Tales from the Vale: King's Wharf (Feedback Requested)

(This page appears to have been removed from a journal; the author is unknown.)

The ship that brought me to Kingsport was little more than a dinghy with a mast. Seven days it took, riding up breakers and crashing down to surf, to get from Port Graff. Now, I wish for nothing more than a way to return. Mining gems is a backbreaking life, but you are less likely to be killed by elves while underground. Now I don't know which king this port is supposedly named for, but I imagine he's a rat about a span tall; king of the wharves!

The Vale, 'twas said, was a place to go where the Oracle's eyes would not follow. I have nothing against the steel lady herself, you understand, but hose mechanical monstrosities send shivers up my spine. The whole mainland is infested with the things, but I figured here would be better. But an hour off the water, sitting beneath the sign of the Hearth of New Britannia, I watch one of the multi-legged things crawl up through the bars of a sewer gate.

I'm not a nosy sort, you understand, but after a few minutes I crawled down the nearby rungs and pulled open the grate, entering the dark recess beneath the docks. It black as pitch, but a nearby box holds a dozen torches, so I borrowed one and ignited it from a handy sconce. The sewers branch, seemingly at random, so I picked a direction in the same manner, soon coming upon a pool. From the debris within, I have a sense that the mayor's privy may be located just above this area, so I turned to leave the way I had come.

A dozen feet from me stood what was once a man.

The beast still wore the blasted remnants of leather armor, and the rusted head of its mace swung just inches from the stonework. However, no flesh showed beneath the gaps; indeed, the entire dermis was missing, yet the bones stood as though still encased. Its jaw dropped into a rictus grin as it raised its weapon. Swinging a pickaxe, I thought I'd stand a chance against even such a perversion of nature, but I was unarmed. So, as it swung, I darted to the side, narrowing avoiding a fatal concussion, and ran as fast as my legs would carry me.

Once I reached daylight, I went immediately to the guard, but they dismissed my tale. I even went to the mayor, having to interrupt his seemingly endless chat with the local Guildmistress. For my troubles, I was escorted from the premises and told to lay off the ale. The nerve!

I found a brief employ at a warehouse, which earned me enough to stay for the week in one of the hovels near the waterfront. As soon as a seaworthy vessel makes port, I'll be aboard, and begging Ol' Graff to take me back. It can't be long...

 

Suspected typos.

 

Hi Browncoat Jayson,

Great piece and descriptive prowess.

Feedback: keep doing what you're doing.

Regards,

 

Really fun story Jayson - I love how this syncs with the Kingsport scene - It seems so "real!"

I also love the context of this story in a stray journal page (what happened to the guy and the rest of the journal!?)

Feedback on a story written as-if by another author is tough because it's hard to tell if the things we're giving feedback on are an intentional portrayal of the fictional author by the actual author...see I just confused myself!

The description of turning to face the skeleton is very well done and my favorite part. One thing confuses me thought. "Swinging a pickaxe," implies this is is an action the subject is taking in the heat of the moment (and the reader is then confused when the subject says he is unarmed; how is he unarmed if he is swinging a pickaxe at the thing?). Instead I think you mean that the subject has great strength from the exercise of swinging a pickaxe.

In the first paragraph I think you (he) are giving the impression that the subject was "ok" mining gems, but somehow got the impression that Kingsport was like Dr. Suess' Solla Sollew (a place with golden gates where all your troubles would be solved). Unlike the Solla Sollew character, who tolerated a rough journey, the paragraph implies that the journey alone was cause to give up and return to the previous way of life by the order of the sentences. Perhaps this is not what you intended. The last sentence may be suggesting that the "look" of the place (fit for rats? very small?) is what turned the subject off and caused him to wish to return home. I might be missing some middle-age interpretation of span and wharves (do you mean waifs?), but the references at the end lose me a bit. The first paragraph might work better reworked like this - this might also help by providing the "strength from swinging the pickaxe" history early so it doesn't need to be referenced in the heat of the skeleton encounter:

The ship that brought me to Kingsport was little more than a dinghy with a mast. Seven days it took, riding up breakers and crashing down to surf, to get from Port Graff. Now mining gems is a backbreaking life, but at least the earth stays still! And besides, swinging a pickaxe makes for a strong constitution and you are less likely to be killed by elves while underground. I don't know which king this place is supposedly named for, but from the look of this small and dirty port, I imagine he's some kind of rodent; king of the waifs! I was a fool to embark on this journey, and now, I wish for nothing more than a way to return home.


My suggestions my be off and perhaps even detract from the story, but hopefully this feedback gives you some insight into how a reader interprets your words.

 

I'll take care of the typos!

Wharves is simply plural for wharf, thus implying that a rat could be a lord of the docks at Kingsport. I do like the wistful sentence at the end of that paragraph, tho.

The ship that brought me to Kingsport was little more than a dinghy with a mast. Seven days it took, riding up breakers and crashing down to surf, to get from Port Graff. Now mining gems is a backbreaking life, but you are less likely to be killed by pirates or an errant storm while underground. From stories, I expected an idyllic place of farmers and sheep, not the dreary port that awaited me. I don't know which king this place is supposedly named for, but I imagine he's a rat about a span tall; king of the wharves! I was a fool to leave Graff, and now I wish for nothing more than a way to return.

Also, when faced by the skeleton, the sentence should probably be:

Had I my pickaxe, I might have stood a chance against even such a perversion of nature, but I was unarmed.

I'll leave this up for a couple more days, then put it in the submission topic with all of the edits. Thanks for the feedback guys!

 

I'd like to see this added to the Vale thread once the typos are remedied. Great work!

 

Done! Thanks all.