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[Tawa]

So, a few weeks ago, I was messing around with DF, and I doodled a little stick dude on some handy nearby scrap paper. I then gave him a little sword and sketched a little cloak on him, and wrote "Ronnoc" above him. That gave me the idea for a fantasy novel. It was kind of a sketchy idea at first, but later I came up with some magic and an overarching plot.

The idea of the thing is that long ago, there was a great empire, the Namor Empire. This empire had a more stereotypical fantasy setting: dorfs, elves, magic throwing hammers and incredibly sharp swords galore. Then, a massive dragon called "Gniknogard" arrived with his seven dragon sons, each one breathing a different deadly kind of material like fire or ice or pestilent gasses. They destroyed the kingdom and as a last ditch effort a wizard went along and locked them all up in mountains, to rot forever and never see the daylight again. Namor was still in ruin, and all the dorfs and elves died off, their last remnants the occasional magic sword or a beardy miner.

Thousands of years later, there is a place called Tarochiwa Village, nestled in a bunch of hills near a mountain next to a great plain. One day, some "pseudo-dwarves", a bunch of beardy miners, show up and start mining the mountain. A fell disease befalls the village, and one hero, a peasant called Ronnoc, sets off to find the fabled wizard Nhoj to seek his help. He finds out a monster lives in the mountain and goes off to kill him, etc., etc....

The magic system is a little different from most. Wizards are individuals with a special grasp on reality that allows them to tear apart and warp space to their pleasing. When they tear apart space with their bare hands, it creates a sort of wormhole to the place they're concentrating on, so for example, if you want water, tear open a wormhole into a lake. It doesn't work as teleporting, however, because using it would rip your guts apart due to the fragile nature of organic material. Also, the more advanced wizards can twist it around and the matter in it without ripping it. Kind of like how any 6-year-old can rip apart paper, but it takes a skilled 6-year-old to make origami out of paper.

So, what do you think? The future novels would tell of Ronnoc's other adventures in preventing a second apocalypse brought about by shady characters like necromancers.

[Caz]

Write it.

[Tawa]

Alright, I made a little map...

Pseudodorfs are what's left of the dwarven lineage: scraggly-bearded, balding people with an affinity for mining.
Partelves are what's left of the elvenkind, slightly short people with light hair and a talent for acrobatics and archery.
Nhoj is a wizard who Ronnoc seeks out when his village becomes ill.

I also wrote a little chapter-ish thing:

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Ronnoc finally stumbled through the trees, to what he thought was the other side of the forest; however, it was not. He had stumbled across a house in the forest; small, with strange purple siding and a door that was semitransparent. "This must be it," Ronnoc breathed to himself. "The home of Nhoj."  Ronnoc went to open the door, and, being clumsy as he was, walked into it, and then right through it.

The interior was unusual, to say the least; there was a strange, exotic smell to the home, like spicy foreign tea Ronnoc had once had. Little charms dangled from everywhere, little tinkly things made of metals or bone. There were tables throughout the room, cluttered with papers and boxes. A large shelf on one wall had a variety of trinkets and knick-knacks: a few stone and wood sculptures of gnomes or elephants; a statue of a fat brass man holding a ball that crackled as if with lightning; several bottles of beer or wine; multiple tomes with names like "The Black Art of Programancy" or "The Great Hunt for the Eye of the Fires of the Dragon Crossroads"; and a multitude of handmade bone sculptures of little dragons or warriors.

As Ronnoc made his way to the back of the hut, staring at all the little exotic items, he noticed a man sitting at a desk, face buried in a dusty tome titled "A Memory of the Chaos-Lord of the Rising Shadow". The man appeared to be of approximately middle age, with a stubbly beard and scratchy moustache. He used a simple leather band to keep his deep brown hair from his dark eyes. He wore a robe, covered in imagery of swirling serpents and howling wolves. He looked up from his book as Ronnoc approached. "Ah," said the man, "I am Nhoj, although I could tell from the look in your eyes. Why have you come to seek my counsel?"

Ronnoc began explaining his predicament. "I am Ronnoc. I live in Tarochiwa Village, a day and a half to the south, or at least on my horse. A few weeks ago, some beardy fellows arrived, stumbling into town from the south. "We seek Mt. Do'arf," said one to me. My friend Nagol and I gave them directions to the mountain, and they set on their way."

"About a week later, a fellow in town came down with a hacking cough. No matter what we did, his condition worsened and he died at the end of the day, just after sunset. A few more people came down, and now nearly the whole town is ill. Many feel that the beardy fellows had something to do with this, but I want to save the town and stop the kindhearted miners from being persecuted. Can you help me?"

Nhoj looked at him for a moment, worried, and spoke. "Oh dear me. Give me a moment, I must go fetch a book." Nhoj went through a veil-like door Ronnoc hadn't noticed, and quickly returned with an even thicker book, titled with seemingly nonsensical gibberish.

Nhoj pulled open the book and began flipping through, murmuring more nonsensical gibberish. "Aha. Yes, Ronnoc, I feel that this is what has been troubling your village." Nhoj turned the book around and showed Ronnoc an image of a horrifying fat beast, like a lizard mixed with a dog. It was fat, covered in scales, and had spines all the way from its forehead down its back to a few points on the end of his tail.

As Ronnoc stared in horror, Nhoj spoke. "This," he said,"is the Drazilsag. It is a fell monster, one of Gniknogard's seven heirs, that was supposedly sealed in 'Mt. Frawd' by the legendary sealing-wizard. It spewed a cloud of air so putrid and vile that its inhalers came down with a wasting sickness resulting in death within a week. Supposedly, the only cure was its death, but that is unproven, as it has never died."

Ronnoc listened intently, and Nhoj continued. "The symptoms you describe fit the beast's illness perfectly. It is likely that 'Mt. Frawd' is what the Namorians called what is known as Mt. Do'arf today. The 'beardy folk' you describe are likely pseudodwarves, the only people remaining with dwarf blood in their lineage. They have likely tunneled deep enough that Drazilsag's gas escaped and threatened the area."

Ronnoc listened to Nhoj finish his speak, and responded. "Can you kill him from here with your magic?"

Nhoj replied, "No, for the horrific Gniknograd Clan repels all our magics, and thus he is impenetrable from here. I am too frail and old to fight him myself."

Ronnoc asked, "Should I fetch warriors from a nearby kingdom?"

Nhoj stated, "No. That will take too long. You must slay Drazilsag."

What do you think? Questions, comments, constructive criticism, offers of money are appreciated.

[My Name is Immaterial]

This better be illustrated.

[LeoLeonardoIII]

Are there Warez-wolfs in the Waresoft Forest?

[Korbac]

This is pretty baller, even when you realise everything vaguely fantasy - sounding is something mundane written backwards.

[Tawa]

This is pretty baller, even when you realise everything vaguely fantasy - sounding is something mundane written backwards.

Thanks. I occasionally entertain myself by spelling a word backwards and seeing how it sounds. "Roman" and "Dragonking", I found, made interestingly fantasy-ish sounds.

Are there Warez-wolfs in the Waresoft Forest?

Actually, it's a pun on "software"; Nhoj is based on a guy I know who enjoys programming things and has a shelf of little knick-knacks like the ones on "Nhoj's" shelf. Actually, his name, Ronnoc's name, and "Nagol" (the friend Ronnoc mentions in the preview) are mundane names of people I know backwards, too.

While a lot of the basic inspiration behind this comes from fantasy writers like Tolkien or Jordan (as in Robert), I actually got the idea to really do it after seeing a little documentary about the Saxon problem in England in the Middle Ages.

The map isn't really to scale that much, i.e. the houses aren't that big in comparison to the forest or ocean. That map actually went through a few dev stages; at first, there was an old temple from Namor in the southeast, the forest, mountain, and village were all in a line in the north, and the Olde Oak Inn was just an old tree in the middle of nowhere. There was also a mysterious village woven of grass hidden in really tall grass, but that idea was scrapped for being unnecessary and random fluff that doesn't fit with the rest of the fluff.

I'll probably come up with some ideas, post another chapter-type thing tomorrow.

[Korbac]

What I really like is your ability to invoke a 'classic' fantasy feel without being super cliche.

[Loam]

the Saxon problem in England in the Middle Ages

Saxon "problem"? You mean "French invasion," surely.

I'm still sore over that one.

[Valtam]

Keep on working, looks promising by now.

Personally, I love how it isn't self-serious about it's name and settings, having something like "pseudodwarves" instead of an overly complicated and randomly aposthrophed name (although you got Mt. Do'arf, but I'm letting it slip through). The candid story behind the Waresoft name also caught my attention.

Don't worry about the map's looks. Look at the one designed by Tolkien for The Hobbit, inside almost every copy of the book: it doesn't adhere to scale and has just a few landmarks. Without going too far, ancient and medieval maps are awesome efforts for people that didn't have access to airplanes and satellital mapmaking tools, but they were skewed according to what they were able to see, and whatever was relevant for them at the time.

Also, avoid writer's block at any cost. If you think you're stuck somewhere and your characters have nothing to do, either write some fillers about their everyday life, or put them inside a weird, implausible scenario and see how they would react. Notice that it's not the same as forcing them to do whatever you wish, but to write their reactions and behavior in-character. You don't have to preserve or even show that crazy chapter to anybody, but it might allow you to see the inner working of your characters.

I think it was Paul Valéry who once said that reading a novel is like travelling inside a cross-country train: there are several stops at interesting cities full of colorful people, but to get there you have to get through a lot of boring landscapes. While you're on the road, you will be able to decide if what you want to write is a novella, a full-fledged novel or even a doorstopper epic.

Have fun!

[Tawa]

What I really like is your ability to invoke a 'classic' fantasy feel without being super cliche.

Thanks. I wanted to write something that is engaging and mysterious while still keeping the reader "in on the action", which I find is best done by not giving the fantasy world at face value in an introduction.

the Saxon problem in England in the Middle Ages

Saxon "problem"? You mean "French invasion," surely.

I'm still sore over that one.

That ties some conflicting sources together, I started watching partway in and accidentally left early.

Keep on working, looks promising by now.

Personally, I love how it isn't self-serious about it's name and settings, having something like "pseudodwarves" instead of an overly complicated and randomly aposthrophed name (although you got Mt. Do'arf, but I'm letting it slip through). The candid story behind the Waresoft name also caught my attention.

Don't worry about the map's looks. Look at the one designed by Tolkien for The Hobbit, inside almost every copy of the book: it doesn't adhere to scale and has just a few landmarks. Without going too far, ancient and medieval maps are awesome efforts for people that didn't have access to airplanes and satellital mapmaking tools, but they were skewed according to what they were able to see, and whatever was relevant for them at the time.

Also, avoid writer's block at any cost. If you think you're stuck somewhere and your characters have nothing to do, either write some fillers about their everyday life, or put them inside a weird, implausible scenario and see how they would react. Notice that it's not the same as forcing them to do whatever you wish, but to write their reactions and behavior in-character. You don't have to preserve or even show that crazy chapter to anybody, but it might allow you to see the inner working of your characters.

I think it was Paul Valéry who once said that reading a novel is like travelling inside a cross-country train: there are several stops at interesting cities full of colorful people, but to get there you have to get through a lot of boring landscapes. While you're on the road, you will be able to decide if what you want to write is a novella, a full-fledged novel or even a doorstopper epic.

Have fun!

Thank you for the advice/encouragement combo. Also, expect to see a few other things with the occasional apostrophe or hyphen-- implying a little break in a name while keeping it a name, like "al'Thor", is the kind of thing I expect to do once in a while, while avoiding "Hyx-gynk'trok-oth", which is probably plagiarizing Klingon of Star Trek fame. (No, I have never actually watched that, I found a link in a wiki one time and clicked it 'cause I was bored.)



On another note, I'm working on tying a little "overarching plotline" together before I really get going on the novel; I want to make 7 or 8 books, but I don't want the second to be overshadowed by the first too much. I've noticed the best way to do that is to have the main character have an unfinished goal or take a vow to do something "next time", implying there will be a "next time".

[Tawa]

Took me a while, but I wrote a first draft of the first chapter.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Once upon a time, there was a gr--

No, scratch that. Too cliche.

Ahem.

Ronnoc approached the meeting hall. Supposedly, a fellow named Efil Chout, a minstrel, had arrived here in little old Tarochiwa Village. He must be a daring fellow to come this far out of the way; the nearest town was nearly a week away. Ronnoc eagerly approached the wooden hall, its high peaked stone roof sharply outlined against the night sky.

Ronnoc stepped inside the meeting hall, and found the minstrel, with his silly yellow-and-purple jester's outfit on, singing a song. An old favorite of Ronnoc's, it told the story of how the ancient kingdom of Namor fell.

"Once upon a time
'Twas a marvelous old land
Kings and queens, fair of face,
Ruled with gentle hand
Riches for all and, of course, poverty for none
Of all the kingdoms in the world, this was number one
Then one day a great big beast, both cruel and vile
Arrived and declared himself king for a while
Many rose up, and they all fell down
Slain by the dragon and
His seven evil sons
None could best them, for they were all too gerat in power
A wizard was the one last hope
'lest the world finally tumble to the ground
The wizard took his great skill
And with it sealed away
All, all eight demon beasts
In mountains, even today
They still sit, imprisoned in
A great large stony jail
In which the wizard once decreed where they would rot away!"

The crowd cheered, Ronnoc among them. Of course, no one thought it was true, the story. It was too far-fetched. They had never seen anything that would imply it had ever really happened. All odds were against the old story's truthfulness, right?

Ronnoc stayed in the meeting hall for another few songs and two or three ales. After a while he noticed that almost all the minstrel's songs had the same rythym, rising and falling like a tiny ship in rough seas. Bored of the same old ale and same old music, he spoke to his friend Nagol next to him.

"Nagol, I tire of the music. Shall we head home?" asked Ronnoc of Nagol.

"Yes, it has become rather boring. It's been going on for nearly three hours now. Let's go," responded Nagol.

Ronnoc and Nagol stepped out of the hall and began making their way down the south road to their homes. It was nigh midnight, and the night seemed peaceful. The sky was clear and the moon could be seen well. as opposed to the tendency to happen when nights are cloudy and you have a lantern out, creating the effect of shadows jumping out at you.

Eventually, the thought that had crossed Ronnoc's mind earlier, about the truthfulness of the song about dragons, started to seemingly nag at Ronnoc. Could it really be true? The far-fetched tale about dragons and wizards? He decided to ask Nagol about his thoughts.

"Say, Nagol, you know that song the minstrel sang earlier, about dragons and Namor?" asked Ronnoc.

"Yea, what of it?" replied Nagol.

"Do you-- do you think it could have been real?"

'What, the minsterel singin' it? 'Twas his first song, and I had no ale yet, so I think he probably did sing it, yes."

"No, no... agh, you jester! No, I mean the story of the song. What do you think, could there really have been an old kingdom destroyed by a fell monstrosity?"

"Abou' as real as me third foot, or me eleventh finger, ha ha!" To make a point, Nagol made a show of counting his fingers twice and double-checking he only had two feet. "Nah, that coudn' a' been real. Although, I do oft find unusual garbage in me back field, sword hilts an' old axe blades. A skull, one time, do ye believe it? A skull, in me field! Was right odd, right there and then."

The two men made jokes a good way down the road, until about fifty branches* from their homes, directly across the street from one another, they ran across three men. Each had rather dirty clothes and a grimy face, carried a pick, and they were all bald on top and had big scraggly beard, but apart from that were no different from any other man.

One stepped up to Ronnoc, and asked, in his rough yet welcoming voice, "Aye, hello there lad. D'ye know where Mount Do'arf is?"

Ronnoc, slightly humored by these men and their serious demeanor combined with their silly appearance, replied, "Yes, Mount Do'arf is about two days north of here by horse, or four by foot. Why do you seek it, if I may ask?"

A dirty blonde fellow at the back of the group replied, "We seek to mine the mountain, in the way of our fathers' fathers' fathers' grandfathers. We are, as you may say, master craftsmen."

Ronnoc smiled at these fellows' appreciaton for history and family. He had always valued that quite a bit, himself. He made a mental note to visit his parents in a few days. "Well, I hope you are safe on your journey, and that you do find many riches in the mountain."

Nagol piped in, "An' I hope ye spare some of the gold for me, eh?" They all had a hearty laugh at that, and each bidded the other farewell. Nagol and Ronnoc both went their separate ways.

*   *   *

Later that night, Ronnoc got up on his second floor, a thatch-roofed, open-air patio of sorts he had gone to great lengths to build. He leaned over the low wall and gazed up at the moon.

Could it really have been true? That ale was getting to him; he was getting more tired by the moment. Ah well, whatever it was, it probably had little to do with him. "Yaaawn..." Ronnoc would have jumped and surprised himself with his own yawn, if he weren't nearly asleep. He thought of what great deeds may have gone on, had that empire existed...

His dreams that night were full of daring, adventure, and, most of all, dragons. Eight of them.

*By the way, I also came up with a measurement system for the books:

One twig = about an inch, a little less
One stick = around a foot = ~13 twigs
One branch = 'bout a yard and a third = ~ 4 sticks
One tree = exactly 100 branches

I decided on tree terminology because I figured it not only made sense but was kind of neat to measure in trees. Not that I'm an elf or anything, they died out hundreds of years ago.

[ShadowHammer]

Took me a while, but I wrote a first draft of the first chapter.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Once upon a time, there was a gr--

No, scratch that. Too cliche.

Ahem.

Ronnoc approached the meeting hall. Supposedly, a fellow named Efil Chout, a minstrel, had arrived here in little old Tarochiwa Village. He must be a daring fellow to come this far out of the way; the nearest town was nearly a week away. Ronnoc eagerly approached the wooden hall, its high peaked stone roof sharply outlined against the night sky.

Ronnoc stepped inside the meeting hall, and found the minstrel, with his silly yellow-and-purple jester's outfit on, singing a song. An old favorite of Ronnoc's, it told the story of how the ancient kingdom of Namor fell.

"Once upon a time
'Twas a marvelous old land
Kings and queens, fair of face,
Ruled with gentle hand
Riches for all and, of course, poverty for none
Of all the kingdoms in the world, this was number one
Then one day a great big beast, both cruel and vile
Arrived and declared himself king for a while
Many rose up, and they all fell down
Slain by the dragon and
His seven evil sons
None could best them, for they were all too gerat in power
A wizard was the one last hope
'lest the world finally tumble to the ground
The wizard took his great skill
And with it sealed away
All, all eight demon beasts
In mountains, even today
They still sit, imprisoned in
A great large stony jail
In which the wizard once decreed where they would rot away!"

The crowd cheered, Ronnoc among them. Of course, no one thought it was true, the story. It was too far-fetched. They had never seen anything that would imply it had ever really happened. All odds were against the old story's truthfulness, right?

Ronnoc stayed in the meeting hall for another few songs and two or three ales. After a while he noticed that almost all the minstrel's songs had the same rythym, rising and falling like a tiny ship in rough seas. Bored of the same old ale and same old music, he spoke to his friend Nagol next to him.

"Nagol, I tire of the music. Shall we head home?" asked Ronnoc of Nagol.

"Yes, it has become rather boring. It's been going on for nearly three hours now. Let's go," responded Nagol.

Ronnoc and Nagol stepped out of the hall and began making their way down the south road to their homes. It was nigh midnight, and the night seemed peaceful. The sky was clear and the moon could be seen well. as opposed to the tendency to happen when nights are cloudy and you have a lantern out, creating the effect of shadows jumping out at you.

Eventually, the thought that had crossed Ronnoc's mind earlier, about the truthfulness of the song about dragons, started to seemingly nag at Ronnoc. Could it really be true? The far-fetched tale about dragons and wizards? He decided to ask Nagol about his thoughts.

"Say, Nagol, you know that song the minstrel sang earlier, about dragons and Namor?" asked Ronnoc.

"Yea, what of it?" replied Nagol.

"Do you-- do you think it could have been real?"

'What, the minsterel singin' it? 'Twas his first song, and I had no ale yet, so I think he probably did sing it, yes."

"No, no... agh, you jester! No, I mean the story of the song. What do you think, could there really have been an old kingdom destroyed by a fell monstrosity?"

"Abou' as real as me third foot, or me eleventh finger, ha ha!" To make a point, Nagol made a show of counting his fingers twice and double-checking he only had two feet. "Nah, that coudn' a' been real. Although, I do oft find unusual garbage in me back field, sword hilts an' old axe blades. A skull, one time, do ye believe it? A skull, in me field! Was right odd, right there and then."

The two men made jokes a good way down the road, until about fifty branches* from their homes, directly across the street from one another, they ran across three men. Each had rather dirty clothes and a grimy face, carried a pick, and they were all bald on top and had big scraggly beard, but apart from that were no different from any other man.

One stepped up to Ronnoc, and asked, in his rough yet welcoming voice, "Aye, hello there lad. D'ye know where Mount Do'arf is?"

Ronnoc, slightly humored by these men and their serious demeanor combined with their silly appearance, replied, "Yes, Mount Do'arf is about two days north of here by horse, or four by foot. Why do you seek it, if I may ask?"

A dirty blonde fellow at the back of the group replied, "We seek to mine the mountain, in the way of our fathers' fathers' fathers' grandfathers. We are, as you may say, master craftsmen."

Ronnoc smiled at these fellows' appreciaton for history and family. He had always valued that quite a bit, himself. He made a mental note to visit his parents in a few days. "Well, I hope you are safe on your journey, and that you do find many riches in the mountain."

Nagol piped in, "An' I hope ye spare some of the gold for me, eh?" They all had a hearty laugh at that, and each bidded the other farewell. Nagol and Ronnoc both went their separate ways.

*   *   *

Later that night, Ronnoc got up on his second floor, a thatch-roofed, open-air patio of sorts he had gone to great lengths to build. He leaned over the low wall and gazed up at the moon.

Could it really have been true? That ale was getting to him; he was getting more tired by the moment. Ah well, whatever it was, it probably had little to do with him. "Yaaawn..." Ronnoc would have jumped and surprised himself with his own yawn, if he weren't nearly asleep. He thought of what great deeds may have gone on, had that empire existed...

His dreams that night were full of daring, adventure, and, most of all, dragons. Eight of them.

*By the way, I also came up with a measurement system for the books:

One twig = about an inch, a little less
One stick = around a foot = ~13 twigs
One branch = 'bout a yard and a third = ~ 4 sticks
One tree = exactly 100 branches

I decided on tree terminology because I figured it not only made sense but was kind of neat to measure in trees. Not that I'm an elf or anything, they died out hundreds of years ago.

I really like it so far, and the measurement system is really original. You should definitely illustrate the story.