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antishurtugal_reborn2018-12-17 03:13 pm
hwium8) wrote in antishurtugal_reborn2018-12-17 03:13 pm
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Excerpt from The Fork, the Witch, and the Worm
https://www.hypable.com/fork-witch-worm-excerpt-eragon/
I'm going to read it and put my thought about it in the comments.
I'm going to read it and put my thought about it in the comments.
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The day the dragon arrived was a day of death.
The worm is probably a dragon.
He came from the north, a shadow upon the wind. Soft and silent, he swept across the valley, blotting out the sun with his velvet wings.
So, the wingbeats of dragons are so loud that a group of them is called a thunder, but though this guy is big enough that he blots out the sun, he’s soft and silent. Okay.
Where he landed, field and forest went up in flame, drifts of ash choked the streams, beasts fled – and Horned also – and the sounds of grief and terror rent the summer air.
I’m guessing the Horned are urgals? Something seems off about that part of the sentence. The beast fled – and Horned also? I’m not sure if that’s grammatically correct or not, but it sounds off. I’m also going to assume that he’s breathing fire where he lands, and not that his landings somehow cause things to burst into flame.
The dragon was named Vermund the Grim, and he was an old and cruel dragon, canny in the ways of the world.
Isn’t Vermund the name of a dwarf?
*checks*
Yes, it is. Except for this dragon a symbol is above the e in its name. For the dwarf it’s above the u. Except I don’t what that’s supposed to mean at all. I hope there is a good reason they have the same name.
Also, who is this dragon and where did he come from? I guess he survived Galby’s purge unless we’re reading from a different point of time.
Word of him had come from the north, but never had there been a hint or warning that he had forsaken his lair in those frozen, far-off reaches.
And yet there he was. Black as charred bone, with a polished gleam to his fitted scales and a throat packed full of fire.
Another black, evil, dragon? Really?
The youngling, Ilgra, watched with her friends from beside the spring-fed pool where they so often swam, high in the foothills along the eastern side of the valley. From that vantage, she saw the dragon ravage their farms with fire and claw, and the sweep of his jagged tail. When the warriors of Clan Skgaro attacked – attacked with bow and spear and ax – Vermund’s flame consumed them or else he trod upon them and thus made an end to their ambitions.
These guys are probably urgals. I can’t blame them for wanting to defend their stuff, but it’s probably useless. I guess it depends on how big he his, how many people are attacking, and how many, if any, are mages.
Even the sharpest blade could not pierce his hide, and the Skgaro had no spellcasters to aid them in battle.
Well that answers that question.
As such, they found themselves at the mercy of the dragon, able only to annoy or inconvenience him, but not to stop him. Never that. Like the evil worm he was, Vermund ate every person who came within his reach: male and female, elder and youngling alike.
Which makes me wonder why Ilgra and her friends are sitting around and watching.
None were spared. Their livestock too he ate, corralled them with fences of fire and feasted upon the helpless animals until his chops were clotted with gore and the ground a crimson shambles.
And the ground a crimson shambles? What?
All that and more Ilgra saw. She could do nothing to help, so she stayed by the pool, though to wait hurt as much as any wound. Those of her friends who weren’t so wise ran to join the fray, and of their number, many were lost.
How much of a friend are you if you’re not stopping them? Are they really running towards a dragon who they just saw brutally slaughter a bunch of people? Do they even have weapons? And does this dragon really not care that these people are watching him by a pool?
As the dragon approached the hall of her family, Ilgra bared her teeth in a helpless snarl. Closer it came, and then closer still, and then with a slow-moving swipe, the scaled monster crushed her home.
A howl tore from Ilgra’s throat, and she sank to her knees and grasped the tips of her horns.
Confirmation that they’re urgals, though it was obvious. I guess this is the first ever POV we get from an urgal, huh?
Relief tempered her anguish as she saw her mother scramble free of the wreckage and, with her, Ilgra’s younger sister, Yhana. But it was a fleeting relief, for Vermund’s head descended toward them, his heated maw parted.
They should have played dead. I don’t know why these people didn't run and hide somewhere. Maybe they couldn't or wouldn't for some reason.
From across the fields came sprinting Ilgra’s father, spear held high. The lightness of hope filled her heart. Her father was first among the Anointed. Few there were who could match his might, and though he was small compared with the dragon, she knew his courage was equal to that of the gods’.
Why was he “across the fields”? Was he with the other urgals when they attacked the dragon, and he survived somehow? Well, here he comes for the dramatic rescue, or more likely, the three of them are going to die horribly. I don’t think his courage is going to amount to jack shit.
Four winter’s ago, a hungry cave bear had come prowling down from the mountains, and her father had faced it with nothing more than a knife in one hand and a cudgel in the other. And he had slain the bear, killing it with a slash to the flank and a hard blow to the head.
Well, good for him, but he’s still screwed. At best he’ll wound it in a way that’s actually significant before he dies.
The skull of the beast had hung over their hearth ever since.
Of everyone in clan Skgaro, Ilgra felt sure he could stop Vermund the Grim.
Well, he has the best chances. A 1 in 10000 chance of killing the dragon instead of a 1 in 20000 chance.
Even through the tumult, Ilgra heard her father shout challenges at the dreadful dragon and curses too. With slithering quickness, Vermund turned to face him. Undaunted, her father darted past the worm’s plow-shaped chin and drove his spear at a gap between the scales on Vermund’s plated neck.
That’s already more than I expected him to do. Also, plow-shaped chin?
The blade missed, and a sound of metal striking stone reached Ilgra from the valley floor.
…hold on. She’s high on the foothills on the east side of the valley and she heard her father hit the dragon with a spear from the valley floor?
Chills of mortal fear crawled along her limbs as Vermund uttered a thunderous chuckle, strong enough to shake the earth. The dragon’s amusement angered her, and she gnashed her teeth, outraged. How dare it laugh at their misery!
I mean, compared to the wanton slaughter, laughing at you seems like the last thing you should care about.
To the last a warrior, her father loosed a cry and ran between Vermund’s legs, where it was difficult for the dragon to reach.
…Vermund can’t just crush him to death with its body?
But the creature reared back and filled the mighty bellows of his lungs, and Ilgra howled again as a torrent of blue-fringed fire engulfed her father. Then the heaviness of despair crushed Ilgra’s heart, and tears welled from her eyes. Her father’s sacrifice was not in vain, though. While he had distracted Vermund, her mother and sister fled the dragon, and by the blessing of Rahna the Huntress, Vermund showed no interest in following but concentrated instead upon their herds.
Well, he didn’t wound Vermund, but if his wife and child survived then that’s a better outcome than I was expecting.
If Vermund is concentrating on the herds and doesn’t care about the urgals, then why did it attack their house in the first place?
With all the clan dead or scattered, Vermund was free to feast at his leisure. Ilgra remained sitting on the ground, and she wept as she watched. Survivors joined her in ragged groups, their clothes scorched and torn, and some bearing fearsome wounds. Together, they huddled behind rock and ridge, silent as rabbits before a seeking snake.
Oh, so they are hiding.
Fires spread across the valley. Ranks of trees – gnarled old pines hundreds of feet tall – exploded in pillars of orange and yellow. The sound echoed among the peaks. Tails of twisting embers streamed skyward as the inferno climbed the flanks of the mountains. Billows of smoke fouled the air, and ash fell thick as snow until a false twilight blanketed the valley, a dark shroud of destruction heavy with grief, bitter with anger. Vermund gorged himself upon their sheep and goats and pigs until his belly hung round and firm, pregnant with his gluttony.
Paolini, please don’t use the phrase “pregnant with his gluttony” ever again.
When finally he was sated, the dragon hove himself into the dismal sky. He flew no great distance, though; whether because of his belly or because livestock yet remained to eat, Ilgra knew not. But the murderous old worm traveled no farther than the head of the valley. There he alighted upon the tallest mountain: high, snow-clad Kulkaras. He wrapped himself about its jagged peak, tucked his snout under his tail, and with a final, fiery sigh, closed his eyes. Thus he slept, and while he slept, he stirred no more. Ilgra stared through the smoke toward his dark and distant bulk: a pestilential tumor mounted atop Kukaras. As the cold constriction of hate tightened round her heart, Ilgra swore the most terrible oath she knew, for she had but one purpose now – To kill Vermund the Grim. To kill the worm of Kulkaras.
Well, that was completely generic. I don’t see any changes in Paolini’s writing style so far, compared to the Cycle.
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And he still thinks dragons have "chops". XD
The full spork is going to be EPIC.
A funny title
Re: A funny title
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It's just sad. What a letdown.
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That was probably the part that bugged me the most - that it's so detached and emotionless. We're not inside the protag's head, sharing her thoughts and feelings - we're just having everything dictated to us like it was something the narrator saw on TV.
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Trying and failing, because they at least had a way with words and poetry.
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The sentences, of course, badly are in need of a run through the Hemingway Editor. But at the same time, I can tolerate them for the most part. As long as you skim through it, you get a relatively cool sequence of a huge dragon killing lots of Urgals.
Look, I realize this is faint praise. But keep in mind that something happening used to be a rarity in these books. If this were the Black Brick, this sequence would have happened offscreen while someone entirely unrelated did yoga stretches. Then it would have been described later. Poorly.
And hey, the bad guy is established as a threat. You can't see the main protagonist killing him. If this urgal girl is the main character, I'd be interested to see just how she will kill the dragon. Now knowing Paolini that won't happen, we'll just focus on Eragon or something. But I'm giving credit where it is due.
As for Paolini backsliding. He hasn't written anything in years. I don't buy for a single second that he has been working nonstop on his book. If he had it would have been released five years ago.
I know because I have a policy of writing one chapter a day, good or bad. And I've written upwards of a thousand pages this year alone. I'm fairly certain his 'busy schedule' has consisted of looking for things to rip off and writing an occasional drabble while feeling smug.
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Don't you just love it when Good and Evil are helpfully colour-coded? It's so convenient!