Gryphos' written ramblings, critique welcome

[Gryphos]

Hello, I am an amateur writer who seeks to refine his ability while also just having a place to put down his ramblings; sometimes short stories get sad and lonely when left in a folder on your desktop. Critique is welcome and encouraged as well as any general feedback. Also, any further writings I decide to put down wold likely also take place in the same fantasy world of my creation.

First up.

Snowhorn's Fire

A roaring fire, warming and bright, but comforting not. If it weren’t for the pitch black night outside the cave, Gildor would have snuffed the fire out and dealt with the cold as best he could, but alas, the night was here to stay. With a groan Gildor leaned forward and placed another log on the fire, before sitting back against the rough stone wall. Needless to say it was not comfortable, despite his best efforts to cushion his back with a bundled up cloak. His armour lay on the ground next to him and he constantly noticed the way the fire’s light reflected off it, and this in turn caused him to constantly remember the story of that armour.

“Aargh!”

He took the cloak from behind him and threw it over the metal suit. Then he could think to do nothing else but bury his face in his hands, letting unwashed golden hair flop over his fingers. He wanted quiet, but the crackling flames would not even allow him that, and even through palms and closed eyes the fire still shone, inescapable. His eyes, being closed to keep out the light of the fire, also let in his imagination, let in images he longed beyond measure to forget, images of flames and claws.

“Excuse me.”

After a pause during which all manner of thoughts rushed through Gildor’s head, he looked up from his damp palms and followed the voice to the cave entrance. Standing there, framed by darkness, was a red cloak, within which Gildor assumed there was a small man. The hood was pulled low over where the figure’s face should have been and the cloak was long enough to cover his feet.

The cloaked man moved forward a step and spoke again. “Is there room around your fire for a tired traveller?”

“Depends on who you are.” answered Gildor, not foolish enough to offer admission without knowledge of identity.

“It is wise of you to be cautious, Gildor Snowhorn.”

“How do you know my name?!” Gildor snapped, pulling the cloak off his armoury and positioning his hand close to the shaft of his spear.

“You are a boy, barely come of age, with golden hair and eyes as blue as sapphire.” the figure said, moving further into the cave, “And the ring on your left hand bears the inscription of the Snowhorns. Are you satisfied?”

Gildor was not satisfied at all. “You have good eyes,” he said, “but who are you?”

The figure kept walking into the cave, all the way to the fire and then around it. He sat down opposite Gildor, presumably looking at him over the flames, which seemed to grow excited at his very presence, wriggling and writhing like demons’ tongues.

“If I told you my name was Xyphos, would you recognise me?”

“No, that doesn’t sound like any name from these parts.”

“What if I told you my name was Ignitious?”

This made Gildor chuckle then stop once he realised it was the first time he had laughed in months. He shook this thought from his mind and raised his eyebrow at ‘Ignitious’.

“Ignitious?” he said through his mocking smile, “God of flame, lord of ember.”

“Master of ash. So you’re familiar with that name of mine.”

“You think you’re a god?”

“Of course not, but alas, that’s what you people insist on calling me.”

There was something about this strange person. The more Gildor listened to his voice the less he wanted to spear him through the heart. He couldn’t be dangerous, after all, just a lunatic with an elaborate wardrobe and a voice that sounded… ancient. Gildor found himself smiling at this person’s lunacy and decided to humour him for the time being. Anything to distract him from the fire.

“So you’re not a god because Ignitious isn’t the god of fire. Then what is Ignitious? What are you?”

“I am old.” he said simply, not moving the slightest. And now Gildor noticed that he didn't ever seem to move; he didn’t breath and even the wind had no effect on his cloth. “But I would rather talk about you.”

“Why?”

“Again, let me turn this around and ask you ‘why’. Why do you light a fire when you fear it so?”

Gildor sat in silence and Ignitious matched his quietness. This wasn’t humouring a madman anymore, this was something more sinister. How could this person know that? How could he possibly understand Gildor’s fear?

Gildor leaned forward and tried to look as menacing as possible, saying slowly, enunciating every word separately, “Who... Are... You?”

“I am Xyphos, but you know me as Ignitious.”

“Prove it, prove you are the god of flame.”

Before he’d even finished his sentence the challenge had been taken. The fire between the two of them erupted into the form of many writhing serpents, snapping their jaws and twisting around each other. Now the pile of kindling couldn’t even contain them, as the snakes slithered out of the twigs and around the cave, circling both Gildor and Ignitious. Gildor instinctively took his sword in hand and slashed at the head of one of the fire snakes, but the steel blade passed straight through the demon.

“What is this?!”

“My proof, what you asked for.”

With a leer, almost mockingly, the snake ran its head against the sword tip, before wrapping itself around the cold steel, reddening it with heat.

Ignitious’ voice sounded again, “Is my proof sufficient? Do you accept I am your ‘god of flame’?”

“Yes!” Gildor yelled desperately, trying to shake the snake from his sword to no avail, “So stop it now!”

But the god of flame did not stop, he sat in silence for a little bit more to play another trick. Then Gildor heard a sound that made him forget about the snake around his sword. From the depths of the fire came the sound of a blood-curdling screech, which turned into a roar. Gildor dropped the sword and covered his ears. He tried to close his eyes shut, but not before he caught a last glimpse of great leathery wings sprouting from the fire.

“Please stop it.”

[BonBocchan]

Well, you said that critiques are welcomed, so I hope I haven't gone overboard or anything like that.

After all the specific stuff, I've written just some general observations.

Specific Stuff

A roaring fire, warming and bright, but comforting not.

This sounds either like you're trying to be unnecessarily flowery, or just messed up your wording. It would sound more natural just to say, '[...]but it was not comfortable.' or even something a bit more interesting like, '[...]but the flickering glow of the flames did not help to make it comfortable.'

His armour lay on the ground next to him and he constantly noticed the way the fire’s light reflected off it, and this in turn caused him to constantly remember the story of that armour.

This seems like a pretty generic way to build up some suspense, but that's not a problem, although the lack of emotion in what I'm assuming should be a moment to pique the reader's interest (you've implied that you did mention 'the story of that armour' specifically because of the events that surround it and the emotional impact it had on your character) should be worked on a bit

If this is supposed to be a moment specifically used for bringing out more of the story and getting the reader to know more about the character, maybe try to make it a bit more grabbing.

After a pause during which all manner of thoughts rushed through Gildor’s head,

Is he shocked and surprised that someone has just turned up at the entrance to the cave? What are some of the thoughts running through his head like? Perhaps try to incorporate some things like this so that we get more of a feel for what Gildor's emotional state is. Being able to connect with a character is a really good way to make him/her more than just some words on paper.

“Depends on who you are.” Answered Gildor,

Just a grammar mistake; you need a capital if the speech ends in a period.

“You are a boy, barely come of age, with golden hair and eyes as blue as sapphire.” The figure said, moving further into the cave, “And the ring on your left hand bears the inscription of the Snowhorns. Are you satisfied?”

Gildor was not satisfied at all.

The first thing I could say is about character, but I'll talk about that later. So, he wasn't satisfied with the figure's response? Instead of only telling the reader so, try to show it as well. Did his eyes narrow in distrust? Did his body shift closer to his weapon, ready to defend himself if necessary? What was it that indicated and showed that he wasn't satisfied, other than the fact that you just told the reader that that was the case?

Adding just a bit of detail to your writing can really make it interesting, and bring it to life. Of course, you don't want over the top and flowery all the time, otherwise you'll end up with purple prose.

There was something about this strange person. The more Gildor listened to his voice the less he wanted to spear him through the heart. He couldn’t be dangerous, after all, just a lunatic with an elaborate wardrobe and a voice that sounded… ancient. Gildor found himself smiling at this person’s lunacy and decided to humour him for the time being. Anything to distract him from the fire.

“I am old.” He said simply, not moving the slightest. And now Gildor noticed that he didn't ever seem to move; he didn’t breath and even the wind had no effect on his cloth[...]

These two are good examples to use for the whole 'show, don't tell' idea. There's nothing actually wrong or bad about them, but it's written with a rather matter-of-fact tone, and without any real detail to connect the reader to the characters or the story. The concept of 'showing' instead of 'telling' can be annoying to get at first (I mean, you're writing a story, so you're technically always 'telling'), but the best way I've found to understand it simply, is to just remember that to tell the story effectively you need to write so as to build the images and scenes in the reader's head.

Of course, with Visual Novels you don't really need to so much, what with it being told with pictures as well as text.

“[...]Why do you light a fire when you fear it so?”

There's been no real indication in your writing before this point of Gildor 'fearing' fire. You've said that he hasn't wanted to think about it, but not that he's afraid of it.

This wasn’t humouring a madman anymore, this was something more sinister. How could this person know that? How could he possibly understand Gildor’s fear?

You're trying to use Gildor's and Ignitius's conversation to build tension, yeah? To do that effectively, you should try to do more than just give them suspenseful dialogue; try to write atmospherically. Use words and descriptions, and techniques that lend themselves to the sort of feeling you want to give the writing. Word choice and technique can be used very well to create the build the sort of emotion you want in your writing.

Before he’d even finished his sentence the challenge had been taken. The fire between the two of them erupted into the form of many writhing serpents, snapping their jaws and twisting around each other. Now the pile of kindling couldn’t even contain them, as the snakes slithered out of the twigs and around the cave, circling both Gildor and Ignitious. Gildor instinctively took his sword in hand and slashed at the head of one of the fire snakes, but the steel blade passed straight through the demon.

Gildor's afraid of flames, but what is there in this part to indicate that? Perhaps try to convey his reaction to such a sudden (probably horrible--for him) turn of events. Just another way to make your characters more real.

Also, the bit in red ... earlier you mentioned a spear, and now it's a sword? Does he carry multiple weapons?

“Please stop it.”

The last line and piece of speech seems at odds with what Gildor is doing. He's covering his ears, trying to block out what must have been a traumatic event, but he simply says, 'please stop it', without any emphasis or inflection, or the fervour that he had when he was yelling at Ignitius to stop before. It's just not as intense as one would expect from that sort of situation.

General Observations

I like this, it's interesting and I can see that there is some world building behind it (even though not much was shown, it was still there), since you showed a bit of what religion/faith is like, combat as well (unless Gildor is just an exception to the rule with his armour and spear/sword), and you've alluded to at least one dragon. You've got enough information so that the reader isn't going to be lost and confused about the world he's in, but it's also not so much that the reader will be totally swamped in information to try and remember.

Your characterisation is pretty good, and Gildor does seem interesting. Personally, I think the whole golden hair and sapphire blue eyes is like flogging a dead horse when it comes to character design. Of course, there's nothing wrong with a blonde-hair, blue-eye character, but it tends to hold a sort of connotation with it in regards to main characters, especially in a fantasy setting. Besides that he seems alright, and it's good that you do give him a fear (even though it's not shown throughout the story); with the allusions to what I assume is a dragon or something similar, I really am curious to know what happened to him.

The one complaint that I have (which I almost always have), is the lack of description. It isn't lacking so badly that the writing suffers, but I think if you put in a bit more detail and effort to make you characters and your scenes more real, it could be a really well written, effective story.

Anyway, that's about it. There weren't really any mistakes that I saw on my first read through it other than the fact that you're not putting capitals after the speech when it ends in a full-stop/period, but other than that your grammar and spelling are really quite good (though I may have missed things).

I hope what I've said can help you in your writing somewhat, and that I haven't just waffled on and said completely irrelevant things.

Good luck in your writing

[Gryphos]

Thank you so much, this criticism is very much appreciated. And the whole idea of 'showing and not telling' is something I'll definitely try and work on. The grammar mistakes are just anomalies, usually I remember about the capitals after speech, but there's always the occasional lapse.

Also, I'm glad you like the setting and alluded backstory.

[BonBocchan]

Thank you so much, this criticism is very much appreciated. And the whole idea of 'showing and not telling' is something I'll definitely try and work on. The grammar mistakes are just anomalies, usually I remember about the capitals after speech, but there's always the occasional lapse.

Also, I'm glad you like the setting and alluded backstory.

You're welcome! I really do like the story, and I hope you share more of Gildor and his world, because I'd really like to read more

[Gryphos]

Another delving into 'The Domain Under Gryphos'.

Again, critique is welcome and encouraged, as well as general feedback and comments.

The Dwarrow Offering

Amongst the sprawling and endless mountains was a single one no taller than the rest. In fact it was shorter, but memorable in that its peak curved north and overhung a sheer cliff, giving the entire crooked mountain the appearance of a drake’s spinal scale or the dorsal fin of a shark. Zigzagging up the slope of it was a winding mountain path, illuminated by torches and decorated by vibrantly coloured banners and flags that flapped violently about in the mountain wind.

Also blowing in the wind was a scarf, a brown scarf made of silk and patterned with exotic markings. And attached to the scarf was a man with scruffy, greying brown hair and a beard months in the making. The rest of himself was beneath a heavy travelling cloak which also blew in the wind. He was of average height, but one wouldn’t know it judging by his company. For this man was not alone on that mountain; around him, walking up the same winding path, were many people, small and squat people in robes of grey, adorned with gold and silver. As they walked, a few of them sang, while those at the front dragged behind them caskets full of precious items. Chains of gold, decorated with gems, as well as bottles full of wine and pots of strange leaves.

It was these caskets that the man eyed curiously from behind, examining what contents he could at his distance and discerning their importance. Of course, Brice Florian knew why these items were being brought up the mountain and that was why he was there, too. For as long as he was aware of it, Brice was fascinated by this ritual of the Dwarrow and what its implications were, and so he was here at last, taking part to see with his own eyes what transpires at the top of the crooked mountain.

“Florian Brice, was it?”

A rather startled Brice looked to his right and then his left and saw nothing. Then he looked to his right and down and saw the speaker, a dwarrow with white hair and a platted beard. The white-haired dwarrow looked up at Brice expectantly, waiting on his answer without demanding it.

“Yes, that’s me.” Brice said, “And you would be?”

“Yerfieg Dulii Gidig, just ‘Gidig’ to you.”

“My pleasure.”

Though admittedly not having talked to many dwarrow in his time, when he had, Brice had found the experience rather awkward, not least because of having to look down at them all the time, and this was no exception. After pleasantries were exchanged, there was a silence between the two, one only filled by the chants of those around them and the flags in the wind.

The silence was eventually broken by Gidig. “Do you mind me asking why you’re here, on this year’s ascent?” He said, before adding, “This is probably one of the first times we’ve been joined by a foreigner, let alone a human.”

Brice chuckled and rested his hand on the dwarrow’s shoulder, realising only once he had that it might be seen as inappropriate, and hoping above all hope that it wasn’t.

“I’ve studied Dwarrow religious practices for years, trying to understand your people more.” Brice explained, picking an opportune moment to remove his hand from the possibly high ranking priest’s shoulder, “I learned that this ‘Offering’ is a key part of Dwarrow culture and decided to see it for myself. In all truth, I should be thanking you for allowing me to join you.”

“I do insist, it’s our pleasure. The Dwarrow would like nothing more than for other peoples to understand our heritage.”

The conversation came to a halt as neither one could think of how to continue it on the same subject. By nature the Dwarrow were a humble race, respectful of outsiders to an extreme degree. And suddenly it dawned on Brice, as the silence fell upon them both, that he was rather like a dwarrow in that respect. His eye caught a glimpse yet again of the caskets out in front and his eyes narrowed in consideration, his tongue rubbing his teeth they way it did when he was in a pensive state.

“I’m assuming those are the offerings.” He stated as nonchalantly as he could, waving his hand casually in the direction of the gifts.

Gidig followed Brice’s gaze to the caskets and nodded. “Part of the offering, yes. The Grithalc ask for many things and we deliver them all to the top of the crooked mountain, the birthplace of the Dwarrow.”

Brice had studied enough to know what Gidig meant by all that. And he knew that there was even a certain degree of truth to the first part. He remembered seeing ‘grithalc’ or griffins in the skies over the mountains, always so far away. Even now, as Brice looked around him at the mountains spreading out in every direction, he half expected, more than half hoped to see one.

“Have you ever seen a grithalc?” Gidig asked, likely noticing the wistful expression on Brice’s face as he looked at the horizon.

“Yes, a few times. I’d heard legends of them throughout my life,” Brice responded as he glanced at a banner nearby, colored in black and bearing the simplistic image of a rearing griffin, “but seeing one was a different thing altogether.”

“Where did you see one?”

Brice scratched his bristly chin for a moment as he tried to recall the memory. To himself he wondered how he could even struggle to remember such a thing, the very thing that set him off on his search for the truth. Then, with a snap of his fingers, he remembered.

“Ah, I remember. I was east of Sceldicci, on the road north, back to Ryondelle. I looked east at the rising sun and saw a griffin silhouetted by its light. I knew immediately what it was, but by the time I told those with me, it had gone.”

Brice indulged himself in this memory for a moment, recalling every detail of what he saw. The griffin’s wings spread wide against the dim sun, the graceful way it soared through the sky. And as he indulged in this memory he smiled quietly to himself. Gidig didn’t say anything as there was nothing to say, only grinning himself as he looked further up the steep winding path.

“We’re almost at the peak.” He said excitedly.

Brice was snapped out of his memory and brought the subject back to something he wanted to discuss earlier. “Why do the griffin’s want jewelry, wine and dried leaf?” He asked, unable to understand what such a being could want with such items. Surely griffins would find no use for wine, spending all their time nested in the mountains. Although, is that what the griffins do? Brice had always just assumed so, but as he thought, he realised that no one really knew anything about griffins and how they lived. No one except the Dwarrow.

“Our legends tell us the Grithalc of ancient times would revel in the adoration of the lesser races. They would allow themselves to be decorated with great gold necklaces and have their ears and wings pierced with gems.”

This Brice had not learned in his study. His study had only taught him that the griffins were worshipped, but to imagine that they would physically come into contact with the lesser races. He felt the urge to bring out his paper and quill and take note, but the cold outside the cloak steered him away from that. All he could do was try with all his will to remember what he heard and saw atop this mountain.

He queried further, “And the wine and leaves?”

“The Grithalc would also revel in pleasures of the flesh. In the ancient halls of my people the Grithalc would host great feasts where they would intoxicate themselves on wine and become lost in the smoke of the burning leaves.”

This is very different to what Brice had originally thought, very different indeed. To think that the griffins, immortal beings of divinity, would stumble over banquet halls in a drunken state, becoming as madmen from the fumes. The mental image of such a thing even made him laugh audibly, something in which he was not joined by Gidig.

“Pleasures of the flesh, eh?”

It wasn’t long before the peak was reached and Brice was forced into a silence, not daring say a word that could interrupt the proceedings. He simply stood at the side of the path and focussed his eyes like a hawk on every detail that was happening. Darting from one detail to the next, his hawk-like eyes brought to his attention the little pendants in the hands of the dwarrow who walked up the path, singing as they went. Some carried lanterns from which a smoke emanated, while others held torches above their heads. All were singing, though, singing in a language Brice could not discern, only try and decipher. Throughout the song one thing was repeated, a word- no… a name. The inflection they gave to the word made Brice sure it was a name. ‘Brakku’, they said again and again. Why? What is Brakku? Or rather, who is Brakku? Brice’s eyebrows rolled across his brow as his tongue found itself grinding against his canines. In an instant his mind, which he himself held in high regard, came into effect and the connection was made.

“Of course…”

Brakku was coming.

Then the wind itself seemed to change. It stopped. All there was now was the dwarrow chanting in unison, raising their arms high into the air. Part of Brice felt as though he should join them in this. He never was one for the religious ceremonies of his homeland, praising names like ‘Deio’ and ‘Ignitious’. These were fake gods as far as Brice was now concerned; griffins were real, things he’d seen with his own eyes. Whether they were gods was beside the point. Brice was only an academic, after all, and there was so much more yet to see on this quiet peak.

The lack of wind at this height was eerie, uncomfortable even, the very definition of the calm before the storm. What the storm would be, Brice could only guess at, but he could guess very well what it would be. And he was excited by this prediction, and elated when he heard the sound which drowned out all the Dwarrow chants. It wasn’t the wind, but a slow and steady beating of wings, followed by a squawk.