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Hey folks. I've been spending some time on planning and preparation for a fairly lengthy story, and I've now started a first draft I just thought I could share part of the beginning with you all. Just a couple of things to note before you begin reading this:
The story will be a mixture of western and eastern story motifs. It's primarily a medieval fantasy setting and takes place in a world where a great empire known as the Anglen Empire has taken over the kingdom of Chin. As you can guess from their names, the two nations are loosely based on the English and the Chinese. The story will follow many fantasy genre archetypes, but they will be seen through an east meets west lens. There is also a prologue that takes place ten years ago when the father of the main character dies, and I hope that it will fill some of the holes you'll likely see in this passage, namely involving the parents and the sister. The main purpose of this passage is to establish the story's "present" following the flashback prologue. The names of the principles are mostly set, though location names are still up in the air.
As always, comments are welcome.
Will Wei leaned wearily against his spade as he removed his hat to wipe the
sweat from his brow. A welcomed spring breeze skipped across the fields,
carrying the rich aroma of freshly tilled soil. Will inhaled the familiar scent,
thankful for the cooling wind. The sun was starting its journey beyond the
tree-topped hills along the western horizon, painting the sky around it with a
palette of cherry blossom pink and tangerine orange. A ray of sunlight broke
through a gap in the hills and caressed Will’s bronze face in gentle benediction
while behind him, his long shadow streaked across the field. Will enjoys these
quiet moments of solitude after a day of hard labour. Will rarely allows himself
a moment of rest, stopping only briefly at midday when his sister Wanda
brought him his lunch. Only now, as the sun bid its farewell, does he give
himself a chance to rest and reflect on the day.
But he still had one more task to fulfill. Collecting his rucksack and balancing
his spade over his left shoulder, Will started towards the lone oak tree
standing by the road which marked the northern border of his family’s land. As
he neared the end of the tilled field, he paused for a moment to scoop up a
handful of soil.
The oak tree had stood at that spot for generations. Its roots spread
grandly, some of the lengthier roots expanding beyond the fencing that ran
along the road to the nearby town of Shidong. The tall, reaching branches
already a vibrant green with new foliage, cast a broad shadow across the
adjacent meadow. Under the protection of the mighty branches, near the
base of the tree, stood several thin wooden planks driven into the ground.
Each plank stood three feet tall and was painted white. Down the broad face
of each marker, in red ink, a series of Chin pictographs were painted with
skilled hands, marking a different name. The top character on each marker,
however, was the familiar symbol for Wei, the family name.
They were not exactly grave markers. Several of Will’s earlier ancestors were
buried here but several generations ago, a law was made restricting burials to
church owned lands. Nevertheless, the Wei clan decided to honour and
remember their own with these simple markers. The actual graves in the
Anglen graveyards displayed only the Anglen names of those interred, but
underneathe the old oak, their true Chin names can proudly be displayed. The
family made sure to keep the markers in good condition, and just a week ago,
Will replaced a couple of damaged markers with new ones that Wanda had
carefully painted.
Will set down his spade and rucksack and stood before the markers. There
were sixteen in total, each one bearing the name of one of Will’s ancestors, all
of whom had once toiled on the same plot of land. Will faced the markers
and, clasping his hands to his chest, bowed three times to show his respect
for his predecessors. Then he approached the nearest marker, the one
bearing the name of his father, William, or as the marker read, Wei Wi Lan.
As he did at the end of every other day, Will knelt before his father’s marker
and sprinkled the handful of soil at its base. Then he began to recount the
day’s events, letting his father know of the state of the farm.
“I had to repair the south fence again. Ever since the flood last spring the
ground near the stream has not been very sturdy. I might have to build a
stone wall along that side. I will visit the mason when I go to Shidong this
week and ask what he would suggest. There were more signs of wolves this
past winter than usual, so I need to secure that section if I want to keep the
chickens safe.”
Will did this every day since he started handling most of the farming duties.
When he was a child, Will helped his father with some of the simpler chores.
In the evening when the sun set, his father would ask him to report on the
work he had done that day. Will would recount his day, much like he did now,
and William would praise him for a job well done.
“The Anglens changed their quota again. Their war with the Franks ended
sooner than they had expected and they now have a surplus of turnips and
beans. Fortunately, we decided to change our focus away from turnips last
season, as the price has dropped now that the war is over. The beans are
still holding steady but I don’t know if we can meet their demand for cabbage.
I might have to adjust our crop rotation schedule to make up for it.”
Will stopped his report as he heard a horse approaching from the road. He
turned around and saw a thin man dressed in a grey church frock astride a
small pony. Will stood and wiped his hands on his jerkin before greeting the
visitor.
“Pastor Bisham, what a surprise. What brings you out here this late?”
Bisham, the young pastor from the chapel in Shidong, dismounted as he
neared Will. He carefully adjusted his frock before reaching over the fence to
clasp Will’s outstretched hand.
“Good evening, Will. I hope I am not disturbing you.”
“No, not at all, Pastor. You are always welcome.”
“Please, Will, call me Henry.” Henry Bisham was fairly new to the area. He
arrived two years ago to replace the former pastor, John Creegan, who had
passed away from pneumonia. Henry was young for a clergyman, only a few
years older than Will’s eighteen years. His slender frame and youthful
appearance contrasted with Pastor Creegan’s heavy build and elderly visage.
Henry had only recently completed his studies in the Anglen holy city
Streehan. What he lacked in experience, he made up for in enthusiasm and
one of the first things he did when he arrived in Shidong was to set up a
school for children, both Anglen and Chin.
“What can I do for you, Henry?”
“I came to speak to you about your brother Walt.”
“What of him?”
Walt was Will’s younger brother. He was born ten years ago, not long after
their father died. Under his mother’s urging, Will had enrolled Walt in Pastor
Bisham’s school shortly after his birthday on new year’s day.
The story will be a mixture of western and eastern story motifs. It's primarily a medieval fantasy setting and takes place in a world where a great empire known as the Anglen Empire has taken over the kingdom of Chin. As you can guess from their names, the two nations are loosely based on the English and the Chinese. The story will follow many fantasy genre archetypes, but they will be seen through an east meets west lens. There is also a prologue that takes place ten years ago when the father of the main character dies, and I hope that it will fill some of the holes you'll likely see in this passage, namely involving the parents and the sister. The main purpose of this passage is to establish the story's "present" following the flashback prologue. The names of the principles are mostly set, though location names are still up in the air.
As always, comments are welcome.
Will Wei leaned wearily against his spade as he removed his hat to wipe the
sweat from his brow. A welcomed spring breeze skipped across the fields,
carrying the rich aroma of freshly tilled soil. Will inhaled the familiar scent,
thankful for the cooling wind. The sun was starting its journey beyond the
tree-topped hills along the western horizon, painting the sky around it with a
palette of cherry blossom pink and tangerine orange. A ray of sunlight broke
through a gap in the hills and caressed Will’s bronze face in gentle benediction
while behind him, his long shadow streaked across the field. Will enjoys these
quiet moments of solitude after a day of hard labour. Will rarely allows himself
a moment of rest, stopping only briefly at midday when his sister Wanda
brought him his lunch. Only now, as the sun bid its farewell, does he give
himself a chance to rest and reflect on the day.
But he still had one more task to fulfill. Collecting his rucksack and balancing
his spade over his left shoulder, Will started towards the lone oak tree
standing by the road which marked the northern border of his family’s land. As
he neared the end of the tilled field, he paused for a moment to scoop up a
handful of soil.
The oak tree had stood at that spot for generations. Its roots spread
grandly, some of the lengthier roots expanding beyond the fencing that ran
along the road to the nearby town of Shidong. The tall, reaching branches
already a vibrant green with new foliage, cast a broad shadow across the
adjacent meadow. Under the protection of the mighty branches, near the
base of the tree, stood several thin wooden planks driven into the ground.
Each plank stood three feet tall and was painted white. Down the broad face
of each marker, in red ink, a series of Chin pictographs were painted with
skilled hands, marking a different name. The top character on each marker,
however, was the familiar symbol for Wei, the family name.
They were not exactly grave markers. Several of Will’s earlier ancestors were
buried here but several generations ago, a law was made restricting burials to
church owned lands. Nevertheless, the Wei clan decided to honour and
remember their own with these simple markers. The actual graves in the
Anglen graveyards displayed only the Anglen names of those interred, but
underneathe the old oak, their true Chin names can proudly be displayed. The
family made sure to keep the markers in good condition, and just a week ago,
Will replaced a couple of damaged markers with new ones that Wanda had
carefully painted.
Will set down his spade and rucksack and stood before the markers. There
were sixteen in total, each one bearing the name of one of Will’s ancestors, all
of whom had once toiled on the same plot of land. Will faced the markers
and, clasping his hands to his chest, bowed three times to show his respect
for his predecessors. Then he approached the nearest marker, the one
bearing the name of his father, William, or as the marker read, Wei Wi Lan.
As he did at the end of every other day, Will knelt before his father’s marker
and sprinkled the handful of soil at its base. Then he began to recount the
day’s events, letting his father know of the state of the farm.
“I had to repair the south fence again. Ever since the flood last spring the
ground near the stream has not been very sturdy. I might have to build a
stone wall along that side. I will visit the mason when I go to Shidong this
week and ask what he would suggest. There were more signs of wolves this
past winter than usual, so I need to secure that section if I want to keep the
chickens safe.”
Will did this every day since he started handling most of the farming duties.
When he was a child, Will helped his father with some of the simpler chores.
In the evening when the sun set, his father would ask him to report on the
work he had done that day. Will would recount his day, much like he did now,
and William would praise him for a job well done.
“The Anglens changed their quota again. Their war with the Franks ended
sooner than they had expected and they now have a surplus of turnips and
beans. Fortunately, we decided to change our focus away from turnips last
season, as the price has dropped now that the war is over. The beans are
still holding steady but I don’t know if we can meet their demand for cabbage.
I might have to adjust our crop rotation schedule to make up for it.”
Will stopped his report as he heard a horse approaching from the road. He
turned around and saw a thin man dressed in a grey church frock astride a
small pony. Will stood and wiped his hands on his jerkin before greeting the
visitor.
“Pastor Bisham, what a surprise. What brings you out here this late?”
Bisham, the young pastor from the chapel in Shidong, dismounted as he
neared Will. He carefully adjusted his frock before reaching over the fence to
clasp Will’s outstretched hand.
“Good evening, Will. I hope I am not disturbing you.”
“No, not at all, Pastor. You are always welcome.”
“Please, Will, call me Henry.” Henry Bisham was fairly new to the area. He
arrived two years ago to replace the former pastor, John Creegan, who had
passed away from pneumonia. Henry was young for a clergyman, only a few
years older than Will’s eighteen years. His slender frame and youthful
appearance contrasted with Pastor Creegan’s heavy build and elderly visage.
Henry had only recently completed his studies in the Anglen holy city
Streehan. What he lacked in experience, he made up for in enthusiasm and
one of the first things he did when he arrived in Shidong was to set up a
school for children, both Anglen and Chin.
“What can I do for you, Henry?”
“I came to speak to you about your brother Walt.”
“What of him?”
Walt was Will’s younger brother. He was born ten years ago, not long after
their father died. Under his mother’s urging, Will had enrolled Walt in Pastor
Bisham’s school shortly after his birthday on new year’s day.
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