I've always wanted to write a book. An explosive pedal-to-the-wood fantasy medieval action thriller. But I suck at sustained writing, and lose interest, inspiration and direction after an hour and never get around to it.
This was just an prologue for the book , just a bit of scene setting. But I lost direction and interest pretty soon. Let me know what you think of it.
I'd love any sort of criticism/commentary.
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The decrepit chunk of bread that fell into his hands looked anything but appetising. On first glimpse, it didn't look anything like bread. On the contrary, it reminded him of a dozen different and distinctly un-bread-like things, each one of them less appetising than the previous. Examining the chunk closer did not help dispel these images, rather added fuel to his now severely mouldy imagination. But Sargent Genko, Third Officer of the Night-Watch , pushed these rapidly decaying thoughts from his mind as he tore a grisly chunk of the hard brown loaf into his mouth. He had other things to worry about.
He adjusted his position, so that he was now seated upright with his back to the tree, on one of the lower, thicker branches. Nope, there was no way he could be sitting in a tree wondering about the quality of Greyherme's breads. There simply wasn't any time. The matter on his mind right now was of far paramount importance. And with sudden and acute embarrassment, Sargent Genko realized he had forgotten what he was supposed to be thinking about. It was right there , but he couldn't put his finger on it. The bread had distracted his otherwise brilliant mind with its discoloured sponginess.
"The forest trail, boss", said Finnelus,"You had that expression on your face."
Ah, yes the forest trail. The old half mile shortcut to Sheff's Landing, on the east side of the stream. It cut right through the forest, making bends to avoid the thicker vegetation, and was the quickest way to the river (or to eastern villages for that matter) without eliciting suspicion . Of late it has fallen out of urban use, with the ever present threat of opportunistic bog-monsters added to the newer threat of opportunistic thieves. Not that it wasn't of any use to anyone. Bog-monsters or not, thieves these days were as opportunistic as thieves can get.
The forest trail was now a channel for thievery, burglary, smuggling, and other generally outlawed haberdashery. If the city of Greyherme was a seething cauldron of toxic criminal activity, the forest trail was the drain-pipe.
For years the Night-Watch have spent learning the part of the forest the trail encompassed, learning it like the back of their palms, familiarizing themselves with every eave under every branch on every tree . Their goal : to catch suspicious night-time individual(s) between a rock and a hard place so to speak. Cutting off the escape route completely would only discourage the smugglers and thieves from using the trail. But the Night-Watch instead made their home the forest. Acclimatizing themselves to the heights, flying with rapid speed across the treeline , they became phantoms of the forest pouncing on would-be evil-doers from the sky. Sometimes they stay hidden in trees for entire nights, waiting to aerially surprise shady citizens who were out for a night of shadily smuggling shady goods. Today was one of those nights. The crescent in the night sky provided enough light for our brave tree-borne heroes to calmly assess any threat before throwing themselves squarely on it, swords drawn.
Finnelus smirked. "I bet your thinking about jumping them."
Sarge Genko leaned forward with the air of one who has very recently struck upon an an absolutely nefarious and clever idea and can't wait to tell everyone, and said, suddenly impatient," Yes, yes, but this just might work!"
Finnelus grinned this time. "We're in 15-foot high trees this time boss, your going to have to think something up that's actually legit. We've never even been in this forest before."
"Ropes man, Ropes! We tie ourselves to the branches and jump down! Double-corded twelve feet cuts for a man! We time it right , our suspicious suspects find themselves surrounded by ten of the finest air-borne swords in Greyherme!"
"Hear, Hear!", laughed Colnick, a few levels of branches below them.
Finnelus said," And if they decide to keep going?", the whites of his teeth glowing in the faint moonlight.
"Angry words man! Angry words! We hurl them for Greyherme!"
A few more chuckles joined in.
Finnelus gave the boss a look. "What's really on your mind boss?", he asked.
"Well,remember that reporter for the Inquistioner I told you about? She's coming over tomorrow, when shift ends , to get a 'real look' at the life of an Officer of the Night-Watch. And she still thinks that we literally pounce on the twerps when we see them and pin them to to the ground. The city's got this idea that were some sort of a band of renegade jungle-dwelling vigilante assassins. Where they got that idea is beyond me. This is only the third time I've been in this cursed forest myself, and …. well Finny, I don't have the heart to tell her otherwise."
"Is the Sarge, maybe...?", said Finnelus, leaving the question hanging in the air ,to Genko's annoyance.
"She's half my age ,boy!", said the Sarge, while he absent-mindedly put another piece of the bread into his mouth and grimaced. "I'd have told her we ain't monkeying-bloody-raccoons a long time ago, if only she'd let me edge a word in. That girl just can't control her yap. And now she's coming over tomorrow expecting us to show her the finer points of falling off a tree."
In the distance, an owl hooted somewhat mounfully.
Genko heard it. “Squad, the owl has hooted”, he said sagely.
Finnelus was only a little less lethargic, “Buckle up, buckle up. Blades out gentlemen, we want to make a point or few tonight. Thieves of Greyherme have gone by unpunished for years . The Queen , in an effort to rectify this glaring miss-allocation of pain and hurt, have dispatched us to put the scare back in the scum.”
All around him, shaped in the darkness climbed down gingerly from their arboreal perches. Sounds of rasping leather, clinking mail, and stretching backbones were evident.
Genko was now crouched under the tree, listening intently.
In the distance, an owl hooted, and the tone was clearly mournful.
“Postitions, positions!”, said Genko.
In the distance he could make out a pinpoint light, blinking everytime it passed a tree. The light would be here momentarily.
Unbelievable, thought Genko, our first real effort in the crime-fighting business and looks like we've struck on something shiny already...
It couldn't have been more plain. A horse-drawn cart carrying a few large crates. They weren't even bothering to disguise the dope these days.
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