CoU: Gorringham, A Short Story

�This is from an exercise in back story and creative writing in the world of my imagining; a fantasy world I have been developing since circa 1980. It is one of my favorite memories yet I was never really there.� � Dave �Doc� Rogers

 

 

 

 

 

This is a bit of backstory development from a heroic fantasy world I started back in my pen & paper gaming days. It is a world that slowly came alive while I lay in my bunk at sea and I could not sleep. I spent countless hours wandering around in this world. For me, it is quite rich. I only hope to communicate some of that richness as these stories develop.

 

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My eyes opened to the sound of wagons creaking in the distance. The jingle of tack, harness, and various gear drifted up to where I had made camp the night before. Looking up, I could see the green leaves of the canopy that the trees made over me. A nearby snort informed me that Swifthoof was awake too. I love the smell of green. It is the aroma of living things. My eyes cast about at the trees surrounding me. The greens, grays, and browns. Limbs outstretched in every direction covered in leaves. Some say there are trees that walk and speak. I have not seen this myself. But, I respect them none-the-less. It was a good spot for a cold camp.

            I rolled over and out of my blankets. Swifthoof stomped his feet, shook his mane loose, and twitched all over. He was ready for his brushing and feedbag. I cannot help but smile at my friend. He has the look of the Zephyr about him, but he is not one of them. They would have never let anyone ride them, nor companion with a man. But he sure enjoyed a run in open country. Many have been the times I would just remove his gear, brush him down, and then let him run until he was run out. He always came back. He always allowed me to load up my gear on his broad back. He was always with me. He found me in the Wilds and has stayed with me since then. He is free and spirited. And, he has proven to be a good friend.

            I went over to our gear, grabbed his brush and bag. I filled it with water before setting it before him. As he started slurping up the water, I began brushing him down. It was our ritual. After being thoroughly brushed, watered, and fed, I set about cleaning the camp. “Leave it as if you were never there.” It was the old Ranger’s oft repeated phrase, and I learned this quite well after a few cuffs to the back of the head. With the camp cleared and gear stowed, I sat to have my breakfast; jerked meat and flat bread. Not exactly appealing after several days on the road, but it was nourishing and worked well when one didn’t want to light a fire. And, I didn’t. Campfires draw the attention of the curious or the attention of those who may not be friendly. I wanted neither.

            I sat on my pack and looked to the east. The sun had risen slightly to the south of the city. I could feel the heat of it melting away the morning chill. There, laying less than a league away was Gorringham. The ancient city had become overgrown with squatters and vegetation along its walls. The west side of the city was bordered by small farms and grazing land. The little farm tracks led into the road proper that worked its way to the city’s gate. The small little huts and daub wood houses speckled here and there, slowly clustering into Westgate; their name for their little village. Already plumes of smoke rose into the air to be taken away by soft winds. The winds appeared to run races across the tops of wheat and barley fields or just run loose over the wild grasses. I was told the fields are awash with colors during the spring flowering. That season had already passed. It was nearly the first harvest. The high heat of summer had yet to come to these lands. Everything was still very green, not the parched brown of further south.

            I marveled that more people had not migrated to these lush lands to reclaim them from the brutish Na’glim that raided out of the mountain forests leagues to the north and east. As I pondered this, a parade of wagoneer tradesmen began forming along the road to the city. Their carts of trade goods sounded a cacophony of noise in the morning stillness, disrupting it. A bell sounded in the distance. It was a call to the faithful for early prayers and a signal to the gatemen to open the city. The city was waking up, readying for another day’s business. Swifthoof snorted his displeasure. I agreed with him. It was a city; too many walls, too many people, and we were going in there. The train of wagons began moving forward. People with pack animals or loaded with them high on their own backs began walking forward along with the wagons and carts.

 

            “I am sorry, my friend, but the soothsayer said it is in there we find our destiny.”

 

            Swifthoof snorted again and shook his head side to side, tossing his long mane about.

 

            “Alright. She said it was my destiny that lay in there.”

 

            Swifthoof snorted once in agreement.

 

            “But, you will come with me?”

 

            The horse stared at me with big dark eyes as if thinking about it then took a step forward to stand near our gear.

 

            “Thank you, Swifthoof. You are a true friend.”

 

            We were saddled and packed in short, practiced order. I pulled myself into the saddle and Swifthoof began walking from under the overhang of the trees. As Swifthoof picked his way to the nearest farm track, I began to study the city that lay before me. It was mostly a gray granite wall. Places had been rebuilt of mixed stone, showing where it had once been breeched. These breech points did not have additional fortifications making them targets for the next siege. The militia within did not maintain its defenses well. Several places along the walls had overgrown with creeping vines. They had known peace too long. The village’s little huts and houses went right up to the walls themselves. The city guard seemed light, too. There were not enough heads along the parapets and crenels. From what the old soothsayer had said, the city sat across the fork of two rivers with a fortified island at its center. She said the city controlled all trade traffic for 100 leagues around it. It was centuries old. There were stories of great kings and Elvin princes, of great wars and frightful magic. Those days were long passed. All that remained of that luster is the old city before me.

            The aroma of baking bread floated on the breeze. The noises of the farms turned slowly into the noises of the village; voices holding conversations, animals complaining, and the jostle of carts and wagons. The sun was warm upon my skin as the track we were taking turned toward the main road. Trepidation of what was before us tried to take hold. I inhaled deeply and let it out slowly. My eyes began to keep watch on those around me. I was nervous and kept my face set, emotionless. Thankfully, we made the locals nervous too. They gave us plenty of room. No one tried to get too close. The aroma of baking was overtaken by the aromas of animals and unclean humans. Too many people living too close together created aromas that seemed unnatural to me. Swifthoof was working at remaining calm, but I could feel him twitch beneath me. From time to time, he would snort to clear his nostrils. I could not blame him.

            The wait in this morass of people, animals, wagons, and aromas seemed to stretch on. Slowly we made our way to the last turn before the city gates. The sun had already risen above the walls and we moved so slowly that it never slipped behind them. The buzzing of insects added to the irritation of everything else. Swifthoof’s tail constantly swished flicking at the bugs taking bites at his hindquarters. Finally, the gate was reached.

 

            “Who are you?” the corporal of the guard barked.

 

            “Seth,’ I lied. “A stranger seeking enlightenment. I was told to come here by a soothsayer...”

 

            “Pilgrim,” he said flatly to no one in particular. Without looking up, he said, “Keep out of trouble. You may pass.” He turned to the next in line, “You come here. What’s in the cart?”

 

            I stopped listening to the conversation as we moved under the arch of the gatehouse. It was obvious to me. Someone was nervous, over cautious. The security of the city was a mask hiding their open pockets ripe for the picking. Passing through the gatehouse, the interior of the city was both a surprise and not. The daub houses of Westgate were interspersed among the older stone buildings. The myths and legends of the beauty of Gorringham were just that, myth and legend. The press of people and animals only added to the discomfort of the aromas of poor sanitation. I was not sure which way to go, so I continued toward the center of the city. I had hoped that getting closer to the river might improve sanitation.

            No one stopped us. No one questioned us as we moved through the city. Rarely did anyone even make eye contact. If they did, they quickly looked another way. It was odd seeing so many people living in fear. Did we look so strange? Swifthoof kept moving further into the city. We wound our way through nameless streets passed shut doors and gates that closed as we drew near. The smell of water was growing stronger. We were nearing the river. The sound of moving water could be heard, mixed in the noise of the city. We moved toward it.

            The streets became wider as we moved toward the river. We rounded a corner and the streets gave way to a wide plaza that became a quay along the river. It was curiously empty and clean. There was a bridge toward the center of the quay. It led to what appeared to be a citadel. Swifthoof stopped, unsure which way we should go. The architecture of the building looked liked some of the better preserved buildings around Gorringham. This building did not show the signs of age and poor care. It gleamed white in the cloudless sun. I goaded Swifthoof forward, toward the citadel.

Swifthoof didn’t move. He shook his head and whinnied. I stopped to listen. I could sense it now. It was like a slight itching of the skin. Then I noticed there was a slight acrid tinge to the air. It was real magic. And, it was powerful too. I dismounted from Swifthoof’s back. He shook his head then stared at me. I could see the fear in his eyes. He did not move from where he stood.

 

“I must go and see it, Swifthoof.”

 

The horse only stared at me in reply. His nervousness was evident in the twitching of his muscles. I could sense he thought he might not see me again.

 

“I will return, my friend.”

 

Reaching up to his head, I stroked his muzzle with my hand. It was an unspoken good-bye. I let my hand slide the length of his neck and shoulders as I moved toward my saddle pack. I loosened my bow and sword. Then I tightened them back. They were not going to be needed for this. I removed my armor from its pack and slipped it on. I tightened the hitches then began to arm myself. I had collected an array of daggers over the years. I placed them in several locations around me. I slid my arms through the harness of the twin scabbards of the long fighting knives. After one last look into the horse’s eyes, I began walking toward the bridge.

It was no wonder why there was no one about. The air became heavier as I moved closer. It felt as if my hair stood on end. As I took the first step on the bridge, it felt as if I was greatly weighted down. I did not want to move closer. I willed myself to take each step. As I reached the apex of the bridge, I could see the stones of the citadel had what appeared to be veins of color running along them; silver, gold, blue, and gray. I pushed forward with great effort.

I was unsure of the time. Each step seemed to take an eternity. I wanted desperately to run as fast as I could away from this building. Yet I persisted step by step until I found myself standing before the great silvered doors and out of breath. Sweat ran in rivulets around my body. I was exhausted from the effort to get where I stood. I knew I must try these doors but my hands would not obey my commands to lift themselves up. I wanted to turn to look on Swifthoof for support. I knew if I did I would run from here and not be able to get back. The air smelled of lighting storms. The tingling ran through my entire body and made it difficult to concentrate. Slowly one hand came up. It rested lightly on a door. I leaned forward more than pushed, exhausted beyond my believing. The door noiselessly swung open. A rush of air blew across me. Madness! I must be purely mad to want to go forward. I slid a foot forward. I could not lift my leg. I could only slide my feet as I struggled to move.

I could hear a crackling like static. My skin crawled with it. Slowly I struggled forward until I was inside the threshold of the door. Then, it stopped.

 

Author's Note

This is an exercise in back story. It is filling in some ideas for other story lines I am working out in my head. So, yes, I may appear in compplete.

Reviews

[Carole]

Very nice Doc! You held my attention all the way through. Definitely suspense building. I found myself dieing to know what what was going on at the citadel. Animals are very sensitive to evil so the fact that your horse waned when you came upon the bridge, started the suspense. The imagery was good all the way through but I especially love this scene. I hope you will share the next chapter with us. This sounds like a great thriller!

[Lena M. P.]

A very enjoyable read. Good imagery, developed characters, by play was well done, descriptive, the vast difference from the lightness of the open country to the darkness of the inhabited city. The mystery and magic at the end led me deeply into the story. Well written.

[Adam Chambers]

I love it, Doc. I think fantasy is your element. If it can be done well, you can do it.

PS, posted some very revised chap's of my book. take a look if u get a chance...
Adam

[J. Hampton]

I truly enjoyed this...
Your knack for verbal imagery .... the setting is really incredibly done..
Your use of language....nomenclature...adjectives and verbs... lends itself to the "epic" feel
such as ... Westgate...Gorringham...parapets....crenels...huts...leagues...fortifications...seige..
oft....frightful...great...madness....etc.

With that said...I feel embellishing the dialog with a feudal...vocabulary in kind would really take this ...all-the-way-there.

I don't know a thing about writing...but from a readers standpoint this is an adventure with grand potential.

Blessssssssssssss

[TL Boehm]

I love the 'dialogue' between horse and protagonist. Admittedly, I have a prejudice for horses so I was lured in right away, but I enjoyed the interaction - it seemed very authentic - I know my dog like this....The language is wonderful in this story - a great tone/atmosphere/pace to it. And the cliff hanger ending was well done.

[Blackbirdsong]

I love how you evoke the feelings of being out at camp with your horse. The whole feel of those moments felt intensely real to me. This is so much more than an exercise...you've got a well-told story here that fairly breathes off the page.

[Anne Martin]

This is very well told Doc. I like the pacing especially. The telling feels a little old-fashioned, and I thought at first that I was reading a Country & Western. I don't know if you plan on putting anything before this scene, but you might wish to give us more clues about the context earlier. It was a long time before I reached the word "Elvin," which finally told me this was fantasy. I do like the interaction between "Seth" and his horse.

There were a few grammatical annoyances. Several times you start a sentence with a conjunction followed by a comma. Why not be grammatically correct?

He is free and spirited. And, he has proven to be a good friend.

He is free and spirited, and he has proven to be a good friend.

or even better

He is free and spirited, as well as a good friend.


Your sentences are generally quite short. Perhaps you are aiming at a teen audience, but I feel you should think about connecting some appropriately. That makes for a less staccato narrative. It also makes you prone to another problem of repeating words in close proximity.

I went over to our gear, grabbed his brush and bag. I filled it with water before setting it before him. As he started slurping up the water, I began brushing him down. It was our ritual. After being thoroughly brushed, watered, and fed, I set about cleaning the camp.

You use "brush" three times here in quick succession, and at least twice in the previous paragraph. You could be more efficient. This example brings up another issue. You often start sentences with "I began..." or "he started..." Again, this is inefficient. Ordinarily, you can just drop them. "As he slurped up the water, I brushed him down.' You don't get any less meaning out of the sentence. It also allows you to expand your rather sparse description without getting too wordy.

There are a few other similar things, but they weren't prevalent enough to bother with. I'm being rather picky here, since this is much better written than most of the work I read on this site.

Excellent work.