, tilting his head. “It’s the morning.”

“I’m fighting her for entry into the Watch,” Coil said, looking down at his leathered hands rather than into Hael’s blue eyes. Even through the ruckus the other guardsmen were creating he could feel Hael’s painful silence.

“Oh,” Hael said at last. Coil looked up. Hael was even paler than normal. His freckles had lost their color too. How was that possible? “Oh, Coil,” he said again and took a step back.

“The lad will be fine,” Boar supplied, standing up. He was a good two heads taller than either of the boys.

“What makes you say that?” Hael asked.

“Reassurance,” Boar admitted. “The urge to lie about painful truths.”

“Wait,” said Coil, “am I going to be alright?”

“No,” said Boar . “She’s going to kill you.”

“She won’t kill him,” Hael broke in, his tone wavering a bit. He turned towards Coil.

“She won’t kill you,” he said, smiling slightly as if to reassure them both. “She’ll probably just break your teeth and one of your arms and if you stay down she’ll just...” Hael trailed off again before catching himself and smiling again. It looked even more forced this time. “She probably won’t kill you.”

“What stances do you know, lad?” asked Boar. The man’s skin was almost as dark as the short black beard that covered his face. His eyes were yellow, suggesting that he might have had some of the old magic about him. Coil tore himself away from those eyes and looked down.

“None,” Coil said.

“Hael,” Boar sighed and looked to the boy, “why is your... friend, challenging folk for the Watch?”

“Money,” Coil supplied, looking at the snow far below. “I need the coin.” It was true. Why had this not seemed so horribly stupid the day before?

“He was going to fight me,” Hael explained. “I was going to take a dive. This is my fault.” Coil was too scared to be annoyed. It was Hael’s fault. Where had he been?

“The boy didn’t have to challenge Irna,” Boar pointed out.

“I have a name,” Coil pointed out. He was getting used to his impending doom enough to be a little indignant. This wasn’t his fault. This was almost mostly not his fault.

“Not for much longer,” said Boar . Coil shivered.

“You should have challenged Boar,” Hael said, apparently used to the situation enough now to chide. “That’s what I did.”

“He’s a head taller than Irna!” Coil whispered, exasperated.

“But I wouldn’t kill you.” Boar pointed out. “I’d break your nose and then let you kick me in the balls. Make a big show of it. Let you buy me a drink after.”

“That’s what I did. That’s what half the watch does. They kick Boar in the balls.”

“Can I just do that then?” asked Coil. “Can I choose again?”

“You back out of the fight, you have to fight everyone.” Boar nodded at the increasingly excited circle of guardsmen. “You can’t kick everyone in the balls.”

“Especially Irna,” Hael added.

“Exactly,” Boar turned down to the boy. “ Irna doesn’t even have balls.”

“And she’s storming insane,” Hael said.

“Aye,” Boar nodded, “That too. She fought One-Eyed Roofus, remember? He was a nasty piece of work. How she got her teeth broken. Just laughed and spat them back in Roofus’ good eye and punched him in the throat.” Hael chuckled. Coil blinked. He had never forgotten that Hael spent more time with the guardsmen these days than he did with Coil. He felt just a tiny bit abandoned. But then, that was probably the fear.

“I miss One-Eyed Roofus,” Hael said. Boar nodded again and grimaced.

“That was a damnation shame, that arrow.” He turned to Coil. “If you don’t die today, you’re going to have to be mindful of arrows.”

“Keep your helmet on,” Hael added.

“Not now,” Boar hedged. “For now, just try not to fall off the wall. And make a fist.” Coil did. Boar’s grimace came immediately.

“Okay,” he started. “No, don’t do it like that. Keep your thumb on the outside.” Coil did. It felt weird.

“Feels weird,” he said.

“Listen to Boar,” said Hael, grimly.

“It’ll feel weirder when your thumb breaks on impact,” said Boar. “Course, that’s assuming you can land a blow on Irna. Which you probably can’t. Put your thumb wherever you want. I’m not going to have to deal with you after today regardless.”

“This isn’t helping,” said Hael. There was an edge to his voice Coil could empathize with.

“Do you want me to go over there and start thumping my shield?” Boar asked. “I have no attachment to this one.”

“We’re friends?” Hael asked, solemnly. The giant stopped, suddenly all serious, yellow eyes, and nodded. Coil tilted his head. He really didn’t know Hael as well as he thought he did.

“Well Coil is my friend,” Hael said. “I was going to help him but he’s messed all that up now. Let’s do what we can.”

“Fine,” said Boar. He turned his gaze down to Coil and looked him right in the eye.

“Coil,” he spat out the name like it was vinegar, “let’s go over guards. Maybe you won’t get your teeth smashed. No promises.” Coil nodded and breathed in deep. He would learn to be strong. For Rae’s sake, he would learn.

--

Ten of the most informative minutes of his life later, Coil entered the ring. He wasn’t stupid enough to think he had a chance of winning or that he even knew the first thing about fighting but he learned enough to grasp one, simple truth. He was going to lose. The best thing would be to go limp and guard his face until Irna got came down from the frenzy she’d worked herself into.

It was a sound plan, he thought. Not as good as the first plan. The first plan would have ended with him in the Watch-- walking the walls, staying out of trouble, and making enough coin to pay for the poultices and herbs that would keep his sister alive for another season. The farm was failing and, even if it hadn’t been, medicines weren’t priced for their kind of life.

Now Coil had settled for not dying. It was a simple plan, but at the moment it seemed staggeringly ambitious. It wasn’t Hael’s fault. Coil could have waited. He should have waited. He hadn’t realized the danger.

There was no hiding from it now.

“I’m going to smash your nose into your brain,” Irna spat as she wove back and forth, ragged knuckles up by her face. It was the first thing she’d said to him in twelve years.

Coil hadn’t seen Irna since they were five and he’d accidentally dropped a little flute her father had whittled for her into well at the village’s center. She’d cried. He remembered that now. But then, he’d been five. Was she really going to kill him for that?

“Is this about the flute?” Coil asked before remembering to keep his fists, thumbs out, up near his face. Irna stopped swaying, lowered her fists, and shot him a puzzled look.

“Did you have a flute?” He tried again, less sure. She blinked. Maybe it had been another girl. Irna’s face changed from perplexed to... offended.

“I’m going to hit you very hard,” she said, her eyes gone strangely calm. “Pay attention.”

She did.

Coil’s arm darted to the side of his face to block the blow. Fear made him quick, but he hadn’t counted on the sheer force of her strike. He got his block up but all it did was send his own fist smashing backwards in his nose. He made a noise and lost himself. He was numb and the world went hazy. There may have been cold and there may have been pain, but he didn’t feel them. Not all of them. It was so far away.

Coil shuddered as the ache of frigid stone on his face jolted him back to full awareness. There was noise, guardsmen shouting, but he could barely hear it through the four epicenters of pain that pulsed through him.

There was his hand, a dull ache where it had met Irna’s. It didn’t move, but then he didn’t try very hard. He couldn’t focus. There was his nose, sharp and hot. Something wet was dripping down into Coil’s mouth. There was his tongue, swollen and throbbing. He had bitten through, maybe clean, maybe not. His mouth was filling with blood.

The fourth pain came from his gut, where Irna was kicking him in rhythm with guard’s shield-beats. It was a hard, sickening pain and it drowned out the others with its urgency. Coil curled and rolled. The kicks followed.

Coil’s opened his eyes and spat blood, but most of it just splattered out weakly and burned where it dribbled down his cheek. It wasn’t until his eyes focused that he realized just how close he was to the edge. Irna was moving him just a bit closer with every kick.

“Stop,” he moaned, or something like it. His tongue was swelling past the point of consonant sounds. And, suddenly, as if that was all it had needed, the barrage stopped. Cold green eyes, stared down into his. A tanned, hard face, scars spidering out from the mouth. It did not smile.

“No,” she said, “you have said the words and stepped into the circle” Her broken teeth were clenched but she did not seem frenzied. “Stay down and I will stop when I please. Simper, and I will end it now.”

Coil flinched as two strong hands took his skull. There was pressure on both sides. Hard, pinpoint fingertips pushing up near his temples. It was getting hard to think, he was... Rae. Where was Rae? Whose eyes were those? Hadn’t his sister’s eyes been brown? Who was the man in standing over them, with his robes so white and his eyes so black? Why was he smiling like that?

And then it was over. The pressure ended and Coil fell back onto his knees. He realized there was a noise but he couldn’t focus on it. Everyone else seemed like they were. They drumbeats stopped. Coil tried to focus.

There was a horn; it’s call strong yet wandering. The watchmen were dispersing. Coil shook himself and tried to stand. He couldn’t. Instead, he squinted blearily blindways.

There was a man in the bare snow beyond the wall riding furiously sightward. Coil blinked. Was that a horse? He’d never seen a horse before. But Deathlanders didn’t ride horses. Even men who lived within the Sight didn’t. They were for Kings and High Lords. Were all horses so small, he wondered absently.

Behind the man rode three other Deathlanders, who were more what Coil had been taught to expect. Each wore wooden armor with leather tassels flowing behind them and each was mounted on a towering, black hound. Two were nocking arrows on small, strangely curved bows. Coil blinked. The forest that lay a mile beyond the Sight. The Unchained Forrest. It was shaking. Were the trees moving closer?

Before him, still, towered Irna. She looked troubled and blindways. Hael and Boar hadn’t dispersed with the other guardsmen, but they didn’t approach. There was no sign of the man in white. Weakly, Coil attempted a smile at the Hael, but it might have been obscured by the blood. The guardsman’s expression was unreadable.

Irna looked down at him. Both the cold and the frenzy had left her face. “There are enemies at the walls, farmer,” she said and extended her arm. Not knowing why, Coil took it. She pulled him on his feet. “Run for your life. I will find you anoth--” she cut out as two wet thumps sent a stark silence amidst the chaos of pain and battle sounds. Two points stuck from Irna-- one through her right forearm and one through her left breast. She blinked and Coil’s shock cut through his pains once more.

Irna’s mouth opened to shout something she hadn’t the breath for and her eyes went wide but she did not let go of Coil’s arm even as she began to topple. Backwards. Blindways.

Coil gasped. Even through his panic, he knew what would happen if the girl fell outside of the Sight. He tried to stand firm but his legs were buckling. It wasn’t working, he could feel Irna’s weight pulling him forward. Then, suddenly, Irna made a garbled sound and let go of his wrist. All Coil had to do was let go and he’d be safe.

Coil gritted his teeth and grabbed onto Irna’s left wrist with both hands. He pulled, hard. Coil couldn’t fight, even when his life depended on it, but he had worked a harvest. He was stronger than he looked. The two toppled backwards off the wall.

As they fell, Coil’s stomach lurched, but if he hadn't been screaming, he would have sighed with relief. Sightwards, he thought. At least the worst that could happen now was death. Then they hit the snow and Coil didn’t think of anything but blackness and the laughter that came from nowhere at once.

For the second time that day, Coil blearily shuddered back into consciousness. Hael and Boar were peeling Irna’s body off him. There were some new pains--the ache in his back where he had hit the snow and pinpoint lash on his chest where one of Irna’s arrow-points had slashed him on impact-- but Coil seemed to be alive.

“Coil,” Hael said, little more than a whisper, and clutched his arm. Coil felt the contact more strongly than his pain. There was red under those bright eyes. Had he been crying?

“Guardsman down,” Boar prompted and Hael wrenched his eyes from Coil and onto Irna, cursing horribly and breathlessly. Coil couldn’t help but smile. Irna was alive.

“I didn’t die,” he said, somewhat garbled by his throbbing tounge. Blood dribbled down his chin.

“I saw,” Hael said, not looking up. Even through the tension of his shoulders, Coil could sense relief radiating from the guardsman. Of course, it could easily have just been his own.

“Can you do anything for her?” Boar asked, looking over Hael’s shoulders, his back to Coil as well.

“Not here,” said Hael,“not without at least two humors. The arrow went through her lung. If we don’t apply a foundation of bile, it’s going to collapse when we take it out.” He was doing something complex with his hands that Coil couldn’t quite make out. He spat another lob of blood into the snow. Hael turned, but his eyes scanned beyond Coil to the wall and sounds of panicked skirmish. “We need to go.”

“Leave her in the cold?” Boar asked. There was a hint of grim judgement to the question.

“Best place for her right now,” Hael said, brushing the snow off his leggings as he rose. “It’ll slow the bleeding.” He stood still and looked back down at Irna, mouthing something wordlessly. “Probably. If she survives the cold.”

Another shout went out from the wall. Coil turned. Something was on fire. He was suddenly very happy to be sitting in the snow, pains and all. His head was still fuzzy.

“Coil,” Hael said, kneeling beside him. His voice was concerned.

“That didn’t go to plan,” Coil said, not knowing why. Hael’s lips pressed together.

“No it didn’t,” he agreed. Suddenly, Hael’s arms were around him. “My fault,” he whispered, probably to himself.

“I’m alright,” Coil tried to smile. “We’ll figure out something else.” There was the sound of stone toppling and, once more, Coil saw Hael look beyond him.

“I could kiss you,” he said, his smile tinged with something sad.

“My mouth is full of blood,” Coil said and tried to laugh. Hael’s eyes didn’t change. What was wrong? It was going to be alright. The lines atop the Wall had already formed and Coil could hear sharp instructions for archers to knock and hold.

“Save it for after,” Hael said. Guilt. That was what he was seeing on Hael’s face.

“After what?” Coil asked. His head pounded. What was he forgetting?

“I’m so sorry,” said Hael. He stood and walked a few steps. Boar was standing next to them. Something was in his hands and he tossed it lightly at Coil’s chest.

The weight of the bundle didn’t knock him back, but it did jolt him. He looked down. Twine held together a set of leather armor, stiff from the cold. Atop it was tied a helmet. Grey, pocked steel, with small iron horns styled after tree branches extending four inches from either side. Coil looked towards the chaos at the wall and his stomach dropped with a wholly new dread.

“Oh,” was all he could say.

“Citizen Coil,” Boar said. The words carried the dispassionate weight of tradition. “Welcome to the Brotherhood of the Watch.”

Edited July 22, 2012 by Yados

[Aeshdan]

The rhythmic, eager beats of cudgels on wooden shields were enough to cut through Coil’s shock. He breathed in and let the frigid morning air mix with his dread. It was happening.

Coil was going to have to fight a girl.

“I changed my mind,” he whispered to Boar, the hulking mass of a guardsman who knelt beside him, wrapping Coil’s knuckles in thin strips of leather.

“Aye,” Boar said, almost keeping the chuckle from his voice. “That’s to be expected.”

“It wasn’t supposed to go like this,” Coil continued.

“You’ve got to best a watchman to become a watchman. This is how it goes for everyone.” Boar finished wrapping Coil’s right hand and, almost gently, started on the left. Coil grunted but said nothing. He’d known the law. That was how it had all gone wrong.

He couldn’t help but stare at Irna as she ran through her exercises. The top of the Wall at Sight’s End was not so wide across as to permit a true circle, but these were men and women who were familiar enough with the uneven stone to hazard an oblong ring. In the center, Irna showed them all just how much trouble Coil was in for.

The morning was frigid and blustery, but she had shed her mail and jerkin. The lean, ropey muscles in her arms were getting more visible every second under her tan skin as she continued pushing herself off the stones and into the air, clapping and catching herself. Suddenly, she was back on her feet, swaying side to side. She looked right at Coil and grinned. Her teeth were jagged where they had been broken; a chaotic set of fangs. Coil wondered what his face must have looked like to make her laugh like she did.

“Can I fight someone else?”

“You could have fought any of us, lad,” Boar said, not meeting his gaze. “You chose Irna.”

“I just thought,” Coil trailed off. “We’re the same age,” he supplied weakly.

“Don’t mean she’s not a head taller than you.”

“She was sitting down.” Coil explained. “And she had her shirt on.”

“Careless,” Boar grunted. “You’ll learn.” He finished Coil’s other hand and looked up him. Boar frowned. “Maybe.”

“Wait,” called a voice from below. Coil didn’t have to look down; he knew the voice well. The circle of guardsmen ignored the shout, guffawing at some vivid act Irna had doubtlessly promised to commit in a few moments. He let his shoulders slump and cursed himself for panicking. He could have waited. Soon, Hael was beside him atop the wall, kicking snow from one boot with the other.

“I’m late,” Hael supplied by way of explanation. Coil didn’t respond, just looked at him in mute horror. His cheeks were rosy from exertion and clashed horribly with the bright orange shocks of hair that stuck out from under his helmet. It was crooked, like always. Usually Coil would have smiled at that. He didn’t now.

“Okay,” he went on, “here’s what you do. Just walk over to the group and say ‘I challenge Guardsman Hael for entry into the Brotherhood of--” he trailed off, seeing the circle of guardsmen for the first time.

“Why has Irna got her shirt off?” he asked, tilting his head. “It’s the morning.”

“I’m fighting her for entry into the Watch,” Coil said, looking down at his leathered hands rather than into Hael’s blue eyes. Even through the ruckus the other guardsmen were creating he could feel Hael’s painful silence.

“Oh,” Hael said at last. Coil looked up. Hael was even paler than normal. His freckles had lost their color too. How was that possible? “Oh, Coil,” he said again and took a step back.

“The lad will be fine,” Boar supplied, standing up. He was a good two heads taller than either of the boys.

“What makes you say that?” Hael asked.

“Reassurance,” Boar admitted. “The urge to lie about painful truths.”

“Wait,” said Coil, “am I going to be alright?”

“No,” said Boar . “She’s going to kill you.”

“She won’t kill him,” Hael broke in, his tone wavering a bit. He turned towards Coil.

“She won’t kill you,” he said, smiling slightly as if to reassure them both. “She’ll probably just break your teeth and one of your arms and if you stay down she’ll just...” Hael trailed off again before catching himself and smiling again. It looked even more forced this time. “She probably won’t kill you.”

“What stances do you know, lad?” asked Boar. The man’s skin was almost as dark as the short black beard that covered his face. His eyes were yellow, suggesting that he might have had some of the old magic about him. Coil tore himself away from those eyes and looked down.

“None,” Coil said.

“Hael,” Boar sighed and looked to the boy, “why is your... friend, challenging folk for the Watch?”

“Money,” Coil supplied, looking at the snow far below. “I need the coin.” It was true. Why had this not seemed so horribly stupid the day before?

“He was going to fight me,” Hael explained. “I was going to take a dive. This is my fault.” Coil was too scared to be annoyed. It was Hael’s fault. Where had he been?

“The boy didn’t have to challenge Irna,” Boar pointed out.

“I have a name,” Coil pointed out. He was getting used to his impending doom enough to be a little indignant. This wasn’t his fault. This was almost mostly not his fault.

“Not for much longer,” said Boar . Coil shivered.

“You should have challenged Boar,” Hael said, apparently used to the situation enough now to chide. “That’s what I did.”

“He’s a head taller than Irna!” Coil whispered, exasperated.

“But I wouldn’t kill you.” Boar pointed out. “I’d break your nose and then let you kick me in the balls. Make a big show of it. Let you buy me a drink after.”

“That’s what I did. That’s what half the watch does. They kick Boar in the balls.”

“Can I just do that then?” asked Coil. “Can I choose again?”

“You back out of the fight, you have to fight everyone.” Boar nodded at the increasingly excited circle of guardsmen. “You can’t kick everyone in the balls.”

“Especially Irna,” Hael added.

“Exactly,” Boar turned down to the boy. “ Irna doesn’t even have balls.”

“And she’s storming insane,” Hael said.

“Aye,” Boar nodded, “That too. She fought One-Eyed Roofus, remember? He was a nasty piece of work. How she got her teeth broken. Just laughed and spat them back in Roofus’ good eye and punched him in the throat.” Hael chuckled. Coil blinked. He had never forgotten that Hael spent more time with the guardsmen these days than he did with Coil. He felt just a tiny bit abandoned. But then, that was probably the fear.

“I miss One-Eyed Roofus,” Hael said. Boar nodded again and grimaced.

“That was a damnation shame, that arrow.” He turned to Coil. “If you don’t die today, you’re going to have to be mindful of arrows.”

“Keep your helmet on,” Hael added.

“Not now,” Boar hedged. “For now, just try not to fall off the wall. And make a fist.” Coil did. Boar’s grimace came immediately.

“Okay,” he started. “No, don’t do it like that. Keep your thumb on the outside.” Coil did. It felt weird.

“Feels weird,” he said.

“Listen to Boar,” said Hael, grimly.

“It’ll feel weirder when your thumb breaks on impact,” said Boar. “Course, that’s assuming you can land a blow on Irna. Which you probably can’t. Put your thumb wherever you want. I’m not going to have to deal with you after today regardless.”

“This isn’t helping,” said Hael. There was an edge to his voice Coil could empathize with.

“Do you want me to go over there and start thumping my shield?” Boar asked. “I have no attachment to this one.”

“We’re friends?” Hael asked, solemnly. The giant stopped, suddenly all serious, yellow eyes, and nodded. Coil tilted his head. He really didn’t know Hael as well as he thought he did.

“Well Coil is my friend,” Hael said. “I was going to help him but he’s messed all that up now. Let’s do what we can.”

“Fine,” said Boar. He turned his gaze down to Coil and looked him right in the eye.

“Coil,” he spat out the name like it was vinegar, “let’s go over guards. Maybe you won’t get your teeth smashed. No promises.” Coil nodded and breathed in deep. He would learn to be strong. For Rae’s sake, he would learn.

--

Ten of the most informative minutes of his life later, Coil entered the ring. He wasn’t stupid enough to think he had a chance of winning or that he even knew the first thing about fighting but he learned enough to grasp one, simple truth. He was going to lose. The best thing would be to go limp and guard his face until Irna got came down from the frenzy she’d worked herself into.

It was a sound plan, he thought. Not as good as the first plan. The first plan would have ended with him in the Watch-- walking the walls, staying out of trouble, and making enough coin to pay for the poultices and herbs that would keep his sister alive for another season. The farm was failing and, even if it hadn’t been, medicines weren’t priced for their kind of life.

Now Coil had settled for not dying. It was a simple plan, but at the moment it seemed staggeringly ambitious. It wasn’t Hael’s fault. Coil could have waited. He should have waited. He hadn’t realized the danger.

There was no hiding from it now.

“I’m going to smash your nose into your brain,” Irna spat as she wove back and forth, ragged knuckles up by her face. It was the first thing she’d said to him in twelve years.

Coil hadn’t seen Irna since they were five and he’d accidentally dropped a little flute her father had whittled for her into well at the village’s center. She’d cried. He remembered that now. But then, he’d been five. Was she really going to kill him for that?

“Is this about the flute?” Coil asked before remembering to keep his fists, thumbs out, up near his face. Irna stopped swaying, lowered her fists, and shot him a puzzled look.

“Did you have a flute?” He tried again, less sure. She blinked. Maybe it had been another girl. Irna’s face changed from perplexed to... offended.

“I’m going to hit you very hard,” she said, her eyes gone strangely calm. “Pay attention.”

She did.

Coil’s arm darted to the side of his face to block the blow. Fear made him quick, but he hadn’t counted on the sheer force of her strike. He got his block up but all it did was send his own fist smashing backwards in his nose. He made a noise and lost himself. He was numb and the world went hazy. There may have been cold and there may have been pain, but he didn’t feel them. Not all of them. It was so far away.

Coil shuddered as the ache of frigid stone on his face jolted him back to full awareness. There was noise, guardsmen shouting, but he could barely hear it through the four epicenters of pain that pulsed through him.

There was his hand, a dull ache where it had met Irna’s. It didn’t move, but then he didn’t try very hard. He couldn’t focus. There was his nose, sharp and hot. Something wet was dripping down into Coil’s mouth. There was his tongue, swollen and throbbing. He had bitten through, maybe clean, maybe not. His mouth was filling with blood.

The fourth pain came from his gut, where Irna was kicking him in rhythm with guard’s shield-beats. It was a hard, sickening pain and it drowned out the others with its urgency. Coil curled and rolled. The kicks followed.

Coil’s opened his eyes and spat blood, but most of it just splattered out weakly and burned where it dribbled down his cheek. It wasn’t until his eyes focused that he realized just how close he was to the edge. Irna was moving him just a bit closer with every kick.

“Stop,” he moaned, or something like it. His tongue was swelling past the point of consonant sounds. And, suddenly, as if that was all it had needed, the barrage stopped. Cold green eyes, stared down into his. A tanned, hard face, scars spidering out from the mouth. It did not smile.

“No,” she said, “you have said the words and stepped into the circle” Her broken teeth were clenched but she did not seem frenzied. “Stay down and I will stop when I please. Simper, and I will end it now.”

Coil flinched as two strong hands took his skull. There was pressure on both sides. Hard, pinpoint fingertips pushing up near his temples. It was getting hard to think, he was... Rae. Where was Rae? Whose eyes were those? Hadn’t his sister’s eyes been brown? Who was the man in standing over them, with his robes so white and his eyes so black? Why was he smiling like that?

And then it was over. The pressure ended and Coil fell back onto his knees. He realized there was a noise but he couldn’t focus on it. Everyone else seemed like they were. They drumbeats stopped. Coil tried to focus.

There was a horn; it’s call strong yet wandering. The watchmen were dispersing. Coil shook himself and tried to stand. He couldn’t. Instead, he squinted blearily blindways.

There was a man in the bare snow beyond the wall riding furiously sightward. Coil blinked. Was that a horse? He’d never seen a horse before. But Deathlanders didn’t ride horses. Even men who lived within the Sight didn’t. They were for Kings and High Lords. Were all horses so small, he wondered absently.

Behind the man rode three other Deathlanders, who were more what Coil had been taught to expect. Each wore wooden armor with leather tassels flowing behind them and each was mounted on a towering, black hound. Two were nocking arrows on small, strangely curved bows. Coil blinked. The forest that lay a mile beyond the Sight. The Unchained Forrest. It was shaking. Were the trees moving closer?

Before him, still, towered Irna. She looked troubled and blindways. Hael and Boar hadn’t dispersed with the other guardsmen, but they didn’t approach. There was no sign of the man in white. Weakly, Coil attempted a smile at the Hael, but it might have been obscured by the blood. The guardsman’s expression was unreadable.

Irna looked down at him. Both the cold and the frenzy had left her face. “There are enemies at the walls, farmer,” she said and extended her arm. Not knowing why, Coil took it. She pulled him on his feet. “Run for your life. I will find you anoth--” she cut out as two wet thumps sent a stark silence amidst the chaos of pain and battle sounds. Two points stuck from Irna-- one through her right forearm and one through her left breast. She blinked and Coil’s shock cut through his pains once more.

Irna’s mouth opened to shout something she hadn’t the breath for and her eyes went wide but she did not let go of Coil’s arm even as she began to topple. Backwards. Blindways.

Coil gasped. Even through his panic, he knew what would happen if the girl fell outside of the Sight. He tried to stand firm but his legs were buckling. It wasn’t working, he could feel Irna’s weight pulling him forward. Then, suddenly, Irna made a garbled sound and let go of his wrist. All Coil had to do was let go and he’d be safe.

Coil gritted his teeth and grabbed onto Irna’s left wrist with both hands. He pulled, hard. Coil couldn’t fight, even when his life depended on it, but he had worked a harvest. He was stronger than he looked. The two toppled backwards off the wall.

As they fell, Coil’s stomach lurched, but if he hadn't been screaming, he would have sighed with relief. Sightwards, he thought. At least the worst that could happen now was death. Then they hit the snow and Coil didn’t think of anything but blackness and the laughter that came from nowhere at once.

For the second time that day, Coil blearily shuddered back into consciousness. Hael and Boar were peeling Irna’s body off him. There were some new pains--the ache in his back where he had hit the snow and pinpoint lash on his chest where one of Irna’s arrow-points had slashed him on impact-- but Coil seemed to be alive.

“Coil,” Hael said, little more than a whisper, and clutched his arm. Coil felt the contact more strongly than his pain. There was red under those bright eyes. Had he been crying?

“Guardsman down,” Boar prompted and Hael wrenched his eyes from Coil and onto Irna, cursing horribly and breathlessly. Coil couldn’t help but smile. Irna was alive.

“I didn’t die,” he said, somewhat garbled by his throbbing tounge. Blood dribbled down his chin.

“I saw,” Hael said, not looking up. Even through the tension of his shoulders, Coil could sense relief radiating from the guardsman. Of course, it could easily have just been his own.

“Can you do anything for her?” Boar asked, looking over Hael’s shoulders, his back to Coil as well.

“Not here,” said Hael,“not without at least two humors. The arrow went through her lung. If we don’t apply a foundation of bile, it’s going to collapse when we take it out.” He was doing something complex with his hands that Coil couldn’t quite make out. He spat another lob of blood into the snow. Hael turned, but his eyes scanned beyond Coil to the wall and sounds of panicked skirmish. “We need to go.”

“Leave her in the cold?” Boar asked. There was a hint of grim judgement to the question.

“Best place for her right now,” Hael said, brushing the snow off his leggings as he rose. “It’ll slow the bleeding.” He stood still and looked back down at Irna, mouthing something wordlessly. “Probably. If she survives the cold.”

Another shout went out from the wall. Coil turned. Something was on fire. He was suddenly very happy to be sitting in the snow, pains and all. His head was still fuzzy.

“Coil,” Hael said, kneeling beside him. His voice was concerned.

“That didn’t go to plan,” Coil said, not knowing why. Hael’s lips pressed together.

“No it didn’t,” he agreed. Suddenly, Hael’s arms were around him. “My fault,” he whispered, probably to himself.

“I’m alright,” Coil tried to smile. “We’ll figure out something else.” There was the sound of stone toppling and, once more, Coil saw Hael look beyond him.

“I could kiss you,” he said, his smile tinged with something sad.

“My mouth is full of blood,” Coil said and tried to laugh. Hael’s eyes didn’t change. What was wrong? It was going to be alright. The lines atop the Wall had already formed and Coil could hear sharp instructions for archers to knock and hold.

“Save it for after,” Hael said. Guilt. That was what he was seeing on Hael’s face.

“After what?” Coil asked. His head pounded. What was he forgetting?

“I’m so sorry,” said Hael. He stood and walked a few steps. Boar was standing next to them. Something was in his hands and he tossed it lightly at Coil’s chest.

The weight of the bundle didn’t knock him back, but it did jolt him. He looked down. Twine held together a set of leather armor, stiff from the cold. Atop it was tied a helmet. Grey, pocked steel, with small iron horns styled after tree branches extending four inches from either side. Coil looked towards the chaos at the wall and his stomach dropped with a wholly new dread.

“Oh,” was all he could say.

“Citizen Coil,” Boar said. The words carried the dispassionate weight of tradition. “Welcome to the Brotherhood of the Watch.”

Very good story, and I eagerly look forward to finding out what is going on. For example, what is the "Sight"? What are Deathlanders?

[Iredomi]

This is just a start, lacks proper formatting and maybe too much exposition and telling instead of showing but just wondering if anyone finds it agreeable in certain aspects but yeah...

Etarmis Pertinax son of Prium Pertinax, leader of the First squadron of the Impiran Octus, one of the greatest armies of the Twelve Lands, now wandered up the road of Otium alone and wounded. His hair normally tied back into a top knot now hung lankly about his face. Sweat and blood clung unremittingly to his face as his head wound throbbed. Etarmis’ dark eyes drifted from side to side belying the swift intelligence they once held. His long cape clasped at the neck by a metal clip, shaped in the sigil of his House; an eagle, - once a fine blue- now bunched up underneath the load he was currying on his back. The cape was muddied and tattered like its owner. The leather bag he carried had only room for a day-or if pushing it a few days- supplies and it had been a week since Etarmis had fled the battle field in fear for his life. His shame only enhanced his memory of the day.

He had rode down against the Ignots at the head of a fifty thousand strong army, when the earth had shook; the horses terrified by the moving earth had begun to bolt in all directions. The Octus soon lost rank and the Ignots- all on foot- had only been stunned for a moment, at the chaos that had disrupted the Octus’s order, took advantage of the situation. The Octus fell all too quickly before the barbarians’ crude weaponry. Etarmis had expected the enemy to be routed by sunset, but he had not stayed to fight for so long. By the time the sun was in its zenith almost half of the army had been killed and the rest were wounded fighting for an honourable death in battle. This was when the horror had taken Etarmis, he was not as young as others at the age of twenty four, but he fled took the only supplies that he could find and ran towards the hills. He was the Great and Noble son of the Honourable Domina Iussum Lord Pertinax of the ancient House of the Eagle, and he had run scared for his life like a child. The Octus had remained undefeated for centuries and he- the responsibility was all his- had let it fall to, to what? A group of inbred savages.

He would have died of the shame had his wounds not of been killing him already. His bloodied- once deep blue- shirt and breeches clung tightly to his form intended as underclothes for the plate armour he had abandoned a few days back he had fled with them hoping to sell them to a smith or a mercenary once he found a town. But any need for money had diminished with his fading life. Even if he had wanted to sell them he had seen no towns besides a few farms since fleeing. He knew that if any man in these parts recognised him they would do very little to help. Men of violence were frowned upon on the Otium.

The road was little more than the absence of growth, a thin - perhaps three metres wide – track of dirt and gravel. His leather soled boats now worn by the gravel did little to stop the dig of any particularly sharp stones. His ankle ached from having been twisted when he had fallen in the night. This did not bother him really, Etarmis limped but more for the wound in his thigh from an arrow than the twist in his ankle. His heart pumped harder as his pace slowed. The grassland seemed to grow thicker as he approached the city of Otium the colour of his surroundings growing into a richer emerald, the tussock giving way to a fine grass. In the distance more and more farms lay on either side of the road, dozens of cattle grazing unconcerned under a blazing golden sun. Etarmis chuckled to himself; the son of one of the greatest war lords ever known, descendants of countless military leaders was going to die in the land of Otium known well for its disgusted attitude to any sort of violence between human beings. Despite his slow pace Etarmis would come to the first houses soon as the road transformed from gravel to stone pavement. The houses were humble buildings but stout in dependable brick and wood. Few people seemed to be out and about this day and the few people he did come across, a woman with blue eyes and dark hair in a yellow dress and her child with a inquisitive look in her eyes in a white shirt and a skirt of the same colour seemed to avoid him like the plague. They knew what he was, a soldier, a killer. Etarmis felt laughter well up in him once again, at the irony of the situation. He would die amongst those who did no violence; the much loved Octus Primus would die amongst people who found him abhorrent. But he had to get his message to Prium he was sure that there would be one willing messenger in Otium that would do him this last kindness. He held tightly the last message he would ever send. He opened it up once again to glance at what he had written it was untidy and in script not of the First but a much weaker speech, he had had not the time to perfect it but it would have to do. He looked down the road at the imminent White Wall of Innocence. It was the wall surrounding the city Otium, proper. It provided a good defence but with no gate just an open archway with the inscription bring only peace carved on its face, any army could take this place, if any dared do such an abhorrent thing. The fickle sorcerers the fabled Assembly would annihilate any invading force.

As a spasm of pain erupted in the dying man’s chest he stopped still only just preventing himself from falling to his knees. With his last message in hand he pressed onwards biting his lower lip in resistance to the pain. After struggling for another hundred metres, Etarmis made his way through the great arch of Otium. As he staggered forward step by step more and more people appeared from increasingly lavish buildings. Their clothing was not so elaborate but nor was it standard, they carried their modest garbs with a supine grace. The Peaceful Ones, they seemed to ignore him. However their disgust in what he was was much less obvious. He smiled thinking how his life would have turned out if he had been born among such people. At that moment the pain became too strong to bear bringing him to the stone pavement. And in Otium the most peaceful city in all the Twelve Lands, Etarmis, a man of violence, met his end.

[Observer]

I am, unfortunately, a big fan of vague Proglogues. So I'll use it.

PROLOGUE

The world exploded. Eleven mages sung their spell.

Bits of rock and steel burst apart as the massive chunk of land ripped itself free from the ground, lifting off into the air. The people atop it scrambled and shouted, frantically trying to find a way to get down. On the other side of the world, another chunk of land tore free, floating off to the side and moving downwards. In the middle of it all stood the circle of ten surrounding the king, their energetic song echoing throughout the battlefield. It was in A-sharp, the key for movement. The ten voices were accompanied by their king, sitting in the middle, plucking away a secondary melody in C, the key for spirit.

The spells had been years in the making, and had been bolstered with several sharps for added effect. Their song thrummed with power, causing small bursts of light to appear around their circle, imitating the sound patterns they were forming. The piece tilted, becoming louder, deeper, and slower. The group’s key shifted into C-sharp, with the king expertly transitioning into A. With a roar the two floating landmasses folded, crunching inward on themselves and puffing into two massive orbs of multicolored light. Instantly the light exploded outwards, blowing the eleven mages backwards with the sheer intensity of sound. The very air shook, the force of the sound splitting apart the broken landscape. The mages stumbled to their feet, slowly rising from the ground, staring almost in disbelief, at the massive craters they had created.

That was it. It was over. After over a thousand years of nothing but fighting, it was over. The two opposing sides had been separated at last, cast away into their own realities, never to do battle again. The king stood, speaking. “We must move quickly to stabilize the spell. In its current form, the loopholes may allow them to temporarily manifest on their opposing planet. We cannot let this war continue!” It was a valid concern, unfortunately. So sad he noticed it, I was starting to like him…

One of the mages stood, grey cloak fluttering. The other ten regarded him with curiosity, looking upwards quizzically. The cloaked figure stood, and with one fluid motion, pulled out a sword and beheaded the king. The others froze in shock, even their expanded minds unable to comprehend what they had just seen. They died quickly and quietly, too surprised to resist. The Philosopher wiped his blade in silence, the illusionary form of the mage he had killed melting away. The fools. They thought they were ending a war. No, the true war had yet to start. The separation was only the beginning…

Edited September 16, 2012 by Observer

[Aeshdan]

I am, unfortunately, a big fan of vague Proglogues. So I'll use it.

W. O. W.

So, magic works through music in this world?

[Observer]

W. O. W.

So, magic works through music in this world?

I wrote the story when I was ten. The general idea was good, but in hindsight the magic system sucked. So I'm rewriting the whole thing with a musical magic system, which I think defines the magic system and limits it quite nicely.

TL;DR:

"Dear lord" Somebody groaned. "It's a musical."

Where I write, we're required to have a "back flap" type thing. So I'll add that too.

There was a time when they were one. When there were no factions, no wars. A time of peace. But no peace lasts forever. How long it lasted is unknown, there are few records remaining from that time. But we know how it ended. We know of the terrible events that caused it to end.

After years of peace and harmony, out of the ranks of the people rose a philosopher. He preached of self-interest and adventure. Of ignoring the boundaries set up by nature and the conscience and pressing into new frontiers of both land, might, and magic. In only a week he had a third of the population on his side. Alarmed by these spreading beliefs, the other two thirds came together and attempted to find a counter-philosophy, only to find that they believed in two different solutions. Two thirds of the people now clashed in a war of belief, with the final third caught helplessly in the middle, fruitlessly trying to stop the raging war. Finally, when they could bear it no longer, the middle group, who had taken on the name “Neutralis” came together and cast a powerful spell born of desperation. How they created such powerful magic is unknown. But we know the results.

The power of the spell was amazing, as was its effect. The territories and lands of both opposing factions were launched into separate dimensions, theoretically preventing them from ever again continuing their land-destroying war. But supposedly, their beliefs never left. Instead, all their feelings, all their beliefs, all their boiling hatred for each other was left behind in the form of two omnipresent and powerful beings, known now as the Caretakers of Darkness and Light. And they say it was with their guidance that the races discovered how to use the once useless crystals that grew in all territories. They discovered that it could bind a creature’s soul to the world it currently stood on. And using these they rewrote their bindings and used the crystals to allow them to re-access their enemies land. And once again, the war waged on…

Edited September 15, 2012 by Observer