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Something I've started working on. Not sure how it's coming so far. Thoughts/opinions please:
Gnarenje stared blankly at the screen before him. After several hours researching the fineries of human anatomy, it was beginning to feel like a bad dream. Many who browsed these documents felt awe-struck, some moved to the point where they shaped their lives around what they saw as the genius within. Not that people seemed to need much excuse to follow such a path these days. Gnarenje saw no such inspiration here, only the perverted teachings of destructive minds.
With an effort, he tore his gaze away and got to his feet. After briefly pausing to brush the creases out of his overalls he stepped out of the dimly lit room and made his way out of the complex to face the setting sun. It was a similar sunset to those he had witnessed so many times at home. He had originally thought that the similarity would make it easier to be here, but had quickly realised that it made him miss home all the more.
He scanned his surroundings, taking in the permanent rubble of the destroyed city, the legacy of a civilisation lost to a cruel and ruthless war. Buildings toppled by explosive blasts or by the death that had been rained upon them from above, and what had once been roads torn up and gnarled like unwanted dough. Gnarenje had never seen war, had not even been born when the events that destroyed “Humanity” had unfolded, and found it hard to believe that such destruction could be wrought. Tragic and terrible, he thought, that so many died so swiftly here, it was impossible to imagine it. Oh, records had been found that depicted some of the wars fought on this planet, even some footage taken during the final hours of The Last Stand, but Gnarenje purposefully distanced himself from it. Many others who watched such things were too often changed by it.
As he stood soaking up the landscape, he heard someone approach. Turning, he saw Kharim striding purposefully towards him. Not that Kharim could ever walk in any other manner. Kharim was a part of the security delegate overseeing the work being done on-planet, and had been here for many annumae more than Gnarenje and his team. As such, he was a useful source of, at least, geographical information, and also a friendly and approachable face. Which is to say, he hadn’t gone “native” as many of those who spent long periods surface-bound tended to.
“I greet you, Kharim” he said as the security worker approached.
“Well met, Gnarenje” he replied “The other teams have gathered in the mess hall and your attendance is requested.”
“Gathered?” Gnarenje questioned, surprised “For what purpose?”
“It is believed that our security may have been compromised.”
Gnarenje shot a concerned look at Kharim “By whom exactly?”
“It is not known at this time”
“I see” he did not. Who would attempt such a thing and why?
“Please, follow me”
Gnarenje walked to the right of and slightly behind Kharim. Thinking quickly, he tried to formulate possibilities as to what might have transpired. As leader of one of the eleven teams currently researching near this ruined city, he might be required to vote on any action to be taken as a result of the meeting. Unfortunately, he could think of no reason why anyone would attack the camp’s security.
After walking together in silence for a time, the two approached the camp – an orderly collection of what were supposed to be temporary buildings set up in a clearing somewhere near the city centre – and headed toward the mess. The mess itself was the largest single building, meant obviously as a gathering place for social and dietary activities. It also served as the meeting place where any official action was discussed, or any new important discovery regarding the civilisation was shared.
As they entered, Gnarenje noted that essentially everyone else was indeed present. A few unimportant people were not in attendance, but all of the team leaders and most of the security personnel were accounted for. Especially notable was Bya’mish, who had attended few such meetings since her decision to follow the rest of her team in their “native” experiments. The decision to do so was evident about her. Her peers wore their ordinary, humble looks, while she darted her eyes about the room, making eye contact with anyone who looked at her, and keeping it until the other party looked away. Her mien wore a look of prudence, verging on aggression. It was characteristic of one of her kind searching for a mate, but it was evident to all present that this was not the case. She also wore clothes that could only be described as typically human. Her outfit must have been comprised of four or more pieces, and yet still bared more of her feminine flesh than it covered. It was most indecent. However, none questioned her. The passion with which the natives lived their twisted existence was well documented.
The dining tables in the mess had been pushed together to form one large table, around which everyone was sat. As Gnarenje took his place at the table, the quiet murmur of small chatter dropped to silence, and at the head of the table, with Kharim stood to his right, Mhrotan, the head of the security delegate, went through the events leading up to the gathering.
Gnarenje stared blankly at the screen before him. After several hours researching the fineries of human anatomy, it was beginning to feel like a bad dream. Many who browsed these documents felt awe-struck, some moved to the point where they shaped their lives around what they saw as the genius within. Not that people seemed to need much excuse to follow such a path these days. Gnarenje saw no such inspiration here, only the perverted teachings of destructive minds.
With an effort, he tore his gaze away and got to his feet. After briefly pausing to brush the creases out of his overalls he stepped out of the dimly lit room and made his way out of the complex to face the setting sun. It was a similar sunset to those he had witnessed so many times at home. He had originally thought that the similarity would make it easier to be here, but had quickly realised that it made him miss home all the more.
He scanned his surroundings, taking in the permanent rubble of the destroyed city, the legacy of a civilisation lost to a cruel and ruthless war. Buildings toppled by explosive blasts or by the death that had been rained upon them from above, and what had once been roads torn up and gnarled like unwanted dough. Gnarenje had never seen war, had not even been born when the events that destroyed “Humanity” had unfolded, and found it hard to believe that such destruction could be wrought. Tragic and terrible, he thought, that so many died so swiftly here, it was impossible to imagine it. Oh, records had been found that depicted some of the wars fought on this planet, even some footage taken during the final hours of The Last Stand, but Gnarenje purposefully distanced himself from it. Many others who watched such things were too often changed by it.
As he stood soaking up the landscape, he heard someone approach. Turning, he saw Kharim striding purposefully towards him. Not that Kharim could ever walk in any other manner. Kharim was a part of the security delegate overseeing the work being done on-planet, and had been here for many annumae more than Gnarenje and his team. As such, he was a useful source of, at least, geographical information, and also a friendly and approachable face. Which is to say, he hadn’t gone “native” as many of those who spent long periods surface-bound tended to.
“I greet you, Kharim” he said as the security worker approached.
“Well met, Gnarenje” he replied “The other teams have gathered in the mess hall and your attendance is requested.”
“Gathered?” Gnarenje questioned, surprised “For what purpose?”
“It is believed that our security may have been compromised.”
Gnarenje shot a concerned look at Kharim “By whom exactly?”
“It is not known at this time”
“I see” he did not. Who would attempt such a thing and why?
“Please, follow me”
Gnarenje walked to the right of and slightly behind Kharim. Thinking quickly, he tried to formulate possibilities as to what might have transpired. As leader of one of the eleven teams currently researching near this ruined city, he might be required to vote on any action to be taken as a result of the meeting. Unfortunately, he could think of no reason why anyone would attack the camp’s security.
After walking together in silence for a time, the two approached the camp – an orderly collection of what were supposed to be temporary buildings set up in a clearing somewhere near the city centre – and headed toward the mess. The mess itself was the largest single building, meant obviously as a gathering place for social and dietary activities. It also served as the meeting place where any official action was discussed, or any new important discovery regarding the civilisation was shared.
As they entered, Gnarenje noted that essentially everyone else was indeed present. A few unimportant people were not in attendance, but all of the team leaders and most of the security personnel were accounted for. Especially notable was Bya’mish, who had attended few such meetings since her decision to follow the rest of her team in their “native” experiments. The decision to do so was evident about her. Her peers wore their ordinary, humble looks, while she darted her eyes about the room, making eye contact with anyone who looked at her, and keeping it until the other party looked away. Her mien wore a look of prudence, verging on aggression. It was characteristic of one of her kind searching for a mate, but it was evident to all present that this was not the case. She also wore clothes that could only be described as typically human. Her outfit must have been comprised of four or more pieces, and yet still bared more of her feminine flesh than it covered. It was most indecent. However, none questioned her. The passion with which the natives lived their twisted existence was well documented.
The dining tables in the mess had been pushed together to form one large table, around which everyone was sat. As Gnarenje took his place at the table, the quiet murmur of small chatter dropped to silence, and at the head of the table, with Kharim stood to his right, Mhrotan, the head of the security delegate, went through the events leading up to the gathering.
I don't know much about how to structure longer stories with many characters, so all I can say is that I read that and nothing struck me as being out-of-place or false. The descriptions of the place, the hints at what had happened, the introduction of the characters - it all seemed very believable. An excellent start, I think.
Understood re: conversation. The idea is that these are aliens. Formal aliens. Plus there is more than one species, although I haven't come near enough to maing this clear, obviously.
This is a first draft, and I'll certainly be working on it soon.
Thanks.
This is a first draft, and I'll certainly be working on it soon.
Thanks.
It's quite hard to say anything, as nothing really happened. But well written, no doubt - if you posted some more up I'd definitely read it through.
The speech in the middle was over-formal. If Kharim's a friendly face, I'd expect some more informal chat between them.
But I have a general dislike of formal conversation language in books, so that might just be me.
More, please.
The speech in the middle was over-formal. If Kharim's a friendly face, I'd expect some more informal chat between them.
But I have a general dislike of formal conversation language in books, so that might just be me.
More, please.
Something I've started working on. Not sure how it's coming so far. Thoughts/opinions please:
Gnarenje stared blankly at the screen before him. After several hours researching the fineries of human anatomy, it was beginning to feel like a bad dream. Many who browsed these documents felt awe-struck, some moved to the point where they shaped their lives around what they saw as the genius within. Not that people seemed to need much excuse to follow such a path these days. Gnarenje saw no such inspiration here, only the perverted teachings of destructive minds.
With an effort, he tore his gaze away and got to his feet. After briefly pausing to brush the creases out of his overalls he stepped out of the dimly lit room and made his way out of the complex to face the setting sun. It was a similar sunset to those he had witnessed so many times at home. He had originally thought that the similarity would make it easier to be here, but had quickly realised that it made him miss home all the more.
He scanned his surroundings, taking in the permanent rubble of the destroyed city, the legacy of a civilisation lost to a cruel and ruthless war. Buildings toppled by explosive blasts or by the death that had been rained upon them from above, and what had once been roads torn up and gnarled like unwanted dough. Gnarenje had never seen war, had not even been born when the events that destroyed “Humanity” had unfolded, and found it hard to believe that such destruction could be wrought. Tragic and terrible, he thought, that so many died so swiftly here, it was impossible to imagine it. Oh, records had been found that depicted some of the wars fought on this planet, even some footage taken during the final hours of The Last Stand, but Gnarenje purposefully distanced himself from it. Many others who watched such things were too often changed by it.
As he stood soaking up the landscape, he heard someone approach. Turning, he saw Kharim striding purposefully towards him. Not that Kharim could ever walk in any other manner. Kharim was a part of the security delegate overseeing the work being done on-planet, and had been here for many annumae more than Gnarenje and his team. As such, he was a useful source of, at least, geographical information, and also a friendly and approachable face. Which is to say, he hadn’t gone “native” as many of those who spent long periods surface-bound tended to.
“I greet you, Kharim” he said as the security worker approached.
“Well met, Gnarenje” he replied “The other teams have gathered in the mess hall and your attendance is requested.”
“Gathered?” Gnarenje questioned, surprised “For what purpose?”
“It is believed that our security may have been compromised.”
Gnarenje shot a concerned look at Kharim “By whom exactly?”
“It is not known at this time”
“I see” he did not. Who would attempt such a thing and why?
“Please, follow me”
Gnarenje walked to the right of and slightly behind Kharim. Thinking quickly, he tried to formulate possibilities as to what might have transpired. As leader of one of the eleven teams currently researching near this ruined city, he might be required to vote on any action to be taken as a result of the meeting. Unfortunately, he could think of no reason why anyone would attack the camp’s security.
After walking together in silence for a time, the two approached the camp – an orderly collection of what were supposed to be temporary buildings set up in a clearing somewhere near the city centre – and headed toward the mess. The mess itself was the largest single building, meant obviously as a gathering place for social and dietary activities. It also served as the meeting place where any official action was discussed, or any new important discovery regarding the civilisation was shared.
As they entered, Gnarenje noted that essentially everyone else was indeed present. A few unimportant people were not in attendance, but all of the team leaders and most of the security personnel were accounted for. Especially notable was Bya’mish, who had attended few such meetings since her decision to follow the rest of her team in their “native” experiments. The decision to do so was evident about her. Her peers wore their ordinary, humble looks, while she darted her eyes about the room, making eye contact with anyone who looked at her, and keeping it until the other party looked away. Her mien wore a look of prudence, verging on aggression. It was characteristic of one of her kind searching for a mate, but it was evident to all present that this was not the case. She also wore clothes that could only be described as typically human. Her outfit must have been comprised of four or more pieces, and yet still bared more of her feminine flesh than it covered. It was most indecent. However, none questioned her. The passion with which the natives lived their twisted existence was well documented.
The dining tables in the mess had been pushed together to form one large table, around which everyone was sat. As Gnarenje took his place at the table, the quiet murmur of small chatter dropped to silence, and at the head of the table, with Kharim stood to his right, Mhrotan, the head of the security delegate, went through the events leading up to the gathering.
Gnarenje stared blankly at the screen before him. After several hours researching the fineries of human anatomy, it was beginning to feel like a bad dream. Many who browsed these documents felt awe-struck, some moved to the point where they shaped their lives around what they saw as the genius within. Not that people seemed to need much excuse to follow such a path these days. Gnarenje saw no such inspiration here, only the perverted teachings of destructive minds.
With an effort, he tore his gaze away and got to his feet. After briefly pausing to brush the creases out of his overalls he stepped out of the dimly lit room and made his way out of the complex to face the setting sun. It was a similar sunset to those he had witnessed so many times at home. He had originally thought that the similarity would make it easier to be here, but had quickly realised that it made him miss home all the more.
He scanned his surroundings, taking in the permanent rubble of the destroyed city, the legacy of a civilisation lost to a cruel and ruthless war. Buildings toppled by explosive blasts or by the death that had been rained upon them from above, and what had once been roads torn up and gnarled like unwanted dough. Gnarenje had never seen war, had not even been born when the events that destroyed “Humanity” had unfolded, and found it hard to believe that such destruction could be wrought. Tragic and terrible, he thought, that so many died so swiftly here, it was impossible to imagine it. Oh, records had been found that depicted some of the wars fought on this planet, even some footage taken during the final hours of The Last Stand, but Gnarenje purposefully distanced himself from it. Many others who watched such things were too often changed by it.
As he stood soaking up the landscape, he heard someone approach. Turning, he saw Kharim striding purposefully towards him. Not that Kharim could ever walk in any other manner. Kharim was a part of the security delegate overseeing the work being done on-planet, and had been here for many annumae more than Gnarenje and his team. As such, he was a useful source of, at least, geographical information, and also a friendly and approachable face. Which is to say, he hadn’t gone “native” as many of those who spent long periods surface-bound tended to.
“I greet you, Kharim” he said as the security worker approached.
“Well met, Gnarenje” he replied “The other teams have gathered in the mess hall and your attendance is requested.”
“Gathered?” Gnarenje questioned, surprised “For what purpose?”
“It is believed that our security may have been compromised.”
Gnarenje shot a concerned look at Kharim “By whom exactly?”
“It is not known at this time”
“I see” he did not. Who would attempt such a thing and why?
“Please, follow me”
Gnarenje walked to the right of and slightly behind Kharim. Thinking quickly, he tried to formulate possibilities as to what might have transpired. As leader of one of the eleven teams currently researching near this ruined city, he might be required to vote on any action to be taken as a result of the meeting. Unfortunately, he could think of no reason why anyone would attack the camp’s security.
After walking together in silence for a time, the two approached the camp – an orderly collection of what were supposed to be temporary buildings set up in a clearing somewhere near the city centre – and headed toward the mess. The mess itself was the largest single building, meant obviously as a gathering place for social and dietary activities. It also served as the meeting place where any official action was discussed, or any new important discovery regarding the civilisation was shared.
As they entered, Gnarenje noted that essentially everyone else was indeed present. A few unimportant people were not in attendance, but all of the team leaders and most of the security personnel were accounted for. Especially notable was Bya’mish, who had attended few such meetings since her decision to follow the rest of her team in their “native” experiments. The decision to do so was evident about her. Her peers wore their ordinary, humble looks, while she darted her eyes about the room, making eye contact with anyone who looked at her, and keeping it until the other party looked away. Her mien wore a look of prudence, verging on aggression. It was characteristic of one of her kind searching for a mate, but it was evident to all present that this was not the case. She also wore clothes that could only be described as typically human. Her outfit must have been comprised of four or more pieces, and yet still bared more of her feminine flesh than it covered. It was most indecent. However, none questioned her. The passion with which the natives lived their twisted existence was well documented.
The dining tables in the mess had been pushed together to form one large table, around which everyone was sat. As Gnarenje took his place at the table, the quiet murmur of small chatter dropped to silence, and at the head of the table, with Kharim stood to his right, Mhrotan, the head of the security delegate, went through the events leading up to the gathering.