Untitled WIP Novel

[Iorran (Tirion)]

I'll be posting chapters of the novel I'm working on as they're written here. Feel free to give feedback on how it could be improved.

This first bit is the Part 1 introduction, told in 1st person by the main character. Inspired by R.A. Salvatore's writing, I will be doing a 1st person introduction for each part and the rest of the book will be written in 3rd person.

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PART 1
The Town that Would Not Die

I know that most look down upon us here in Caer-Bryl. It isn’t unfounded for other folks to not understand our way of life. The constant threat of prairie lions that roam the plains following the scent of tender meat and barbaric stone goblins from the caverns inside the high mountains, finding our little town easy pickings after being driven back by the mighty dwarves, may seem unattactive to most looking for a place to settle down. Not to mention the seemingly unreleting winds that have flattened our buildings on more than one occasion. However, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

When one lives so closely to death every day, one learns to appreciate life all the more. The taste of life’s bittersweet moments tend to taste much sweeter when you know you could be a lion’s dinner the next day.

Despite the town’s unfortunate placement, we townspeople soldier on. That’s what I love about this place. The harsh life here, where one wrong step could be your last, has made eveyone who can take that kind of life strong. It’s made me strong. To think that I, a young engineer from Roark, a city dweller who couldn’t even lift the part shipments for his work, has become a true man living within the walls of Caer-Bryl.

Another glowing quality of Caer-Bryl is the completely extinguished tensions between the races of the known world. Supposedly, the town was founded by a group of humans many centuries ago when our civilization first began. Much like outsiders to our humble village, a majority of the original founders abandoned the then settlement of Caer-Bryl, deeming it unfit for living. However, one man and his family stayed and continued to build. Times were harsh for them. As the months passed, it seemed to the founding family that the others were right. Though, as if fated, a traveling group of dwarves stumbled upon the settlement and assisted the man and his family. Word got round about the “Town that Would Not Die” and attracted men and women of all races looking for a challenging and exciting way of life. This history has forged the town on the backs of not one single race, but all known forms of sentient life. Humans, dwarves, elves and qindari all built the town and now they all live here, free from the judging eyes of the rest of the world.

The only prejudice that exists in Caer-Bryl comes from outsiders visiting the town on their journeys. These ignorant shills seem to make a game out of insulting those that look different than they do. Though when one throws a snide comment or insulting jab at one of our own, we send it back ten-fold. These outsiders don’t know the motto we in Caer-Bryl live by, “Long ears, long beards, or dark skin, no man is above the other when swinging the workman’s hammer.”

Compunding upon that, I have formed friendships that I know will last a lifetime. Of course, some members of this circle of friends will live longer than others. It’s the nature of our hereditary differences. However, I feel a life-long bond to these four.

Haldir Stoutbeard, strong and blunt. He is as hardy as dwarves come and twice as kind. He was the first I had befriended here in Caer-Bryl. His shield arm was once the strongest among Gravelhelm City’s warriors. Now he works in Caer-Bryl as an armorsmith. Our relationship began as purely professional. I would pay him to forge any bits of scrap metal he could spare after a day’s work into parts I use for my guns and gadgets. I found an uncommon amount of kindness in him when he offered to teach me how to smelt and shape the scraps into parts myself. It isn’t very good business sense to throw away potential work like that, but I could tell he took a liking to me. I was fortunate enough that I returned that liking. As we continued our partnership, we began to meet more frequently outside of my nightly trips to his forge. I met his wife and son and learned that this dwarf was a caring one with a love for life that rivaled my own. I quickly began to see Haldir as my second father.

Liam Falthring, lax and jovial. He brings much needed levity to my life in the face of danger. A skilled elementalist, he commands the forces of fire, water, air, and earth. I met him as a regular customer of my gadget and guns business. He found my inventions to be fascinating and was one of the first people in town that had bothered to pay me coin for them. I still remember the first one he bought. A steam-powered closet organizer. You may laugh at such a concept, but he found it wonderous. I think he still uses the damn thing in his bedroom closet. I hope it hasn’t ruined any more of his clothes.

Finally, there are the twins. A brother and sister by the names of Tel’Doril and Kan’nuvas Aurawalker. These elves are a little difficult to get along with, Tel’doril being very high and mighty thanks to his wealth of knowledge as a loremaster and Kan’nuvas often having a very short fuse on her temper with the tip of her spear being the explosion. However, I have seen much deeper sides to both and they can be very reasonable people when you dig down. Unfortunately, Liam and Haldir can’t seem to dig very well. These two are a pariah of sorts. Being from the elven capital of Thael’telras in the far off land of Jal’danis, they bring with them some of their race’s very strict prejudices. The two had a very difficult time integrating into society here in Caer-Bryl because of that. Why they even decided to venture here in the first place is a question I may never be able to make them answer. Though, over time they learned to live with the diversity of the town, but only just. Kan’nuvas seems to be a little more tolerant than her haughty brother, however. Nonetheless, they are good friends of mine all the same.

I truly love living here in Caer-Bryl. Maybe one day I will find a different place to carve out a living if my view on this life ever changes. Indeed, I may even find the town trampled into the ground tomorrow on the way back from the well near Mr. Heavyhammer’s farm. However, I know that I will make the most of what I have right now.

- Virgil Tovald

[Farlus]

Chapter 1
The Young Inventor and the Weathered Smith

The late-day sun began to set behind the northern mountains, bathing the nearby town of Caer-Bryl in it’s orange glow. Folks from all walks of life and of all creeds and races walked the dirt paths around town, all going about their days. One such townsperson stood outside the town smithy. His slender frame and large forehead gave the appreance of one who works with their head and hands as opposed to a warrior or adventurer. Not the usual sort that flocked to Caer-Bryl.

Caer-Bryl was a town unlike any other. However, in this case, it’s uniqueness was not necessarily a fortuitious quality. It’s high walls constructed of wood with a cobblestone base looked makeshift at best and the standards flying at each gate were tattered with pieces of them obviously hastily repaired. The buildings weren’t a great sight, either. Most domiciles were slap dash at best, most with gaping holes in their crudely constructed walls. However, this shoddy-looking worksmanship wasn’t due to a lack of intellect or ability when it came to building structures. In fact, the carpenters and stone cutters of Caer-Bryl were among the best in Graal save for those in it’s capital of Roark. This town was in such a state thanks to it’s rather unfortunate location.

Caer-Bryl had the misfortune of being built near the mountains that the dwarves made their home in. The dwarves themselves payed them no harm, quite the contrary, actually. However, it was the stone goblins that made this village’s location so dangerous. The foul creatures would attempt to raid one of the two heavily protected dwarven cities and be driven back out of the mountains. Seeking easier prey, they would then usually set their sights on the first town they saw. This town was almost always Caer-Bryl.

On top of the goblin raids, the townspeople were under constant threat of roaming prarie lions and winds that came down from the mountains that could flatten an entire home. So it is fairly simple for one to surmise that the unfortunate state of the town’s buildings is thanks to the fact that the townspeople have to frequently rebuild them. It would be foolish to build anything extravagant only to have it burned or blown away, after all.

This youth who stood at the front door to the smithy understood all too well the dangers living in Caer-Bryl brought. Yet, he enjoyed living there. The town had a certain feel about it that he could only explain as excitement. He would always say that, “Living so close to death helps one enjoy life all the more.” Indeed, it was a philosophy most of the townspeople in those walls lived by.

The young man ran a recently washed hand through his untidy brown hair and adjusted the goggles that were strapped to his forehead. He sighed and watched as customer after customer walked in and out of the business. Some carrying in old weapons and armor for repair and others walking out with new ones. Feeling a tad impatient, the youth tapped his foot against one of the wooden posts holding up the cloth hanging above the entrance.

“What’s taking him so long?” the young man groaned to himself. He watched as the orange that painted the skies slowly faded to a dark blue. The youth enjoyed looking at the sky when he was thinking. It calmed him somehow. It calmed him in a way that was mysterious even to him, but it calmed him all the same.

Suddenly, one last group of customers emerged from the smithy. Following them was a middle aged dwarf, standing only tall enough to peer over the belts of the humans that had just left. His dark red beard, braided and groomed neatly, and lumbering posture gave his identity away immediately to the youth.

“Haldir! Good friend, are you done for the day?” the young man asked the dwarf whom he had to look downward to meet eyes with. Haldir turned around and huffed a sigh of relief.

“Aye, I am, Virgil. Good o’ ye ta come, dear boy.” the dwarf replied in a haggard, but relieved voice. Virgil stood up straighter than earlier and quickly dusted off his leather apron.

“I’m no boy anymore. Tomorrow is my twentyeth birthday, after all!” Virgil returned with a bit of an insulted tone.

Virgil first came to Caer-Bryl when he was only thirteen years old. He had been born in Roark to two industrious inventors. Growing up in his father’s workshop, he had learned the trade quickly and showed incredible talent in crafting gadgets and eventually firearms. Unfortunately, his father dealt in some less than honest work on the side to keep up rent for their home and business. His debts caught up with him eventually, as did his debt collectors. Under threat of his son being employed in the coastal salt mines, Virgil’s father gave up all of their possessions. Virgil and his family were left homeless.

Deciding to leave the money-crazed city, Virgil’s family looked for a more hospitable place to live. They hopped from town to town for nearly a year with no such luck. Finally, though, they came across Caer-Bryl. It was a policy of the town to take in anyone who feels they can handle life there, free of debts. It was as if the family were fated to live there!

Unfortunately, both of Virgil’s parents were presumed killed during one of their first goblin raids. It was the biggest raid they had all year. It soaked most of the Caer-Bryl in both goblin and townsperson blood. Twelve were killed that night. The two engineers did their best to contribute to the defense, but their inexperience proved to be a fatal flaw. However, as the people of Caer-Bryl say, once a brother always a brother. Despite their short time living in the town, a funeral was held for Virgil’s parents and all the other lost souls in that battle. Their bodies were never found, but graves were dug and marked for them just like with the rest.

Since then, Virgil has mostly lived on his own, carving out a decent living for himself as a gunsmith and engineer. His business was helped along by Haldir, the armorsmith that owned the smity and forge in town, and the two became fast friends. Since then, their relationship had evolved past that. If there weren’t such a difference in height, one would swear they were father and son.

“Aye, I know. It’s just that yer growin’ up so fast. Ye humans don’ live very long. T’aint natural how quickly ye meet manhood.” the dwarf answered with a fatherly undertone to his voice. He spoke the truth. Haldir wasn’t fond of how different each race of the known world was from one another. He often feared the day that his young friend would out-age him in body, but not years.

“Yes, well you dwarves live too long! What will you do when I am gone and you are still soldiering forward, huh?” Virgil responded playfully. Haldir grimaced at the thought, but he shook away the idea of his young friend passing away, instead replacing it with fatherly playfulness. With surprising agility, the dwarf jumped on Virgil’s back and wrapped a meaty arm around his neck. Virgil wasn’t able to counter the take down before he was on the ground, goggles nearly cracked thanks to the hard landing Haldir gave him. Virgil looked up at the dwarf to see him laughing heartily.

“Ye’ll not be lastin’ very much longer if ye cannae counter a simple grapple like that!” Virgil chuckled a bit, but was cut off as the laughing pained his freshly hurt neck. Four years and he still wasn’t used to his dwarven friend’s rough housing. Though Virgil did view the fact that he could stand up soon after Haldir was done to be progress. After returning to his feet, Virgil adjusted his goggles and brushed off his clothes again. A slightly annoyed, but also very amused look was plastered on the young inventor’s visage.

“Well let’s get us inside, aye? I got some great brew tha other day an’ it needs some drinkin’!” Haldir hobbled into his smithy whistling a tune Virgirl could only assume was from his home in Gravelhelm City. The young man looked up at the now darkening sky and shrugged.

“We’ve been over this, Haldir! I don’t drink!” Virgil yelled at the dwarf.

“Well that’s somethin’ we’ll have ta fix, then! A man ain’t a man without at least some drink in ‘im!” the dwarf shouted back. Virgil sighed, giving a slight smirk at Haldir’s love of alcohol, and headed inside.

[Iorran (Tirion)]

(Try to overlook the typos in this one. I fixed them in the manuscript. I'm just being lazy and not fixing them here.)

Chapter 2
Little Yellow Eyes

A sweat drop could be heard in the silent caverns that wound through the inside of the mountains of Graal. Two alwari that had been sent on an envoy mission to the dwarven city of Bronzehammer stepped lightly through the darkness, one holding a torch to light their way and also provide light to read their map of the tunnels. Their dark skin would easily blend in with the darkness they stood in if not for the reflective, silvery tattoos that covered them from face to ankle. One of these envoys skittered forward nervously.

He could swear he heard the stone walls breathing.

These caverns were a place that one wouldn’t want to find themselves at night. Their winding, maze-like structure was horrible enough, most of the network only able to be navigated by a dwarf, and the threat of cave ins was ever present. However, the true threat in the caverns were the nocturnal stone goblins that dwelled in their cold, damp confines. During the day they slept, clinging to the walls like bats. Their hide mimicked the look and texture of the dark stone that the caverns were made of, ensuring their safety whilst they slept to all but a dwarf who could easily tell a real stone from a goblin.

At night, however, the stone goblins awoke. A horrible noise when they took their first breaths for the night, it was. Anything these fould creatures blurted was like beating one’s head against a smith’s anvil, but their initial “yawns” upon awakening was enough to make a man of great fortitude sick to his stomach. The goblins’ glowing yellow eyes would peer through the darkness as they hunted. Their usual prey would consist of the odd cave insect or mushroom, but they sometimes hungered for flesh.

Initially, before the goblins progressed into their current tribal stage, they would venture into one of the dwarven cities hoping for a nice meal. This was usually met with catatstrophy for the goblin.

However, these disgusting creatures had evolved.

Not in physicality, but in intellect. A stone goblin would never be able to outsmart a proper sentient, but they had progressed into a tribal society and with their own form of spoken language made of screeches and hisses. More organization in their way of life meant more organization in their hunting.

The alwari envoys didn’t know it, but the moon had begun to rise over the plains. Quiet rustling echoed through the dark tunnels that grew in volume steadily. One of the envoys looked around, the same one who was weak in the knees earlier.

“Khin! Do you hear that?” the skiddish alwari asked his partner. The other envoy looked up from his map to answer.

“What?” he asked, “I hear nothing.” he shrugged and returned to his studying of the map. As their journey returned to silence, the stone goblins awoke with a disgusting hissing sound that reverberated through the caverns, louder than most could handle without covering their ears. The terrified alwari looked around, one buckled and held back his dinner that his body was so desperately trying to evacuate.

“Run! To the city!” the other shouted. The two took off in the direction they were walking. All around them, the caverns lit up with thousands of yellow orbs. This only served to panic the two even more. their pace quickened and the one with the map dropped it and the torch he held in favor of speed.

Desperate to make it out with their lives, the two alwari raced forward, hoping to reach the city before the goblins were fully awake. Unfortunately, these two would not be so lucky. The yellow orbs began to move along the walls, crawling along them and the ceiling after the two very large servings of meat. The goblins slavered as they chased the two.

The envoys put up a valiant effort to escape the goblins, but it wound up being in vain. The alwari were fast runners, but the caverns were the goblins’ home. Their stone crawling made them faster than an elf hopping along the tree branches of the Lor’randil Forest. No living being could hope to escape so many moving so quickly. The two eventually came across a turn in the caverns, They expertly made the corner, but it also gave the goblins ample opportunity to cut them off. Now surrounded by stone goblins, the alwari envoys drew their weapons.

“Alright, beasts! You want food?!” the torch bearer shouted, “Come and get it!” In a matter of seconds, the two were covered in a writhing mess of goblins. Their efforts to fight the creatures off were heroic, but futile.

The goblins eventually walked away, higher ranking ones carrying a limb and the “chief” carrying the heads of the two. The meat was fought over, but the tribe ate well that night.

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Hours passed as the goblins ate the spoils of their rather fortuitous hunt. The leader of the tribe sat back on a nearby boulder, rolling the two skulls of their prey, now picked clean. His eyes were much duller than the others, dimmed from age. No normal goblin owned a name, but most would call this goblin “Hsssarlghrat”, meaning “revered elder”. Hsssarlghrat sipped the victims’ blood from a cup made from a hollowed out femur. Suddenly, one senior member of the tribe ran up and hissed at the “chief”. An unintelligible conversation followed about where to hunt next. Hsssrlghrat hopped up and ran over towards the city, but the other goblin grabbed him and advised his leader to choose an easier target. It would be best to not waste the meal that the caverns gave them that night. The old goblin acknowledged his underling’s wisdom and screeched an order to follow him.

The tribe of goblins eventually reached one of the mouths of the cavern system. Peering over the ledge, Hsssrlghrat looked at Caer-Bryl. He knew this village well. It was often he would lead his goblins down to steal a few morsels. He would often lose many followers in the battle, but that only meant less moths to feed after that particular hunt. This time, however, his tribe numbered over five hundred. He knew that was enough to outnumber the village. He may not wipe Caer-Bryl out that night, but he knew he would fare much better than usual.

A hissing battle cry rang out along the crags as the goblins charged down towards Caer-Bryl.