Because it's becomng a beast of a story
Mar. 28th, 2006 06:10 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrBut then again, I can't remember the last time I wrote something less than twelvs pages *shakes head*
Here's the first five pages or so of your story, Goblin. Pardon the errors, it hasn't been inflicted upon my betas yet ^^; But I thought you'd like to see how I've maligned goblins this go 'round, and it makes up for my pissy first post.
The problem with goblins, Geoffrey thought, was their teeth.
Even when they smiled those pointy teeth looked nothing less than hazardous to his health. He saw goblins in the tavern from time to time, and the things they could do to a hunk of mutton was enough to put him off meat for life.
When they weren’t smiling? Like the one currently standing in his shop? Those teeth were a serious problem. Nor did the collection of weapons and profusion of earrings help. Sword worn across his back, Geoffrey counted at least three daggers and he had no doubt there was a bow and arrow somewhere – Goblins had better marksmanship than even elves. Then there were the earrings – silver, gold, and two white gold. Marks of just how many kills this goblin had to his name. Geoffrey didn’t know the system, just that this goblin wasn’t one to piss off. Not that there was such a thing as a goblin you wanted to piss off.
Like it was Geoffrey’s bloody fault the growing season had been a wretched one. “Look, if I had the ingredients to make the tonic, I would gladly give it to you. Alas, I do not. The drought ruined my herbs same as it ruined all the crops. Even the forest had nothing to offer me.”
The goblins curled his lips in disgust. “The dry spell. Of course. But if I human walked in I bet you’d have it for him.”
“That’s enough!” Geoffrey slammed his hand down on his worktable. “I help whoever asks. Doesn’t matter to me what species they are. If you’re going to take issue with me over what I can’t help, then take yourself off to the next healer.”
“You’re the fourth I’ve tried,” the goblin said bitterly. “The fourth to turn me away. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, though I had been foolishly led to think better.”
The fourth? Geoffrey was the only healer in this village; the nearest town with another was five hours away, and that town too had only one. The next town, which had two healers, was at least three days away. Which meant this goblin had wasted four days trying to find a cure. Geoffrey felt sick. “I don’t have what you need,” he said heavily. “I wish I did. But the dry spell ruined all my herbs, and when the rain finally came it was too damn late. I’ll have some next season, but I don’t now.”
“Of course,” the goblin said, voice still full of contempt.
Geoffrey frowned, ire turning into helpless frustration. This wasn’t the first time he’d encountered a goblin with such an attitude. What really pissed him off was the idea of healers who would turn away someone in need, just because that someone was a goblin.
Those pointy teeth were not his favorite thing in the world; he had no desire to ever be in the position of mutton. But he wouldn’t turn a goblin out just because he was a goblin.
As far as goblins went, this one was far from the scariest he’d seen. For one thing, beyond the teeth he wasn’t scary looking at all. His skin was dark, a strange sort of blackish-green, which was fairly common amongst goblins. But it was smooth instead of rough, with none of the usual blemishes. His features were angular, well-defined, with ears that came to a sharp point. The gold and silver hoops in his ears ran the length of them; if money were his primary interest in this business, those earrings would have assured him that this goblin could pay and pay well. Another gold hoop punctured the left nostril of his nose, something Geoffrey didn’t think many people could pull off but didn’t actually look bad on the goblin. His hair was longish, and pulled back in a neat tail. It looked thick, and was the blue-black color of good ink.
Goblins were slender by nature, and this one was no exception. But Geoffrey knew enough about goblins not to be deceived by that slenderness – when suitably pissed or otherwise inspired, goblins had been known to crush the bones of various and sundry creatures.
Geoffrey wondered if he was about to learn what that felt like.
Most intriguing of all, though, about this particular goblin was the eyes. Most goblins had dark eyes, in shades of brown or green or yellow. Earthy tones. This goblin’s eyes were dark, but they were dark blue. They were…Geoffrey hesitated to use the word ‘pretty’ and he’d certainly never say it aloud, but no other word seemed to quite fit.
“Look,” he said into the silence. “I have most of the components. I can show them to you, I can even bundle them all up for you and tell what to do to make the tonic – but I don’t have the brightleaf, I’m sorry. There isn’t much of it available in a good season, never mind a bad one like this.”
The goblin still regarded him distrustfully. “It can’t be found anywhere? There’s nothing you can use as substitute?”
Geoffrey let out a long, frustrated sigh. “No, there’s no where else to find it. No, there is nothing else that will work. The venom from a rock wyrm bite requires a very specific antidote. I can help stave it off for a few extra days, even dull the pain, but I can’t cure it without brightleaf. Normally I pick it at the base of the mountain but that entire field went dry this season. I’ll be lucky to get half my usual crop next year.” He scrubbed a hand through his short red hair, grimacing at how easily his fingers tangled in tight curls.
“Stave it off?” The goblin asked. “Dull the pain? That’s possible?”
“Of course it’s possible. All you need to slow the poison is ogre-grass tea; add a bit of faerie dust and black poppy and whoever drinks it will be lucky if they don’t sleep for a week straight.” Geoffrey stared. “You said you’d been to other healers…didn’t they give you that much?”
“No,” the goblin said, voice once more full of that awful bitterness. For the first time, Geoffrey realized just how much of it was actually fear and anguish. Which he should have realized immediately, if someone this goblin knew had been bitten by a rock wyrm, except the teeth and anger had distracted him. Stupid stupid stupid.
Geoffrey immediately turned back to his work table and set aside the journal he’d been annotating, opened a box of dried herbs, rifled through a rack of bottles, and flipped open a book in which he’d made a list of various tea-based potions and medicines. He worked briskly, everything around him fading. An entire pack of goblins could have entered with teeth bared and he would not have noticed.
When the tea was finally ready – ogre grass was finicky stuff, especially when mixed with faerie dust, and black poppy was dangerous if you so much as looked at it wrong – he turned around and presented the sack of tea to…”What’s your name? If you’ll pardon. I’m Geoffrey, though you probably already knew that if you’ve heard of me.”
“Thorley,” the goblin said warily, looking at the sack of tea but not taking it.
“Brew a cup of this every five hours. Not more than that, unless you come see me first. Too much of the black poppy is dangerous.”
“He’s been bitten by a rock wyrm,” Thorley said, still bitter. “What does a little too much black poppy matter?”
Geoffrey gave him the tea.
“How much?”
“No charge,” Geoffrey said.
“I don’t take charity,” the goblin snarled, blue eyes flashing.
“I don’t give it,” Geoffrey said, glaring back up at the man looming over him. “But it’s the least I can do since I’m failing in my duties by not having the brightleaf. I truly wish I did.”
Thorley backed off, looking ever so briefly contrite before resuming the stiff, prickly manner that Geoffrey figured was probably normal. He sketched an awkward bow, then turned to leave. Paused at the door. “Is there no where to find the brightleaf?”
Geoffrey started to shake his head, then hesitated. It was stupid, but…“Possibly at the top of the mountain but the beasts would get me long before I reached it.”
“What does it look like?” Thorley asked, and Geoffrey knew desperation when he heard it.
“A small red flower with bright gold leaves. But not all the leaves are suitable; it takes a trained eye to know which ones are good.”
“Ah,” Thorley said, shoulders sagging.
Geoffrey spent ten seconds trying to talk himself out of doing something stupid. “Are you any good at fighting off beasts?”
Thorley bristled. “Of course.”
“Then, if you like, we can go. I can hike a long way but I can’t so much as hold a bow. Keep us alive, and I’ll do what I can to save—who got bitten?” Funny the man hadn’t said; he’d just demanded a cure for rock wyrm venom.
“My little brother,” Thorley said. He was watching Geoffrey warily, eyes flaring with hope though it was obvious he was trying to dampen it. “It took us by surprise, while we were setting up camp. We didn’t realize it had a nest nearby.”
Geoffrey winced.
“Would you really…be willing to help us?”
“Yes, I would.” Geoffrey wondered why, but shrugged it off. He was a healer, he was supposed to help. And he knew all about helping a brother. “But I suggest that you fetch your brother and bring him here, first. It will take us a few days to get up the mountain and down again, and it would help him to have constant care. I’ll write a note for my apprentice while you get him. Do it quickly, and we can leave tonight.” Time, after all, was short. Rock wyrm venom took days to kill, but four had already been lost.
“Bring him here?” Thorley seemed astonished. “Are you certain?”
“Yes. Now do it.” Course of action decided, Geoffrey had no time to waste on stupid questions. “Put him in the spare bed; I’ll set water for his first cup of tea before I start packing.”
Thorley looked as though he wanted to stand and ask a great many more questions, but instead he nodded and dashed from the cabin, vanishing into the early evening.
“What in the six hells am I doing?” Geoffrey asked no one in particular as he swung his kettle over the fire to heat water. Then he began to move around his cabin, picking out everything he might possibly need for his unexpected journey up the mountain.
When the door banged open nearly an hour later, he had just finished putting together packets of medicine so that all any of them would need was ten minutes of blending or a few minutes of steeping. He twisted around on his stool – and then nearly fell off it.
“I thought you said your brother was ill,” Geoffrey said, but he moved to help get the sick, trembling human to the spare room. Thorley didn’t reply until the young man was safely tucked in bed, kneeling briefly to mutter a few words in goblin tongue. The sick man chuckled briefly, then eyes the same shade of blue as Thorley’s flicked to Geoffrey. He smiled weakly as Geoffrey approached holding an earthen mug. “It doesn’t taste so great, but drink it all. It will help.”
Thorley remained silent until they were back in the main cabin. “He is my brother,” he said quietly. “Half, to be specific.” He turned to look out the window, folding his arms across his chest, and Geoffrey swore he could see the way the goblin vibrated with restless, unhappy energy. “Let’s just say my father didn’t give my mother much of a choice. Mother never liked me much, but she did raise me. My stepfather never wanted anything to do with me, but Von and I were always close.”
Geoffrey kept his face expressionless. The story was not unfamiliar, though he’d never seen the results of such a thing. It certainly explained the blue eyes and flawless skin. “Up for traveling immediately? Or would you like to rest the night here and head out in the morning?”
“I can leave now,” Thorley said, something like gratitude mixing with confusion when Geoffrey did not press the issue of his parentage. “I…” he frowned, obviously wrestling with something. “You don’t have to do this,” he said finally.
“You’re welcome,” Geoffrey said with a smile. He swung his pack up onto his back, shifting around until it rest comfortably. “Shall we?”
Thorley nodded and followed Geoffrey out into the night.
Here's the first five pages or so of your story, Goblin. Pardon the errors, it hasn't been inflicted upon my betas yet ^^; But I thought you'd like to see how I've maligned goblins this go 'round, and it makes up for my pissy first post.
The problem with goblins, Geoffrey thought, was their teeth.
Even when they smiled those pointy teeth looked nothing less than hazardous to his health. He saw goblins in the tavern from time to time, and the things they could do to a hunk of mutton was enough to put him off meat for life.
When they weren’t smiling? Like the one currently standing in his shop? Those teeth were a serious problem. Nor did the collection of weapons and profusion of earrings help. Sword worn across his back, Geoffrey counted at least three daggers and he had no doubt there was a bow and arrow somewhere – Goblins had better marksmanship than even elves. Then there were the earrings – silver, gold, and two white gold. Marks of just how many kills this goblin had to his name. Geoffrey didn’t know the system, just that this goblin wasn’t one to piss off. Not that there was such a thing as a goblin you wanted to piss off.
Like it was Geoffrey’s bloody fault the growing season had been a wretched one. “Look, if I had the ingredients to make the tonic, I would gladly give it to you. Alas, I do not. The drought ruined my herbs same as it ruined all the crops. Even the forest had nothing to offer me.”
The goblins curled his lips in disgust. “The dry spell. Of course. But if I human walked in I bet you’d have it for him.”
“That’s enough!” Geoffrey slammed his hand down on his worktable. “I help whoever asks. Doesn’t matter to me what species they are. If you’re going to take issue with me over what I can’t help, then take yourself off to the next healer.”
“You’re the fourth I’ve tried,” the goblin said bitterly. “The fourth to turn me away. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, though I had been foolishly led to think better.”
The fourth? Geoffrey was the only healer in this village; the nearest town with another was five hours away, and that town too had only one. The next town, which had two healers, was at least three days away. Which meant this goblin had wasted four days trying to find a cure. Geoffrey felt sick. “I don’t have what you need,” he said heavily. “I wish I did. But the dry spell ruined all my herbs, and when the rain finally came it was too damn late. I’ll have some next season, but I don’t now.”
“Of course,” the goblin said, voice still full of contempt.
Geoffrey frowned, ire turning into helpless frustration. This wasn’t the first time he’d encountered a goblin with such an attitude. What really pissed him off was the idea of healers who would turn away someone in need, just because that someone was a goblin.
Those pointy teeth were not his favorite thing in the world; he had no desire to ever be in the position of mutton. But he wouldn’t turn a goblin out just because he was a goblin.
As far as goblins went, this one was far from the scariest he’d seen. For one thing, beyond the teeth he wasn’t scary looking at all. His skin was dark, a strange sort of blackish-green, which was fairly common amongst goblins. But it was smooth instead of rough, with none of the usual blemishes. His features were angular, well-defined, with ears that came to a sharp point. The gold and silver hoops in his ears ran the length of them; if money were his primary interest in this business, those earrings would have assured him that this goblin could pay and pay well. Another gold hoop punctured the left nostril of his nose, something Geoffrey didn’t think many people could pull off but didn’t actually look bad on the goblin. His hair was longish, and pulled back in a neat tail. It looked thick, and was the blue-black color of good ink.
Goblins were slender by nature, and this one was no exception. But Geoffrey knew enough about goblins not to be deceived by that slenderness – when suitably pissed or otherwise inspired, goblins had been known to crush the bones of various and sundry creatures.
Geoffrey wondered if he was about to learn what that felt like.
Most intriguing of all, though, about this particular goblin was the eyes. Most goblins had dark eyes, in shades of brown or green or yellow. Earthy tones. This goblin’s eyes were dark, but they were dark blue. They were…Geoffrey hesitated to use the word ‘pretty’ and he’d certainly never say it aloud, but no other word seemed to quite fit.
“Look,” he said into the silence. “I have most of the components. I can show them to you, I can even bundle them all up for you and tell what to do to make the tonic – but I don’t have the brightleaf, I’m sorry. There isn’t much of it available in a good season, never mind a bad one like this.”
The goblin still regarded him distrustfully. “It can’t be found anywhere? There’s nothing you can use as substitute?”
Geoffrey let out a long, frustrated sigh. “No, there’s no where else to find it. No, there is nothing else that will work. The venom from a rock wyrm bite requires a very specific antidote. I can help stave it off for a few extra days, even dull the pain, but I can’t cure it without brightleaf. Normally I pick it at the base of the mountain but that entire field went dry this season. I’ll be lucky to get half my usual crop next year.” He scrubbed a hand through his short red hair, grimacing at how easily his fingers tangled in tight curls.
“Stave it off?” The goblin asked. “Dull the pain? That’s possible?”
“Of course it’s possible. All you need to slow the poison is ogre-grass tea; add a bit of faerie dust and black poppy and whoever drinks it will be lucky if they don’t sleep for a week straight.” Geoffrey stared. “You said you’d been to other healers…didn’t they give you that much?”
“No,” the goblin said, voice once more full of that awful bitterness. For the first time, Geoffrey realized just how much of it was actually fear and anguish. Which he should have realized immediately, if someone this goblin knew had been bitten by a rock wyrm, except the teeth and anger had distracted him. Stupid stupid stupid.
Geoffrey immediately turned back to his work table and set aside the journal he’d been annotating, opened a box of dried herbs, rifled through a rack of bottles, and flipped open a book in which he’d made a list of various tea-based potions and medicines. He worked briskly, everything around him fading. An entire pack of goblins could have entered with teeth bared and he would not have noticed.
When the tea was finally ready – ogre grass was finicky stuff, especially when mixed with faerie dust, and black poppy was dangerous if you so much as looked at it wrong – he turned around and presented the sack of tea to…”What’s your name? If you’ll pardon. I’m Geoffrey, though you probably already knew that if you’ve heard of me.”
“Thorley,” the goblin said warily, looking at the sack of tea but not taking it.
“Brew a cup of this every five hours. Not more than that, unless you come see me first. Too much of the black poppy is dangerous.”
“He’s been bitten by a rock wyrm,” Thorley said, still bitter. “What does a little too much black poppy matter?”
Geoffrey gave him the tea.
“How much?”
“No charge,” Geoffrey said.
“I don’t take charity,” the goblin snarled, blue eyes flashing.
“I don’t give it,” Geoffrey said, glaring back up at the man looming over him. “But it’s the least I can do since I’m failing in my duties by not having the brightleaf. I truly wish I did.”
Thorley backed off, looking ever so briefly contrite before resuming the stiff, prickly manner that Geoffrey figured was probably normal. He sketched an awkward bow, then turned to leave. Paused at the door. “Is there no where to find the brightleaf?”
Geoffrey started to shake his head, then hesitated. It was stupid, but…“Possibly at the top of the mountain but the beasts would get me long before I reached it.”
“What does it look like?” Thorley asked, and Geoffrey knew desperation when he heard it.
“A small red flower with bright gold leaves. But not all the leaves are suitable; it takes a trained eye to know which ones are good.”
“Ah,” Thorley said, shoulders sagging.
Geoffrey spent ten seconds trying to talk himself out of doing something stupid. “Are you any good at fighting off beasts?”
Thorley bristled. “Of course.”
“Then, if you like, we can go. I can hike a long way but I can’t so much as hold a bow. Keep us alive, and I’ll do what I can to save—who got bitten?” Funny the man hadn’t said; he’d just demanded a cure for rock wyrm venom.
“My little brother,” Thorley said. He was watching Geoffrey warily, eyes flaring with hope though it was obvious he was trying to dampen it. “It took us by surprise, while we were setting up camp. We didn’t realize it had a nest nearby.”
Geoffrey winced.
“Would you really…be willing to help us?”
“Yes, I would.” Geoffrey wondered why, but shrugged it off. He was a healer, he was supposed to help. And he knew all about helping a brother. “But I suggest that you fetch your brother and bring him here, first. It will take us a few days to get up the mountain and down again, and it would help him to have constant care. I’ll write a note for my apprentice while you get him. Do it quickly, and we can leave tonight.” Time, after all, was short. Rock wyrm venom took days to kill, but four had already been lost.
“Bring him here?” Thorley seemed astonished. “Are you certain?”
“Yes. Now do it.” Course of action decided, Geoffrey had no time to waste on stupid questions. “Put him in the spare bed; I’ll set water for his first cup of tea before I start packing.”
Thorley looked as though he wanted to stand and ask a great many more questions, but instead he nodded and dashed from the cabin, vanishing into the early evening.
“What in the six hells am I doing?” Geoffrey asked no one in particular as he swung his kettle over the fire to heat water. Then he began to move around his cabin, picking out everything he might possibly need for his unexpected journey up the mountain.
When the door banged open nearly an hour later, he had just finished putting together packets of medicine so that all any of them would need was ten minutes of blending or a few minutes of steeping. He twisted around on his stool – and then nearly fell off it.
“I thought you said your brother was ill,” Geoffrey said, but he moved to help get the sick, trembling human to the spare room. Thorley didn’t reply until the young man was safely tucked in bed, kneeling briefly to mutter a few words in goblin tongue. The sick man chuckled briefly, then eyes the same shade of blue as Thorley’s flicked to Geoffrey. He smiled weakly as Geoffrey approached holding an earthen mug. “It doesn’t taste so great, but drink it all. It will help.”
Thorley remained silent until they were back in the main cabin. “He is my brother,” he said quietly. “Half, to be specific.” He turned to look out the window, folding his arms across his chest, and Geoffrey swore he could see the way the goblin vibrated with restless, unhappy energy. “Let’s just say my father didn’t give my mother much of a choice. Mother never liked me much, but she did raise me. My stepfather never wanted anything to do with me, but Von and I were always close.”
Geoffrey kept his face expressionless. The story was not unfamiliar, though he’d never seen the results of such a thing. It certainly explained the blue eyes and flawless skin. “Up for traveling immediately? Or would you like to rest the night here and head out in the morning?”
“I can leave now,” Thorley said, something like gratitude mixing with confusion when Geoffrey did not press the issue of his parentage. “I…” he frowned, obviously wrestling with something. “You don’t have to do this,” he said finally.
“You’re welcome,” Geoffrey said with a smile. He swung his pack up onto his back, shifting around until it rest comfortably. “Shall we?”
Thorley nodded and followed Geoffrey out into the night.
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Date: 2006-03-29 02:17 am (UTC)