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Nobility among us
Topic Started: Nov 29 2007, 09:28 PM (825 Views)
Ben Zwycky
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Fearsome Fleet Leader :D
Prologue

This is a land of many fears: both of the iron hand of the ruling class and that the people will stand for it no longer; for the stability of society itself, for traditional ways and values in the face of new technology; of the penetrating eye of justice and the threat of exposure and shame. Some of these fears would prove groundless, others more than justified.

Deep in the heart of Antaria city, Douglas and Hillary Polidman were in their apartment together with their son Robert and were preparing for an evening out to celebrate their forty-third wedding anniversary.

"Don't forget your coat, dear," Hillary called down the corridor, "the forecast is for clear skies tonight and you know how poor your circulation gets after sitting down for too long"

"I am perfectly aware of how my body functions," grumbled Douglas as he watched their son program their new video recorder, "I'm just enjoying the spectacle of Robert struggling with that newfangled contraption of yours. I still can't fathom why you spent our hard-earned shillings on such a thing in the first place."

"I'd hardly call it struggling, Father," protested Robert, "I'm just checking the instruction manual to be sure, it's a relatively straightforward procedure. Mother is just keeping up with progress."

"Progress?" railed Douglas. "Nothing ever changes, nothing of any significance, anyway. Having an excuse to spend more time dulling my brain with nonsensical entertainment is not what I call progress. Whatever happened to creativity and socialising, to making time for your fellow human beings?"

"There you go, Mother," announced Robert as he pressed two final buttons on the remote control, "it's all set to record the ball of the year. You can go and enjoy the theatre now."

"Thank you, Robert," replied Hillary warmly, "I was so thrilled when Miss Elford and Miss Adams got through the final selection evening, such sweet and honest girls. I voted for both of them, you know."

"That you did," complained Douglas, "throwing away a shilling each week on that charade."

"Don't be so cynical, Douglas," frowned Hillary, "I would be over the moon if a young lady like that took an interest in our Robert," she added dotingly.

"Mother," blushed Robert, "I hardly think anyone as dignified as that is going to be interested in a 40-year-old widowed carpenter."

"Don't sell yourself short, Robert," cooed Hillary, brushing a piece of fluff from his coat, "carpentry's an honest trade and you're a solid and dependable man. Any one of those contestants would be happy to find someone like you."

"All I ever hear is the contest this and the contestants that," ranted Douglas in exasperation. "I lived through the troubled years, I saw men struggle and die for a lofty goal. If the nobility truly understood what those worthy souls fought for and cared for their subjects, they would have done more for us than organise that annual fairy tale!"

"Douglas, watch what you say!" scolded Hillary fearfully, "you never know who's listening."

"I will say whatever I please in my own home," countered Douglas proudly. "You think my own son is going to turn me in for speaking against the nobility?"

"You know what I mean," she nagged nervously, "we need to be careful."

* * *

Later that evening, the soft footsteps of a man keeping to the shadows could barely be heard above the distant noises of the city. He froze in place then slowly backed further into the nearest corner as the faint sound of a police helicopter caught his ear. He scanned the skies and then followed the movements of the light that indicated the craft's position, breathing a little easier as he judged it to be far away and heading in a very different direction.

Robert nervously looked back the way he had come and, a little more convinced that he wasn't being followed, snuck towards an abandoned factory, his profile momentarily silhouetted against the urban twilight reflected in the clouds. He lowered himself down through a nearby open grille and entered the building through a basement window that had been left unlocked. After navigating through the former office by what meagre streetlight streamed through the entrance he had used, he came to a room containing several storage tanks. Creeping across a raised walkway that connected their upper surfaces, he made his way onto a tank in the far corner of the room, opened an access hatch in its roof and climbed inside, finally finding the courage to switch on his torch once he found himself in complete darkness. A large diameter pipe led from there through the wall and he crawled down it, arriving at a second hatchway. After knocking twice with his knuckle, twice with the heel of his hand, then again twice with his knuckle, the hatch was opened on the other side by a pair of heavily armed men.

The visitor stepped out onto a small platform and the hatchway was sealed behind him. The three descended a ladder down to a murky concrete corridor and approached a nondescript metal door. One of the guards knocked on the door using a different pre-arranged rhythm, and it was opened from the other side to reveal a windowless room with seven occupants, five sitting and one standing, plus the one who let them in. They stepped inside, the door was closed and the newcomer was handed a small object wrapped in a plastic bag.

"Welcome, friend," greeted the man standing at the other end of the room, "our meeting can now begin. Your names must remain secret for security reasons, I'm sure you understand.

"In three months it will be four hundred and fifty years since Darius II, the fifty-seventh king of Gandria, gave the order for the border of the kingdom to be closed to the outside world, ostensibly to protect our civilisation from the barbarianism so prevalent around us, a move welcomed by the majority of the people. His successor Marcellus I built on that foundation by utilising emergency powers to decree himself supreme authority and immunity from criticism. He appeased the nobility of his generation by granting them similar unrestricted powers over their own subjects and outlawing public criticism of any member of the nobility. Each successive king has renewed these decrees on their coronation, and our people have suffered as a consequence.”

Some grimly nodded in agreement, while most found it hard to imagine that the kingdom had ever been different. The speaker continued:

“Our movement to press for accountability to be restored arose from that discontent, and recently appeared to be nearing success until brutal and highly organised retaliations by the authorities caused us to stumble and fragment. Today I wish to present you all with a plan to revive our hopes and recover the ground we have lost."

Before he could go on, the dim lighting of the room was suddently drowned out by the bright flashing red and yellow lights of an object on the wall. He glanced up and then behind himself at the metallic box.

“We are discovered! Masks on!” he ordered urgently.

All those present drew gas masks from the bags they had been given and nervously put them on. The speaker trundled the lectern to one side, revealing a manhole cover in the floor beneath, which one member of the audience lifted out with a metal hook, requiring some effort to do so. When the cover was placed on the floor next to the hole, it did not lie flat. Somewhat puzzled, the man flipped it over to reveal a rectangular object covered with a sheet of paper, on which was scrawled:

'LONG LIVE THE KING'

He angrily tore the paper off the object to reveal two large blocks of plastic explosive either side of a timer counting down the seconds:

'3, 2...'

The paper gently drifted from his now forlorn and feeble hands.

The flamefront from the mighty detonation was extruded through the manhole into a long plume that reached halfway to the floor of the sewer below, before retreating just as rapidly the way it had come. Two men in black combat suits, complete with gas masks and night vision goggles, emerged from a nearby junction in the sewer with rifles at the ready. Satisfied that there were no survivors, one of them announced over their radio,

"Ten cakes baked and ready to wrap."

"Wrapping those now," came the reply.

"Delivery van is on its way," added a third voice.

The noise of the explosion was heavily muffled by its depth underground, and those who noticed it above the ordinary sounds of evening activity dismissed it as a roll of thunder or passing heavy vehicle, since violent incidents were surely now a thing of the past. All across the city (and the hundreds of other cities in the kingdom) a now very familiar orchestral interlude rang out from millions of television sets as families huddled together to watch the most popular show in history...


Chapter 1 - The Party

It was the usual mix; baronets, barons, viscounts, earls, marquesses, even the Duke of Antaria was present. This was to be expected, of course, since attendance was compulsory for all noble bachelors in the kingdom. The great halls of Gandria Castle were fitted out in all their splendour, crowned off with a new set of diamond and sapphire cascade chandeliers - the royal decorators had outdone themselves.
Along the east side of the reception hall was a series of buffet tables laden with the most delightful delicacies in the kingdom, on the south side a large chamber orchestra played relaxing melodies, along the west side was a row of circular tables and chairs for those too tired (or not in the mood) to stand and mingle in the large main space in the middle of the room.

The Doors of Honour in the middle of the north wall, so called because they were normally only used by the highest of nobles and diplomats, were massive oak double doors plated with gold and engraved with a portrait of the king. A similar set of doors made of solid electrum and known as the Doors of Glory were in the middle of the west wall and led to the throne room, where the final part of the evening would be held. There were other exits at the corners of the reception hall leading to minor corridors and royal offices. Security around the entire area, as well as the castle itself, was extremely tight as always, but mostly out of sight. The nobles mingled freely as they waited for the guests of honour to arrive.

Lawrence Hurdland, thirty-seventh Earl of Hurdland and now a balding middle-aged man in top hat and tails, made his way into the reception hall and savoured the opulence of his surroundings, admiring the artistry of the doors of Honour and the new chandeliers in particular before heading over to the buffet tables to locate the raspberry truffles that his kitchen staff had spent all year attempting to replicate. On finding those culinary treasures, he popped one in his mouth and took a further two on his plate together with a glass of champagne before scanning the central space for old acquaintances.

He caught sight of two, both of whom could also be described using the same sweeping generalisation and approached them with polite enthusiasm, "Good evening, my lords Jorland and Treiland."

"Lord Hurdland, good to see you old man," came the curteous response from the Earl of Treiland, the slightly larger of the two. "It's been too long. Quite a spread they have tonight," he added, glancing over Lord Hurdland's shoulder at the buffet tables, "though I'm sure the delightful dishes that are on their way will put them all to shame," rubbing his hands with glee.

"Don't you pretend you're enjoying yourself," grumbled the Earl of Jorland. "On display for all to see, like a troop of performing animals?"

"Of course not," parried Lord Treiland. "Just trying to make the most of it, it's only one evening a year. Would you like to go back to the way things were ten years ago?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" huffed Lord Jorland. "Vandalism all over the place, street rallies demanding who knows what, some of them even got within a stone's throw of my castle, for goodness sake. Mind you, the way Jorland's finest came in to make short work of that rabble was most gratifying."

"Yes, fence 'em in and finish 'em off. I do miss that," sighed Lord Treiland.

"You think that ended when all this began and things calmed down?" asked the Earl of Hurdland rhetorically. "It still goes on, just not in the public eye, so as not to spoil the new image."

"I can't believe the people can be so stupid as to think that this charade changes anything, or that they get to choose who comes here," remarked Lord Treiland, drawing a chuckle from both of the others.

"Never underestimate how foolish commoners can be," replied Lord Hurdland, "case in point; Baron Dromstead recently told me about a request he received from one of the farmers in Plurville; the fool was actually attempting to take his baronet to court for seizing some of his land!"

"What?!" laughed the other two in disbelief, before Lord Jorland enquired, "What did he do?"

"Confiscated his property, gave all his land to the baronet and sent him and his family to Stonewell," retold Lord Hurdland, at which the other two laughed out loud. "Let's see him complain about the size of his holdings now!" he added gleefully, leading to another round of laughter from the three of them.

"Shame we can't do the same to those bitter old crones that go on and on about being passed over for pretty young things from the contest," chuckled Lord Treiland.

"Exactly," agreed Lord Jorland, "they should appreciate the sacrifice some of us make to continue their family lines."

"Our modern heroes," Lord Treiland saluted with his glass.

"Still," continued Lord Hurdland, taking on a serious tone and causing the smiles of all three to fade, "this process does not sit well with me. Letting the people think they are in control of these proceedings, having them vote for their chosen candidate as if they will change the way things are done, these are dangerous ideas. Furthermore, these are actual lowborns we are admitting to our ranks. What if something slips through the filtering process, what then? I have this nagging feeling that this whole enterprise will come back to haunt us one day."

There was a concerned silence among the three of them before Lord Treiland broke it by raising his glass, "Here's to unfounded fears," he proposed, to which the other two raised theirs.

"To another four hundred years of civilised rule," added Lord Jorland.

"Hear, hear," responded Lords Treiland and Hurdland, chinking their glasses together and taking a sip.

Lord Treiland looked around, "Oh watch out, the cameras are on, they must be nearly here. How much do you think they caught of that?"

"It doesn't matter, they'll edit it out," reassured Lord Jorland.

"Still, let's give them something they can use," suggested Lord Hurdland.

"Agreed. Best behaviour from here on, eh?" responded Lord Treiland, then searched for a more benign topic, "So, have you had a chance to see Folberman's latest play?"

"The one about the kingdom's heroic border guards? I've been meaning to," admitted Lord Hurdland.

"It's well worth it,” enthused Lord Treiland. “Very creative use of scenery, and the barbarians outside the wall were particularly frightening..."

The five young women braced themselves for the evening that some hoped would define the rest of their lives, their excitement mounting with each dignified step towards the Doors of Honour, understandably doing everything they could to maintain their composure. All clocks in the castle had been moved forward an hour for the day to give the impression of a live broadcast while enabling any embarrassing scenes to be replaced with pre-recorded interviews.

"They are on their way, and what a majestic sight they make," remarked Alastair DeVaudlen, the contest's primary commentator.

"That they do," agreed Beatrice, his wife and co-host, "as is now tradition, each of them was assigned a personal tailor from the royal court to work their artistry, and the results are truly magnificent."

"For those unfamiliar with the format of the evening," explained Alastair, "the ball will last until midnight at the earliest, and if none of the guests of honour are engaged by then, then it will continue until one of them is. This means that in order for multiple weddings to occur, as they did the year before last, those proposals must be made and accepted before midnight."

"What a year that was," gushed Beatrice, "we were so thrilled for them, let's hope this year's girls meet with similar success."

Alastair continued his outline, "the wedding ceremonies will occur immediately afterwards in the presence of the king in the throne room, what an honour."

"Yes indeed, good luck girls," wished Beatrice on behalf of the audience.

The Chief Herald led the slow procession to the Doors of Honour, halted before them and ceremonially knocked twice with his silver sceptre to request admittance. The doors swung majestically open and he stepped into the doorway to announce his entourage in descending order of their 'popularity'. As each name was announced, the appropriate debutante came forward past the herald, curtseyed and moved on into the hall.

"My lords, allow me to introduce Miss Madeline Hartford, Miss Gloria Forster, Miss Penelope Aldridge, Miss Judith Elford and Miss Sylvia Adams"

A series of Oh's and Ah's accompanied the entrance of the first four women, resplendent as they were in various sumptuous gowns with perfectly matching jewellery, masterfully arranged to dazzle the eye, while absolute stunned silence greeted the fifth arrival.

Her simple white gown was devoid of embroidery or other enhancement, she was virtually unadorned with facial cosmetics or jewellery, save a single silver locket around her neck and a few small flowers in her hair, but what truly stood her out from the rest was the way that she glowed.

She radiated a deep, peaceful joy quite unlike anything any of them had ever seen before. There seemed to be light emanating from the very core of her being. One of the other tailors turned to Ortis Gerworth, who had prepared Miss Adams, and asked, "How did you get her to glow like that?"

"An artist must have some secrets," he replied, savouring the compliment.

"Whatever you did, it was a stroke of genius, astounding," praised the first tailor.

Ortis smiled to himself as he received similar laudits from the other tailors. He couldn't possibly pass up this tremendous boost to his reputation by admitting that he had basically done nothing, merely given her a preparatory full-body cleanse and moisturise, and had been as surprised as anyone else by the way she naturally glowed.

Nobles that had taken almost no notice of Sylvia's quiet progress through the competition, as she placed only fifth in the final, now began to congregate around her in greater numbers than any of the others, although they had their own crowds of enthusiastic suitors.

The nobles around Sylvia did their best to charm her with polite conversation and refined humour. She rewarded truly ingenious wit with a gentle smile that made those who witnessed it feel they had been let in on some wonderful secret. Sylvia glanced around the room until her eyes alighted on the one she was looking for.

"My lords, I thank you for your kindness and your time. If you would excuse me, there is someone I must speak with."

The crowd around her parted obligingly, as was fitting for men of breeding.

As she left earshot, one commented with a sigh, "It seems her heart was won before she walked through those doors."

"Lucky fellow, whoever he is," added another.

Marcus Draishire, disgusted by the spectacle at the entrance to the hall, turned from the buffet table and headed for the sanctuary of the one location that was not covered by cameras.

Sylvia followed her quarry at a respectful distance as he left the hall and made his way to the men's lavatory. She waited at the corner of the corridor, where she could follow the doorway without being immediately visible to anyone coming out.

Five minutes passed, then ten, and fifteen. Various nobles went in and out in that time, but there was no sign of the Viscount. Sylvia began to be concerned.

Finally, after twenty-five minutes, Marcus reappeared, but on seeing one of the contestants from the media circus he had successfully ignored all year, immediately turned on his heels and went back in, closing the door behind him, though he performed this action in a natural way, as if he had left something behind.

Sylvia's concern turned to a snort of indignation as she saw through his little ploy, walked over to the door and knocked.

"My lord Draishire, I would speak with you."

"I want nothing to do with this farce," came the response through the door, which remained closed. "It makes a mockery of marriage, parading us all for public entertainment"

"You are quite right, my lord," she agreed, "this whole situation seems like some ridiculous dream, but there is no other way I could ever approach you like this. I am from a lowly family from Fristead in Draishire."

"Why me?" protested Marcus." I'm only a Viscount. I saw both the Marquess of Dromia and of Teloria fawning over you at the Hall entrance. Their wealth is incomparably greater than mine."

"I am not interested in your wealth," she replied, "I would never have considered taking part in this frankly ludicrous exercise if it was not for you. I am one of your subjects and have seen how you govern, how you defend the oppressed and care for the people, I want to support you in that. I don't want to rule you, I want to work with you towards a common goal, to comfort and sustain you through the hardships of life, to share all I am with you, to be mother of your children, if you will let me."

There was no response. Sylvia continued, "I know what you must be thinking, one in a thousand men can be trusted, but not one woman."

On the other side of the door, Marcus couldn't contain a smile as he thought to himself, 'Yes, that does indeed fit the- the forbidden book! How did she know?'

"I cannot make you love me, I cannot remove all your doubts about me in one evening, all I can do is to be who I am and hope that you believe me."

Having finished what she had to say, Sylvia waited for a response. Marcus wrestled with his thoughts:

'Very brave, I'll give her that. Such integrity, or is it a ploy? No, no-one would lie in that way, such an obscure and appropriate reference, not to mention placing herself in so much danger. Can it be, right here beyond this door?' He took a deep breath before making a life-changing decision:

"I believe you."

The door slowly opened and Marcus studied Sylvia closely for the first time, taking his time in doing so. Everything about her confirmed what she was saying.

"Well," he breathed, "wonders never cease. You are a truly remarkable woman, Miss Adams."

There was then a glint in Marcus' eye. "Shall we let the other bachelors off the hook for another year?" He drew a small box from his inside pocket and opened it to reveal a family engagement ring and pair of wedding rings, compulsory for all noble bachelors at the ball. The engagement ring was solid silver with three small gemstones set together in a single gold setting: a ruby, sapphire and golden beryl. The wedding rings were smooth on the inside and on the outside had the appearance of a triple-braided cord of red, yellow and white gold.

"Miss Sylvia Adams, would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"

"The honour would be all mine, yes I would" she replied, offering her ring finger with a beautiful smile, intensifying her natural glow. The ring slid on and fit perfectly.

"Meant to be..." smiled Marcus.

And so it began.
Edited by Ben Zwycky, Mar 18 2010, 09:26 PM.
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Esaul
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I've read about a quarter of this. Thought I would take a quick break to look around the site before continuing. I'm liking it so far, especially where the three lords are poking at the death of a family. It shows that they are the higher ranked aristocrats who don't give two cents about the underlings
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Ben Zwycky
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thanks, That conversation was added in response to feedback from Ghost, as a way of illustrating how harsh and powerful the nobility are as a backdrop to what goes on in the following chapters.

The three are Earls, which is in the middle of the noble hierarchy

King>Duke>marquess>earl>viscount>baron>baronet

but since there are vastly more nobles towards the lower end of the scale, this makes them relatively high up in the order of things, with roughly 30-40 million subjects each, out of a total population of around 2 billion in the kingdom.

I could repost my 'land' entry here, since there's no land section here like at the old WD.
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Naruto91
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I am really intruiged by this piece of writing. I found myself reading it attentively, even connecting with the characters. I especially enjoyed your use of dialogue, which I find lacking in even published work. Like Esaul said, it really outlines the social structure of this kingdom, and you use it well to develop your characters. More than half of what I base my view of a fictional character on is their speech. Whether it by haughty, exuburant, or shy, it really helps to portray the type of person they are. Like Ms. Sylvia Adams, I take her to be an honorable and intelligent woman, a character I would like to learn more about.

Get posting so I can read more! *..*
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Ben Zwycky
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Fearsome Fleet Leader :D
I am going to try and get this one published when it is finished, hence my wanting to put the rest in a strongbox. I have to get to 50 posts before then, though, only 15 to go :D

I do focus a lot on getting the dialogue right, perhaps to the detriment of other aspects, since it forms most of the essential 'substance' of any story. I also go over things lots of times tweaking (It's a curse, I tell you! :ph43r:), to try and iron out things that don't fit or give the right feel to things, expand on things that could benefit from more exploring, or cut out things that are best left to the imagination or only subtly implied.
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Ben Zwycky
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Fearsome Fleet Leader :D
The continuation of this story can now be found in my strongbox in the Vault, head over there to check it out (after asking permission first, of course ;) )
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Ben Zwycky
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Fearsome Fleet Leader :D
there has been a severe lack of feedback (I've posted 27 chapters, 9 since anyone posted a comment) and people haven't been joining my group to be able to access the story, which you can do here, please?
Edited by Ben Zwycky, Oct 10 2008, 08:02 PM.
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Esaul
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I am going to start reading and reviewing your story as of now =D
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Beren Erchamion

Hey, Ben, it's me. Your inbox on the other forum was full. Here's my recommendations for Chapter 2:




Once again, you show your skill at writing entertaining dialogues! I really liked this chapter. I have a few specific recommendations and commendations to go through:

Quote:
 
"All rise for the court of Viscount Draishire, which is now in session."

"First case, please."

"First case, Mr Graham Wiertham versus Baron William Fristead"

Two men came forward, one in his mid forties, solidly built with rugged features and dressed in a standard business suit, the other in his late thirties, slightly taller and of more athletic build, handsome and impeccably dressed and manicured.

"Mr Wiertham, please state your case."


My biggest issue here is lack of description. Obviously we're in a court room, but how does it look? Also, is the Viscount bored? How does he look? You should describe someone as important as him with at least as much detail as you described the two men on trial. Who is calling the court to order? Obviously, its a bailiff of some kind, but that should be explained.

Quote:
 
"No disrespect?! My lord, this man is protesting against tax collection, directly challenging our authority!"

"Thank you, Baron Fristead, let's discuss this calmly and civilly, shall we? What precisely is your complaint, Mr Wiertham?"


You should tell the reader who is saying these lines. They can figure it out themselves with a few seconds of contemplation, but that would require bringing them mentally out of the story. This goes for every other instance where the speaker is left unidentified.

Also, for "No disrespect?!", you should lose the exclamation mark, put the phrase in italics to represent intensity, and put in some words to express the Baron's disgust at being brought to court by a commoner, like so:

"No disrespect?" snarled the Baron, eying the other man with contempt. "My lord, this man, this, this plebeian is protesting against tax collection, directly challenging my authority!"

Quote:
 
"Well, my lord, at seven in the evening on the thirty-first of January this year, one of my lord Fristead's tax collectors came for my taxes, asking for twenty percent of that month's income, which I had ready in cash for that purpose. I handed it over, there were no irregularities, and I went home. On arriving back at the cattle shed at seven the next morning, the first of February, I found the same tax collector waiting for me, demanding the same amount again as my taxes for February. I did not have this amount to hand, neither did I have the opportunity to go to the bank in the meantime, since it's opening hours are from nine to six. The tax collector refused to come back at a later time or to wait for me to send someone else to the bank, which would have taken at least three hours, and immediately ordered the confiscation of twenty percent of my cattle. Within twenty minutes a fleet of cattle transporters arrived, fifteen I believe, and they left with three hundred head of cattle at approximately half past nine. Our conversation and the cattle transport was all recorded on the farm's security cameras, I have the recordings with me, including timestamps, and can show them if needed."


My suggestion here is to break up the dialogue with some exposition on how the man is acting or feeling, like so:

"Well, my lord," began the man, looking rather uncomfortable in his present situation. "at seven in the evening on the thirty-first of January...

That's just an example. You should mention how strong or weak the man's voice is, what his body language is, etc.

Quote:
 
Marcus counted on his fingers as he announced each new point,


I like this. This really helps the reader mentally picture the situation.

Quote:
 
Two. The two of you will swap places and spend one week learning all that goes on and the responsibilities that are expected of you in your new temporary positions. During this time, you are not permitted to make any changes to how things are done."


Ha, I like this; but is it realistic? I mean, would a member of the nobility really allow such a thing to take place? Maybe. But it's sorta like ordering a Senator and Joe the Plumber to switch places. Keep it if it's necessary to the story, but you should make sure people throughout the story voice surprise at this decision, just to confirm to the reader that they're not crazy and that it really is an odd event.

Quote:
 
Horror became rage.


Also good, but I think you should describe what the Baron is doing physically. Is he pulling at his tie, making spastic sounds in his throat, turning beet-red?

Quote:
 
"Go in the corner and count to ten!" shouted a tiny voice, with all the authority it could muster. All heads turned to see four-year old Lucius, who had been secretly watching the proceedings from behind a pillar, now pointing at a vacant corner of the room with the sternest possible expression on his otherwise very sweet little face.

"In the corner!" he insisted, repeating the standard punishment he and his brothers received for complaining about one of Daddy's decisions, his eyes still locked on the utterly dumbfounded Baron.


Bravo! I really like this :haha: Also, is it possible that Lucius is named after a certain boy who's the nephew of a certain Emperor in a certain move called "Gladiator"? It's one of my favorite movies :smug:
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Ben Zwycky
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Could you repost that in the feedback thread of my section of the vault, please, and I'll respond there when I'm finished work. I've rearranged my access group to be by invitation only, so if you want access you'll have to request it here or by PM. So far Riss, Lionheart and Beren (who I managed to drag over here from another forum, btw welcome to WD :D) have access, as do the other admins here. If you're not on that list and want to be, then you know what to do ;)
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Ben Zwycky
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OK, replaced the old version of chapter one in the OP with the latest version of the Prologue and Chapter 1, the rest is still hidden unless you get access to my strongbox.
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one bad pig
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I'm here, and I have nits to pick. *cue minor key*
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Ben Zwycky
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Fearsome Fleet Leader :D
Excellent, if you could just head over here now, and after you've torn the above to shreds in the feedback thread :D , I would advise taking a peek at the 'Gandria' thread before reading any further in the story itself, to familiarize yourself with the story world. Oh, and be aware that the threads work a little differently here than over at Tweb, clicking on the topic takes you to the most recent post in the thread, choose page one to get to the start.
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one bad pig
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The prologue is now mincemeat. I'll get to the rest shortly.
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SirThinkALot

This is STAL from Tweb. Sorry it took me so long to get to this, been busy with school and everything.

I found this to be a little jarring: It has the tone, dialoge style, and character names of a classical fantasy story, but the plot seems more along the lines of a political/spy thriller(set in this fictitious world). I managed to get used to it, and enjoy it, but I mention it partly because it ment the beginning failed to do what a good beginning should do: Capture my attention RIGHT AWAY, but mostly because it may put-off a publisher, if you intend to have this published.

I'd suggest you replace the beginning with the conspiortorial types, with something more scene setting: get people used to the idea of characters who talk about modern technology with a tone reminiciant of a medievlel period piece. Also make it clear almost from the get-go that although the name and diolgue style are reminicent of Tolkeien, that this is not a fantasy story.

Some of your other posters have managed to hit most of the other points: overall though good job, especially nice with the dialogue.
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