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Hello.
I’ve recently been wishing I could write more short stories, and finally I sat down at my computer today and started typing. Following is the first part of One More Chance. Critics are the thing I want.
1 ~ “You are a murderer”
A long caravan of horses, camels and people, some riding on the backs of the animals, some with hands tied, following in the dust, weaved between the looming walls of two cliffs. Guards stood at the outskirts, scimitars in hand. Warily, their dark eyes scanned the tops of the cliffs, looking for any movement.There was a cry at the head of the company for a halt. In one movement, the line stopped, and forward came some of the soldiers to the one who had called the halt.
“What is it, my Lord?” The voice of a young man, barely twenty, asked the stone-faced leader of the company.
“There, in the road, have you no eyes, boy?” The slave that stood at the shoulder of the leader’s great horse, a slender girl, looked into the eyes of the soldier, filled with fear at the rebuke, and that he would be struck.
He did look, and there lay in the road a grey-clothed form, its face turned away, and his limbs unmoving. Carefully, the boy approached the figure that lay only a couple paces in front of the feet of the slave girl.
Suddenly, the form moved, throwing a knife that hit the boy straight through the heart. A cry barely escaped the boy’s lips as he fell, dead, directly at the slave girl’s feet. She stared into his dead eyes and cowered. He was so young and innocent.
As if the death of this young man was a signal, the twang of many bows was heard around them, and the guards of the caravan fell with arrows stuck in their hearts. On the clifftop, stood ten men, arrows to the ready. The figure in front of the caravan readied another knife.
“Get off your beast, or you die.” The sun shed light on the man, his lower face masked, and his head hooded. Light reflected from the shadow of the hood off the man’s eyes.
Furious, with leader of the caravan dug his heels into the sides of his steed, his scimitar ringing from its sheath. He little cared that he almost ran over the tiny slave girl. With only a quick blur of the thrown knife, and the shimmer as the clean blade reflected in the sun, the leader fell from his horse. Bowstrings twanged again, and the rest of those riding atop the other animals fell, never to rise.
Down from the cliffs came the bowmen, with knives in hand to loose the bonds of the slaves. The original man who had killed the leader and the young guard, pulled off his hood, and down his mask, smiled, and approached the slave girl, stepping over the body that still lay close to her feet.
“Brenna, I have found you.” Brandt held his arms out, wanting to embrace his Sweetheart, but she turned away, pulling her red skirts closer to her.
“Do not touch me!”
“Brenna, why?” He stopped in his tracks, his grey eyes questioning her.
“Look at your hands!” She stepped back, her brown eyes clouding with water. “They are covered in blood, Brandt, blood!” Her hand gestured to the young man that lay dead. “You killed him, and you killed my master. Your men have killed the other masters, and the guards without giving them a chance.”
“That was the point, that they should die and that you should be saved. Did you love your master? Did he not beat you? Did he not starve you? Did he not chastise you for no reason?” Anger filled the voice of Brandt.
“He was cruel, but you did not have to kill him. And what about the man that fell at my feet? He was no older than you, Brandt, and he was treated no better than me.”
“Brenna, I – “
“You are a murderer, Brandt.”
Brandt watched in silence as Brenna, with tears streaking down her cheeks, mounted her old master’s horse and rode him away from Brandt, from his men, from the other slaves, and from the scene of where she saw her Brandt kill.
Brandt held back tears as he watched her go, the last thing he saw of her was a cloud of dust, and her long braid.
@savannah_grace2009 @jonas @highscribeofaetherium @freedomwriter76 @esther-c @hybridlore @euodia-vision @anyone-else If I just tagged you and you aren’t interested, you are not mandated to reply."You need French Toast."
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@rae WOW this is super intriguing!!
The biggest thing I noticed for critiquing was that it was kinda confusing with all the characters who was doing what. I got lost on who the soldiers were and who the slaves were in the first few paragraphs and kinda got lost on what everyone was doing whilst reading.
Yeah, I noticed the same thing as Freedom. It did get a little confusing. But overall it’s really good!
Lukas&Livia
#Lalbert
Sef&Chase
#HOTTOLINE
LEFSE FOREVER!!!!!! <333Nice! I like it.
Note this typo:
Furious, with leader of the caravan
I think you meant “the” instead of “with.”
Maybe also establish who the POV character is sooner. I was a bit confused for the first few paragraphs because I couldn’t tell.
The only other thing I would say is that the title could be tweaked. The name doesn’t feel quite right for what happens in the story, though I can’t put into words why not.
Overall, great job!
🏰 Fantasy Writer
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The biggest thing I noticed for critiquing was that it was kinda confusing with all the characters who was doing what. I got lost on who the soldiers were and who the slaves were in the first few paragraphs and kinda got lost on what everyone was doing whilst reading.
Yeah, I was a little worried about that…do you think it would help if I gave Brenna’s master a name? The young soldier must remain unnamed, for my own reasons, but I could give the master a name. I’ll rearrange the paragraphs so it’s easier to understand what’s going on.
Yes, it is a typo, thank you for catching that!
Maybe also establish who the POV character is sooner. I was a bit confused for the first few paragraphs because I couldn’t tell.
I shall note that, maybe adding a paragraph at the beginning would help…
The only other thing I would say is that the title could be tweaked. The name doesn’t feel quite right for what happens in the story, though I can’t put into words why not.
The one for the part or the one for the story? For the story, it shall make sense later, for the part… I was going to do “the words that broke my heart” but the story is not in first person, I have not bonded with first person, and only use it when I’m getting to know the character. “The caravan” is too boring. “Brenna” is lame. “Part 1” is uninteresting.
Any ideas?
Thank you all for replying! I shall repost part 1 and part two sometime soon…hopefully…ya never know
"You need French Toast."
Yeah, I was a little worried about that…do you think it would help if I gave Brenna’s master a name? The young soldier must remain unnamed, for my own reasons, but I could give the master a name. I’ll rearrange the paragraphs so it’s easier to understand what’s going on.
Yeah, I think that would help a lot.
For the title, maybe “Murderer”?
Lukas&Livia
#Lalbert
Sef&Chase
#HOTTOLINE
LEFSE FOREVER!!!!!! <333Not really a storyline, more like just points.
- Brandt saves Brenna, a slave/his Sweetheart
- Brandt’s leaders and fellows
- Brandt’s mission that he fails, falls and breaks his leg. Wounded.
- Elderly man takes him in, caring for him, not afraid to share beliefs.
- Brandt returns to fellows, overcome with guilt, pain, sorrow, depression, anxiety, stressed.
- Brandt given a break from the Cause, tries to go back to normal
- “Brandt rose from his knees, forgiven, but not guiltless.”
Very vague cuz these are just quick jot-downs. Shall go into more detail later 🙂
"You need French Toast."
I like it too! I did notice it was a little confusing like the others said, but it sounds like you’ve got that covered!
"Be careful, for writing books is endless, and much study wears you out." Eccl. 12:12
I really liked it!
Everyone else already mentioned the main thing I noticed, which was everything was a little confusing. There were a lot of run-on sentences that had so much action and I was unable to keep track of who was doing what. 😅 But besides that I thought it was really good and I am very intrigued.
I rolled the log over and underneath was a tiny little stick and I was like, "That log had a child
Nice! I really like it!
I agree with what everyone else has said, especially that there were a lot of run-on sentences. But overall, it’s really great so far!
Signature is limited to 100 characters? That seems awfully unjust. We refuse to be bound by these ru
I really like it so far!! Be sure to tag me when you post new parts.
I don’t think I have anything different to add to what the others have said.
I’m really looking forward to seeing more of the world though, because my NaNo WIP takes place in an Arabian/Persian-ish country, with the whole desert vibe, and that’s what I’m getting from this. I love fantasy/fiction that takes place in a desert environment, I don’t know why. XD So I’m looking forward to reading more!
Write what should not be forgotten. — Isabel Allende
Catching story. You have peaked my interest. 🙂
A critique,
“Suddenly, the form moved, throwing a knife that hit the boy straight through the heart. A cry barely escaped the boy’s lips as he fell, dead, directly at the slave girl’s feet. She stared into his dead eyes and cowered. ”
How do they/you know the knife went straight through his heart? It could have hit a major artery/lung. (I doubt they did an autopsy 😋) It might be more accurate to write that the knife hit (struck, impaled) the boy square in the chest.
Also, even if a person is hit (stabbed/shot) directly in the heart, they don’t, to my knowledge, die instantly. Their brain has to run out of oxygen first (Possible 10-15 seconds), which causes the person to pass out. Then they die.
You will love what you spend time with.
@freedomwriter76 @jonas @savannah_grace2009 @esther-c @highscribeofaetherium @hybridlore @power @euodia-vision
I changed the first part. Is it better now, or worse?
1 ~ Murderer
Brandt angled his shiny blade against the sun, catching the light and flashing his signal across the dusty road below to the other clifftop. A series of flashes answered his, as he sheathed his knife and prepared to go down to the road below.“Don’t fail me.” He looked into the eyes of five men, dressed in sandy-colored clothes like himself.
“Our Brandt has never failed us, we will not fail him.” Everyone nodded and smiled to the words of the one. Brandt smiled back, grabbing the long rope and starting his descent. The hot sun, not shielded by clouds, beat upon him. The dust that floated through the air, seemed to come in with every breath. The view was barren; sand with bits of rock and shriveling shrubs.
Once down to the road, he drew his knife again, laying himself down on the road upon his side. His knife rested, ready to be thrown at minutes notice, and his ear pressed to the ground. He didn’t wait long before there was a pounding of many hooves and feet, rumbling the ground.
A long caravan of horses, camels and people weaved between the looming walls of the two cliffs. Rich colors, dyed with the most costly dyes, clothed a dozen men and women that sat upon the backs of the horses. Goods were piled upon the camels, and slaves led, or marched behind these camels, half-hidden in the dust. Guards stood at the outskirts, scimitars in hand. Warily, their dark eyes scanned the tops of the cliffs, looking for even just the wind playing in a bushes’ branches.
“What is this! Halt!” A powerful voice echoed about them, the sound reflecting off of the cliff walls. The entire caravan stopped in an instant, and a soldier on foot came to the stirrup of Master Heled
“What do you wish, my Lord?” The voice of a young man, barely twenty, asked the stone-faced leader of the company.
“There, in the road, have you no eyes, boy?” The slave that stood at the shoulder of the Heled’s great horse, a slender girl, looked into the eyes of the soldier. His brown eyes filled with fear at the rebuke, and that he would be struck for his question. In the road lay a sandy-clothed form, his face turned away, and his limbs unmoving. “I want you to see what this is about. Is that too hard for your little mind to understand?”
“No, my Lord.” The soldier bowed, placing his scimitar so that the tip of the blade rested flat on his shoulder. Carefully, the boy approached the figure that lay only a couple paces in front of the feet of the slave girl, his tan knuckles white as he nervously held onto the scimitar.
Swiftly, the form moved, throwing a knife that impacted the boys chest, a little to the left. A cry barely escaped the boy’s lips as he fell, directly at the slave girl’s feet. She gazed, as if enchanted, into his dark eyes as the Spark of the Soul left them.
As if the death of this young man was a signal, the twang of bows resounded around them, and the guards of the caravan fell with arrows stuck in their chests. On each of the clifftops, stood five men, arrows flying. The first attacker in front of the caravan readied another knife, as the ten men stopped their barrage, but with arrows still nocked.
“Get off your beast, or you die.” The sun shed light on the man, his upper face shaded, and his head hooded. Light reflected from the shadow of the hood off the man’s eyes.
Furious, Heled dug his heels into the sides of his steed, his scimitar ringing from its sheath. He little cared that he almost ran over the tiny slave girl. His blade sliced the air, barely missing the neck of his foe. With only a quick blur of the thrown knife, and a bright shimmer as the clean blade reflected in the sun, the leader fell from his horse. He would never rise again.
Taking a third knife from its sheath, Brandt readied it to throw.
“You upon the horses, down with you, or you shall share his fate!” they answered his command without question, the men dismounting first before helping to women. Down from the cliffs came the bowmen, with bows upon their backs and daggers or knives upon their belts. Some guarded the rich prisoners from the caravan, while others loosed the bonds of the slaves. Brandt pulled off his hood, smiled, and approached the slave girl, stepping over the body that still lay close to her feet.
“Brenna, I have found you.” Brandt held his arms out, wanting to embrace his Sweetheart, but she turned away, pulling her red skirts closer to her body.
“Don’t touch me!”
“Brenna, why?” He stopped in his tracks, his grey eyes questioning her.
“Look at your hands,” She stepped back, her eyes clouding with water. “They are covered in blood, Brandt, blood!” Her hand gestured to the young man that lay dead. “You killed him, and you killed my master. Your men have killed the guards without giving them a chance, and the other masters will be prisoners, who will be executed later I’m sure.”
“That was the point, that they should die and that you should be saved. Did you love your master? Did he not beat you? Did he not starve you? Did he not chastise you for no reason?” The volume of Brandt’s voice grew, and his hands fisted. “To think what you’ve been through since we last parted, Brenna. Before, it was bearable because we had each other, but it was horrible apart. When I joined the Cause, my only thought has been you, and now you turn away?”
“He was cruel, but you did not have to kill him. And what about the man that fell at my feet? He was no older than you, Brandt, and he was treated no better than me.”
“Brenna, I – “
“You are a murderer, Brandt. You are not the boy I knew who comforted me when I was first was sold. You are not the boy who took some of the beatings for me. You are not the man who was to be killed because he tried to make me free before he himself was free. I knew that Brandt, but this one is different.”
He watched in silence as Brenna, with tears streaking down her cheeks, mounted her old master’s horse and rode him away from him, from his men, from the other slaves, and from the scene of where she saw her Brandt kill.
Brandt held back tears as he watched her go. The last thing he saw of her was a cloud of dust, and her long, dark braid.
"You need French Toast."
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