Bay 12 Games Forum

A couple of things.

First of all, and I think i'm probably guilty of this too, two words thrown together to create a new word usually results in a cheese-sounding fictional vocabulary. You're guys' opinions may be different, but I STRONGLY advocate either using portmanteaus, combining words based on their roots, or really just any other way than just sliding them next to each other.

Secondly, to just get some opinions here. If you ended up reading what I was posting did you like it? I get the sense that you fellows find it rather dispassionate. If not, would you continue reading?

Of course, in asking for a "review" of sorts, I'll leave one in return:

Quote

Uh... Hi,

I've been doing some writing lately and while I've always been interested in writing I've never really gotten the hang of it I suppose. Anyway, if you'd like to read some of what I've done have a look here and critique. Be harsh, very harsh.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Aaron tasted dust, and blood. They mingled in his mouth producing a tangy, metallic paste that stuck to the top of his mouth. It was like this every time, every single damn time! Whenever he came to the small village of Rookstead with his father and brother, he was beaten and bullied by the taller and stronger village boys. He swished the paste around in his mouth with what little saliva was still there.
 
That morning he had awoken with a bad taste, similar to bile, already in his mouth. He had known then that he was going to the village that morning. He had known what awaited him there, the teasing, the name-calling and finally the beating. He supposed that it wasn’t all, the village boy’s fault. They lived a quiet life and the occasional visits, from either farmers living out of the village or storytellers, were the only excitement they had. He just wished they wouldn’t use him as their punching bag.

“Wake up, weakling!” The shouted voice shook him out of his reverie as a pair of huge, roughly calloused hands lifted him up. The hands belonged to Jorge a lackey of the main bully, the ringleader, Stephen. “Still awake Aaron? Maybe I didn’t hit you hard enough.” Stephen was huge, he was easily the tallest, and the strongest of all the boys, both those living on outlying farms and in the village, he enjoyed fighting and his favourite “partner” was Aaron. Aaron on the other hand was not huge, he was small and his skinny frame was pale,s and a face more like his mothers than his fathers was complete with green eyes. The hands pushed him back, away from Stephen and he stumbled slightly. “Prepare yourself!” Stephen shouted as he took a fighting stance.

Aaron just stood still his shoulders slumped and eyes downcast. If he had learnt anything from his other beatings it was that resistance just caused more pain. He stood still and heard Stephen approach him. The first punch hit him in the stomach doubling him over and driving him back a few steps. The second hit him in an uppercut below his jaw. He felt his feet lift from the ground and he slammed onto his back dust flying up from his impact and lights flashing before his eyes.

He heard dimly a collective intake of breath from the gathered boys. They had hit him hard before but never this hard. Someone kneeled beside him and he saw through the flashing lights, Stephen. He suddenly felt angry. Angry with the boys, angry with himself but mostly angry with Stephen. He reached out a hand and touched Stephen, a shock passed through him and his vision cleared, his head stopped aching and the sea in his ears subsided. Most importantly however, Stephen was blown away.

Aaron stood up, the boys were quite as if expecting something. He walked over to the limp figure that he recognized as Stephen. As he neared he could hear Stephen breathing quick, shallow breaths as though he was winded. Aaron reached out a hand to help. Stephen’s eyes widened, in… In anger? No it was fear in his eyes. “Get… Get away from me! Freak!” He shouted this as though trying to reassure himself. Aaron turned his back on Stephen, and fled.

“What the…!” the voice of Aaron’s father burst out, an expletive only stopped by the stern gaze of his mother. They were sitting at a table cut from yellow peachwood, a beautiful and strong species of tree. Peachwood of this kind was extremely expensive and his family was only in possession of a table made from it because of a long-forgotten ancestor on Aaron’s mother’s side who had done some favour or other for a noble family and had been given the table as a gift. His father placed his hands around his tanned face and sighed. With his tanned face wrinkled with smile lines framing his brown eyes Aaron’s father was not an unkind man. No, he was not unkind, but he did believe in hard work and, if not exactly harsh, than almost harsh discipline. His mother was of a similar disposition, she believed that nothing was better for boys than good hard work, but she looked nothing like his father. Straight, blonde hair framed her petite oval face; indeed her whole body was petite, and striking green eyes shone from where they rested.

His father began to speak and this time he chose his words more carefully. “What… Were you thinking, Aaron?” He said carefully, lifting his face from it’s resting place in his hands, his barely contained fury evident in his eyes. “I…” Began Aaron his voice shaking for he knew how formidable his parent could be “I was a-angry.” He managed to finish. His father leaned across the table the palms of his hands flat against the table. “I don’t care how angry you were.  Breaking the ribs of the son of the most respected man in the entire village is not allowed under my roof!” The voice saying this had begun as a whisper and had risen in volume as his father had spoken was now a shout. Taking a breath to calm himself and his voice he continued, “I’ve been thinking for a while now and I’ve decided that you need to get an apprenticeship. Don’t look at me that way Moll!” His father shouted again, more than once a day that was unusual for him, and his mother’s unspoken protestations died in her throat. “You need to leave boy, make a life for yourself. Your brother will inherit the land when I…” His voice cracked slightly, “When I-I die, and you will not be able to live here anymore. There was a man in the village today he said that he was a natural philosopher of some kind and that he wanted an apprentice to learn his secrets. He said that he’d be in the village for a few more days but not long. I had thought to talk to you’re mother first but now, now I am decided. Tomorrow morning we will go to the village and there… There you will become an apprentice.”

Dinner that night was quiet. The silence broken only by the clattering of cutlery against plates and the audible sizzling of Aaron’s fathers skin because of his mother’s glare. Aaron went to bed exhausted and nervous, tomorrow he was leaving his family. He didn’t know when he was coming back, even if he was going to come back. He woke early the next morning mostly because his father was shaking him awake. He dressed quickly and packed what little possessions he owned in the grey light of pre-dawn. He clambered up onto the cart that was strapped to the one draft horse that his family owned for farm-work and drawing a cart when they went to town. They rode to town in silence and Aaron’s mouth became dryer and dryer with every foot they rode.

The door to the inn where the man Aaron was to be apprenticed to swung open easily on oiled hinges. “What ar’ya doin ‘ere John?” The shout came from the end of the room originating from a fat man cleaning the bench where food and drink was served. Despite the cool air the man was already sweating and it was this fact more than anything else that made it easy for Aaron to identify the man as the innkeeper. John, Aaron’s father, grinned and walked over to the man. “Getting the boy an apprenticeship Doen.” Doen raised an eyebrow and looked at Aaron, who was sulking just a little. “Goin ta be ‘prenticed to that natur’l philosphir guy ar’ya?”
“Yes sir.” Aaron said still a little sulkily.
“Look sharp den boy. ‘Ere e is now.”
A short man with a mass of grey, tangled hair on his head and a short bunched up beard came down the stairs and walked over to the bar. In what was obviously a cultured voice he began talking, “Thank you for the room, good innkeeper. It was of a high quality and the sheets were cleaner then expected, as a sign of my gratitude please accept this coin.” He reached into his clothes and drew forth a gold coin. Doen’s eyes lit up, gold was an uncommon sight around here. “Thank’ee good sa. A does try me best to keep da inn clean.” Doen performed an awkward bow and took the coin. John cleared his throat audibly and the small man turned to look at him. Aaron’s mouth was now completely dry, was this the man he was to be apprenticed to? A man who gave gold to innkeepers just because he slept in a clean room? Gold was valuable, money was valuable, was this man a fool?

John himself performed a clumsy bow his body unaccustomed to such movements and he began speaking in a halting voice. “Sir… Got a son. That is got a child, who… Apprentice.” The man looked at him strangely for a minute and he coloured. “Um… I’ve got a son who needs and apprenticeship.” He managed to rush this out without embarrassing himself overly much. The small man noticed Aaron for the first time his eyebrows furrowed, as he appeared to think for a minute, and then his face broke into a smile. “I accept” He quickly said, face still smiling. John was stunned at the speed with which things were moving. “Ah… Don’t you want to talk a little first…?” He started then stopped when the man shook his head. “No, no got to keep moving you see.” He turned to Aaron. “Come along boy, we have a long way to go.” He walked out the door and Aaron having no other choice, followed.

They walked for about a half hour by which time the sun had well and truly begun to rise. Sitting down the man Aaron had been apprenticed sat down on a log and began to pull items out of his pack and place them on the ground. “Had breakfast yet boy?” He asked. Still numb with the shock of being so quickly apprenticed to the man, from what he’d heard an apprenticeship usually took hours, at least, to set up, he could only bring himself to shake his head.
“Well boy, speak up.” The man said.
“Uh… No… Sir.”
“Good, I shall cook for two.”
“Um… Sir.”
“The man looked up with bright eyes. “Ferran boy. Master Ferran to you.”
“Um… Master Ferran sir.”
“No need for the sir.” He chuckled “Not as if I’m a knight.”
Aaron took a deep breath. “Master Ferran, what is it that you actually do?”

Ferran stopped his preparations and looked more closely at his new apprentice. “Why boy I am a natural philosopher. More specifically however as I assume you do not know what that entails, I am a magician, a user of magic, who follows a natural path. I use herbs and knowledge of the earth in partnership with magic to heal and create.” Ferran raised an eyebrow at Aaron’s stillness. “Well boy, got something to say?” Aaron didn’t respond, he’d frozen over at the word magic. It had made instant sense, what else could it have been yesterday?

Aaron took another breath and spoke. “Um… Master Ferran, how do you tell if someone has magic?” Ferran started.
“That reminds me actually, hold out your hand lad.” Aaron held out one of his hands as Ferran had asked. “What I’m going to do here, lad, is read your magical signature and power by sending a small jolt of magic between us and seeing how your body reacts.” Ferran said this while he grasped the boy’s smaller hands in both of his. “Are you ready boy?” Aaron could only manage a nod. Ferran closed his eyes and a light blue emanated from where his hands grasped Aaron’s. Aaron felt his hands cool down suddenly and then heat up as the blue light gave way to a white light and, feeling similar to how he had yesterday; he closed his eyes just in time.

When he opened his eyes he saw Ferran standing up and rubbing his back he ran over to where he had fallen. Luckily Ferran had landed on a soft bed of moss that covered dirt whereas if he had landed a few feet to his right on a collection of rocks it would have been quite a different story. Ferran waved him away. “It’s quite alright boy, as soon as I saw the changing light I realised what I had to do.” He looked up with a small frown. “Strong reaction though boy. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen an non-magician with quite as much power before.” Ferran walked back to where he had abandoned breakfast while rubbing his hands. “I’m sure you have many questions lad, those however can wait for breakfast. You do like eggs?”

Breakfast was soon ready, Ferran appeared to move very quickly when food was involved and now that Aaron thought about it he did seem to have a bit of a… Potbelly. “Well lad,” He said over his plate of steaming hot eggs and bacon. “Eat up, we won’t eat like this every day if we intend to reach our destination, and while you eat talk, I’ll answer any questions you have if I can.” Aaron placed a stripper of bacon into his mouth and thought while chewing, he wanted to know of a lot of things and wasn’t sure where to start. When he swallowed he had decided. “What is magic?” Now it was Ferran’s and he too ate while he thought.
“Good question boy, a difficult one to answer as well.” He took a breath, inhaling an egg in the process. “From what we, magicians, can gather magic is a force similar to the wind in the air and the fires in our hearths. Like these forces magic can be harnessed, like the sails on our ships we can create tools that capture magic and direct it, however, with magic humans can also act as the tool. Most humans have very little power with magic and cannot direct it to any large degree, but some, like you or me, have a natural talent and can draw upon large amounts of the magic in the surroundings and direct it to whatever purpose suits us.”

Ferran stopped and ate a few more pieces of bacon washing them down with a swig from his canteen. “I believe that about sums up magic on a basic level. Anymore questions?” Aaron thought about his next move to not arouse suspicion about what he had done to Stephen he would have to broach this carefully. “Uh, could say, magic happen… Accidentally?” Ferran looked at him eyes slightly quizzical. “Well, yes, in fact it is quite common. When ambient magic builds up for one reason or another it looks for the most powerful magic user in the area and…” Ferran stopped and stared at him. “Would I be correct boy in assuming that this is what happened to the village headsman’s boy?” Aaron gulped. Apparently he hadn’t been subtle enough. “Maybe… Yes, but it was an accident.”
“Never mind that lad, accidents happen. Interesting though, you must be very powerful for ambient magic to gather around you when you haven’t been trained…” Ferran stood and stretched his back. “Well lad, if we want to reach the destination I have in mind we should start walking again soon. You are an apprentice however and that means that you have to clean the dishes.” Aaron groaned.

Oh! I almost forgot what is your view on fanfiction?

Firstly, in a very general sense, i'm against fanfiction. There are times when I don't mind it (this, presumably, being one, because I have no connection to its universe), but generally fanfiction is just more-of-the-same. I don't want to read an extremely similar story with similar characters doing similar things in the same universe. I find fan fiction okay when it adds to the atmosphere and helps you imagine the larger world... ESPECIALLY when it doesn't mention the main/side/tertiary characters of the canon too much/at all. (but when does that ever happen?)

Anyways, review stuff:

As a reader, I'm drawn in initially, but like Arx said, "Your plotline is, unfortunately, fairly clichéd." However, if that's what you like who am I to judge? The REAL problem I think lies in the pace of the story. It's fast. It's Barry Allen fast.

First of all, give us more background. I want to know EVERYTHING about this village, even things I didn't want to know about it. Then, develop this whole "bullied" thing a bit. Make me hate this Stephen fellow. Ya know, character development. Same goes for the rest of the non-POV characters, and especially Aaron's family. Aaron himself is at the same level of "needing more describing", but being the POV main character, you have a lot of time to explore his background/character, so it's OKAY not to give it all up at the get go.

Dialogue. Besides what Arx said, I like it. It might be cliche, but for the most part it's good. The few things that stand out are it's halting nature (god so many commas), and the sometimes awkward phrasing (most noticeable in Farren's lines).

To sum it up, it's fine, but it needs work. Despite the Cliches and the writing-side problems, if you keep at it it can be great. Of course, it's not without it's good parts: The way you describe magic is pretty good, and gives you a good indication of what it means in that world to be a magic user. Also, Ferran is a good character. (And also the stuff Arx said)

Quote from: Gamedragon on January 09, 2015, 05:35:04 am

Uh... Hi,

I've been doing some writing lately and while I've always been interested in writing I've never really gotten the hang of it I suppose. Anyway, if you'd like to read some of what I've done have a look here and critique. Be harsh, very harsh.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Aaron tasted dust, and blood. They mingled in his mouth producing a tangy, metallic paste that stuck to the top of his mouth. It was like this every time, every single damn time! Whenever he came to the small village of Rookstead with his father and brother, he was beaten and bullied by the taller and stronger village boys. He swished the paste around in his mouth with what little saliva was still there.
 
That morning he had awoken with a bad taste, similar to bile, already in his mouth. He had known then that he was going to the village that morning. He had known what awaited him there, the teasing, the name-calling and finally the beating. He supposed that it wasn’t all, the village boy’s fault. They lived a quiet life and the occasional visits, from either farmers living out of the village or storytellers, were the only excitement they had. He just wished they wouldn’t use him as their punching bag.

“Wake up, weakling!” The shouted voice shook him out of his reverie as a pair of huge, roughly calloused hands lifted him up. The hands belonged to Jorge a lackey of the main bully, the ringleader, Stephen. “Still awake Aaron? Maybe I didn’t hit you hard enough.” Stephen was huge, he was easily the tallest, and the strongest of all the boys, both those living on outlying farms and in the village, he enjoyed fighting and his favourite “partner” was Aaron. Aaron on the other hand was not huge, he was small and his skinny frame was pale,s and a face more like his mothers than his fathers was complete with green eyes. The hands pushed him back, away from Stephen and he stumbled slightly. “Prepare yourself!” Stephen shouted as he took a fighting stance.

Aaron just stood still his shoulders slumped and eyes downcast. If he had learnt anything from his other beatings it was that resistance just caused more pain. He stood still and heard Stephen approach him. The first punch hit him in the stomach doubling him over and driving him back a few steps. The second hit him in an uppercut below his jaw. He felt his feet lift from the ground and he slammed onto his back dust flying up from his impact and lights flashing before his eyes.

He heard dimly a collective intake of breath from the gathered boys. They had hit him hard before but never this hard. Someone kneeled beside him and he saw through the flashing lights, Stephen. He suddenly felt angry. Angry with the boys, angry with himself but mostly angry with Stephen. He reached out a hand and touched Stephen, a shock passed through him and his vision cleared, his head stopped aching and the sea in his ears subsided. Most importantly however, Stephen was blown away.

Aaron stood up, the boys were quite as if expecting something. He walked over to the limp figure that he recognized as Stephen. As he neared he could hear Stephen breathing quick, shallow breaths as though he was winded. Aaron reached out a hand to help. Stephen’s eyes widened, in… In anger? No it was fear in his eyes. “Get… Get away from me! Freak!” He shouted this as though trying to reassure himself. Aaron turned his back on Stephen, and fled.

“What the…!” the voice of Aaron’s father burst out, an expletive only stopped by the stern gaze of his mother. They were sitting at a table cut from yellow peachwood, a beautiful and strong species of tree. Peachwood of this kind was extremely expensive and his family was only in possession of a table made from it because of a long-forgotten ancestor on Aaron’s mother’s side who had done some favour or other for a noble family and had been given the table as a gift. His father placed his hands around his tanned face and sighed. With his tanned face wrinkled with smile lines framing his brown eyes Aaron’s father was not an unkind man. No, he was not unkind, but he did believe in hard work and, if not exactly harsh, than almost harsh discipline. His mother was of a similar disposition, she believed that nothing was better for boys than good hard work, but she looked nothing like his father. Straight, blonde hair framed her petite oval face; indeed her whole body was petite, and striking green eyes shone from where they rested.

His father began to speak and this time he chose his words more carefully. “What… Were you thinking, Aaron?” He said carefully, lifting his face from it’s resting place in his hands, his barely contained fury evident in his eyes. “I…” Began Aaron his voice shaking for he knew how formidable his parent could be “I was a-angry.” He managed to finish. His father leaned across the table the palms of his hands flat against the table. “I don’t care how angry you were.  Breaking the ribs of the son of the most respected man in the entire village is not allowed under my roof!” The voice saying this had begun as a whisper and had risen in volume as his father had spoken was now a shout. Taking a breath to calm himself and his voice he continued, “I’ve been thinking for a while now and I’ve decided that you need to get an apprenticeship. Don’t look at me that way Moll!” His father shouted again, more than once a day that was unusual for him, and his mother’s unspoken protestations died in her throat. “You need to leave boy, make a life for yourself. Your brother will inherit the land when I…” His voice cracked slightly, “When I-I die, and you will not be able to live here anymore. There was a man in the village today he said that he was a natural philosopher of some kind and that he wanted an apprentice to learn his secrets. He said that he’d be in the village for a few more days but not long. I had thought to talk to you’re mother first but now, now I am decided. Tomorrow morning we will go to the village and there… There you will become an apprentice.”

Dinner that night was quiet. The silence broken only by the clattering of cutlery against plates and the audible sizzling of Aaron’s fathers skin because of his mother’s glare. Aaron went to bed exhausted and nervous, tomorrow he was leaving his family. He didn’t know when he was coming back, even if he was going to come back. He woke early the next morning mostly because his father was shaking him awake. He dressed quickly and packed what little possessions he owned in the grey light of pre-dawn. He clambered up onto the cart that was strapped to the one draft horse that his family owned for farm-work and drawing a cart when they went to town. They rode to town in silence and Aaron’s mouth became dryer and dryer with every foot they rode.

The door to the inn where the man Aaron was to be apprenticed to swung open easily on oiled hinges. “What ar’ya doin ‘ere John?” The shout came from the end of the room originating from a fat man cleaning the bench where food and drink was served. Despite the cool air the man was already sweating and it was this fact more than anything else that made it easy for Aaron to identify the man as the innkeeper. John, Aaron’s father, grinned and walked over to the man. “Getting the boy an apprenticeship Doen.” Doen raised an eyebrow and looked at Aaron, who was sulking just a little. “Goin ta be ‘prenticed to that natur’l philosphir guy ar’ya?”
“Yes sir.” Aaron said still a little sulkily.
“Look sharp den boy. ‘Ere e is now.”
A short man with a mass of grey, tangled hair on his head and a short bunched up beard came down the stairs and walked over to the bar. In what was obviously a cultured voice he began talking, “Thank you for the room, good innkeeper. It was of a high quality and the sheets were cleaner then expected, as a sign of my gratitude please accept this coin.” He reached into his clothes and drew forth a gold coin. Doen’s eyes lit up, gold was an uncommon sight around here. “Thank’ee good sa. A does try me best to keep da inn clean.” Doen performed an awkward bow and took the coin. John cleared his throat audibly and the small man turned to look at him. Aaron’s mouth was now completely dry, was this the man he was to be apprenticed to? A man who gave gold to innkeepers just because he slept in a clean room? Gold was valuable, money was valuable, was this man a fool?

John himself performed a clumsy bow his body unaccustomed to such movements and he began speaking in a halting voice. “Sir… Got a son. That is got a child, who… Apprentice.” The man looked at him strangely for a minute and he coloured. “Um… I’ve got a son who needs and apprenticeship.” He managed to rush this out without embarrassing himself overly much. The small man noticed Aaron for the first time his eyebrows furrowed, as he appeared to think for a minute, and then his face broke into a smile. “I accept” He quickly said, face still smiling. John was stunned at the speed with which things were moving. “Ah… Don’t you want to talk a little first…?” He started then stopped when the man shook his head. “No, no got to keep moving you see.” He turned to Aaron. “Come along boy, we have a long way to go.” He walked out the door and Aaron having no other choice, followed.

They walked for about a half hour by which time the sun had well and truly begun to rise. Sitting down the man Aaron had been apprenticed sat down on a log and began to pull items out of his pack and place them on the ground. “Had breakfast yet boy?” He asked. Still numb with the shock of being so quickly apprenticed to the man, from what he’d heard an apprenticeship usually took hours, at least, to set up, he could only bring himself to shake his head.
“Well boy, speak up.” The man said.
“Uh… No… Sir.”
“Good, I shall cook for two.”
“Um… Sir.”
“The man looked up with bright eyes. “Ferran boy. Master Ferran to you.”
“Um… Master Ferran sir.”
“No need for the sir.” He chuckled “Not as if I’m a knight.”
Aaron took a deep breath. “Master Ferran, what is it that you actually do?”

Ferran stopped his preparations and looked more closely at his new apprentice. “Why boy I am a natural philosopher. More specifically however as I assume you do not know what that entails, I am a magician, a user of magic, who follows a natural path. I use herbs and knowledge of the earth in partnership with magic to heal and create.” Ferran raised an eyebrow at Aaron’s stillness. “Well boy, got something to say?” Aaron didn’t respond, he’d frozen over at the word magic. It had made instant sense, what else could it have been yesterday?

Aaron took another breath and spoke. “Um… Master Ferran, how do you tell if someone has magic?” Ferran started.
“That reminds me actually, hold out your hand lad.” Aaron held out one of his hands as Ferran had asked. “What I’m going to do here, lad, is read your magical signature and power by sending a small jolt of magic between us and seeing how your body reacts.” Ferran said this while he grasped the boy’s smaller hands in both of his. “Are you ready boy?” Aaron could only manage a nod. Ferran closed his eyes and a light blue emanated from where his hands grasped Aaron’s. Aaron felt his hands cool down suddenly and then heat up as the blue light gave way to a white light and, feeling similar to how he had yesterday; he closed his eyes just in time.

When he opened his eyes he saw Ferran standing up and rubbing his back he ran over to where he had fallen. Luckily Ferran had landed on a soft bed of moss that covered dirt whereas if he had landed a few feet to his right on a collection of rocks it would have been quite a different story. Ferran waved him away. “It’s quite alright boy, as soon as I saw the changing light I realised what I had to do.” He looked up with a small frown. “Strong reaction though boy. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen an non-magician with quite as much power before.” Ferran walked back to where he had abandoned breakfast while rubbing his hands. “I’m sure you have many questions lad, those however can wait for breakfast. You do like eggs?”

Breakfast was soon ready, Ferran appeared to move very quickly when food was involved and now that Aaron thought about it he did seem to have a bit of a… Potbelly. “Well lad,” He said over his plate of steaming hot eggs and bacon. “Eat up, we won’t eat like this every day if we intend to reach our destination, and while you eat talk, I’ll answer any questions you have if I can.” Aaron placed a stripper of bacon into his mouth and thought while chewing, he wanted to know of a lot of things and wasn’t sure where to start. When he swallowed he had decided. “What is magic?” Now it was Ferran’s and he too ate while he thought.
“Good question boy, a difficult one to answer as well.” He took a breath, inhaling an egg in the process. “From what we, magicians, can gather magic is a force similar to the wind in the air and the fires in our hearths. Like these forces magic can be harnessed, like the sails on our ships we can create tools that capture magic and direct it, however, with magic humans can also act as the tool. Most humans have very little power with magic and cannot direct it to any large degree, but some, like you or me, have a natural talent and can draw upon large amounts of the magic in the surroundings and direct it to whatever purpose suits us.”

Ferran stopped and ate a few more pieces of bacon washing them down with a swig from his canteen. “I believe that about sums up magic on a basic level. Anymore questions?” Aaron thought about his next move to not arouse suspicion about what he had done to Stephen he would have to broach this carefully. “Uh, could say, magic happen… Accidentally?” Ferran looked at him eyes slightly quizzical. “Well, yes, in fact it is quite common. When ambient magic builds up for one reason or another it looks for the most powerful magic user in the area and…” Ferran stopped and stared at him. “Would I be correct boy in assuming that this is what happened to the village headsman’s boy?” Aaron gulped. Apparently he hadn’t been subtle enough. “Maybe… Yes, but it was an accident.”
“Never mind that lad, accidents happen. Interesting though, you must be very powerful for ambient magic to gather around you when you haven’t been trained…” Ferran stood and stretched his back. “Well lad, if we want to reach the destination I have in mind we should start walking again soon. You are an apprentice however and that means that you have to clean the dishes.” Aaron groaned.

Oh! I almost forgot what is your view on fanfiction?

First, I like well-written fanfiction that doesn't alter the events of canon. It's a way to fill the gaping hole left in my soul when I finish something and know I will never get to have that particular experience again.

Second, your story.

* Arx cracks knuckles.

In dialogue, write each speaker's parts on a new line.

There are a number of minor grammatical errors and typos in your story. Things like "than" instead of "then", "quite" instead of "quiet". A couple of passes after writing it should clean up most of those, though, so no worries.

Your flow is the most glaring problem. It feels like everything is happening in one contiguous sequence, right on top of each other. That's partly related to not having the dialogue spaced out, though.

What's the peach wood table got to do with anything? It feels like unnecessary information that was just wedged in.

I liked the innkeeper's accent.

Your plotline is, unfortunately, fairly clichéd. I'm not sure how to redeem that.



There you go. That's by no means everything, but it's a start.
Keep reading, keep writing, keep reading.