03-27-2013, 09:14 PM
So, this is just a small excerpt from what I've been writing for a bit. If you wish to criticize it, do so constructively, please. That means not just saying, "Oh, this sucks," and instead explaining why it sucks.
![[+]](images/collapse_collapsed.png "[+]")
Spoiler The old man, who I later learned was named Alistair, was waiting for me right where I last saw him. He was sitting underneath the same small tree, eyes closed, breathing softly. I didn’t know if he stayed there all night or if he got there much earlier than I, but either way, the fact he was there let me know he was serious about helping me. He seemed to be meditating, his face relaxed, an almost serene look about him. As I approached, the calm look dissolved, and he opened his eyes to glare at me.
“I told you to be here at 8,” he growled.
I checked my watch, but before I could look back up, he was in standing in front of me.
Damn, he’s fast.
“Before you give me some idiotic excuse,” he said, his voice annoyed, “I need you to know that, from now on, when I give you an order, you follow it.”
When I tried to answer, he interrupted me. “Starting today, you will heed my every word. My word is now law for you, and any disobedience will not be tolerated. If you backtalk me, or try to be a smartass, I will hit you.”
When he said that, he raised his hand up and snapped off a low hanging branch. He twirled it around in his hands, studying it for a second before nodding. I assumed this was going to be what he’d hit me with.
I assumed correctly.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The training was terrible. Every morning, I got up at 8 and spent all day with the old bastard, all the way until 8 at night. Imagine that training montage in the first Rocky movie, except multiply it by 10, and add some ancient decrepit buzzard that would do nothing but berate you and shout at how you’re not doing it exactly how he showed you. Every time I screwed up, he’d hit on the back of my shoulders with that branch. When the branch broke, he snapped off another one. When that one eventually broke, he’d get another one, and so on.
It wasn’t even until the second month that he finally decided to show me how to properly control an undead. It started with small animals, usually squirrels or birds. The first day of the actual necromancy training, he came in with a bag of dead critters, presumably he killed them near his house. It was a bit unnerving on the first day to see him toss the bag on the ground, letting a pile of rotting animal corpses fall out. I was already familiar with how to do this, but he showed me how to control more than one at a time. He taught me how to concentrate, letting my own will take over the lifeless husks, commanding them like puppets. Before, all I’d be able to do was just get the animal to stand up, never anything more. Needless to say, the smell was horrid, almost making me vomit a few times. He said I’d eventually get used to the smell.
Of course, after some time, he upgraded me to bigger animals, like beavers and small foxes. If you’re wondering, yes, one time, he did bring in a dead dog. He assured me it was dead when he found it, but I couldn’t even concentrate enough to get it stand. That was the only time he brought in a house pet. I wanted to believe it was because he was being somewhat kind to me, but even now I think it was because he was annoyed at my inability to focus.
Every day, my body would feel worse, even more sore and tired. Every few weeks, he’s let me take a day or two off in order to, as he called it, reflect on what I learned. Again, I wanted to think he was being nice, but that’s just a stupid thought. On those days off, I spent them in my room, usually sleeping the whole day away. A few times, I’d have enough energy to walk around town and pick up some food, not that I needed to do so. The Hunters provided all the food the recruits needed back at the base, but I still got some things to snack on whenever I wasn’t with Alistair.
Over the months, he seemed to yell at me less often, and I caught him smiling every now and then whenever I did something right. It made me feel like maybe I wasn’t a complete screw-up, and it also kind of made me happy a bit to see this crotchety old man show me some hint of kindness and, dare I say it, compassion.
“I told you to be here at 8,” he growled.
I checked my watch, but before I could look back up, he was in standing in front of me.
Damn, he’s fast.
“Before you give me some idiotic excuse,” he said, his voice annoyed, “I need you to know that, from now on, when I give you an order, you follow it.”
When I tried to answer, he interrupted me. “Starting today, you will heed my every word. My word is now law for you, and any disobedience will not be tolerated. If you backtalk me, or try to be a smartass, I will hit you.”
When he said that, he raised his hand up and snapped off a low hanging branch. He twirled it around in his hands, studying it for a second before nodding. I assumed this was going to be what he’d hit me with.
I assumed correctly.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The training was terrible. Every morning, I got up at 8 and spent all day with the old bastard, all the way until 8 at night. Imagine that training montage in the first Rocky movie, except multiply it by 10, and add some ancient decrepit buzzard that would do nothing but berate you and shout at how you’re not doing it exactly how he showed you. Every time I screwed up, he’d hit on the back of my shoulders with that branch. When the branch broke, he snapped off another one. When that one eventually broke, he’d get another one, and so on.
It wasn’t even until the second month that he finally decided to show me how to properly control an undead. It started with small animals, usually squirrels or birds. The first day of the actual necromancy training, he came in with a bag of dead critters, presumably he killed them near his house. It was a bit unnerving on the first day to see him toss the bag on the ground, letting a pile of rotting animal corpses fall out. I was already familiar with how to do this, but he showed me how to control more than one at a time. He taught me how to concentrate, letting my own will take over the lifeless husks, commanding them like puppets. Before, all I’d be able to do was just get the animal to stand up, never anything more. Needless to say, the smell was horrid, almost making me vomit a few times. He said I’d eventually get used to the smell.
Of course, after some time, he upgraded me to bigger animals, like beavers and small foxes. If you’re wondering, yes, one time, he did bring in a dead dog. He assured me it was dead when he found it, but I couldn’t even concentrate enough to get it stand. That was the only time he brought in a house pet. I wanted to believe it was because he was being somewhat kind to me, but even now I think it was because he was annoyed at my inability to focus.
Every day, my body would feel worse, even more sore and tired. Every few weeks, he’s let me take a day or two off in order to, as he called it, reflect on what I learned. Again, I wanted to think he was being nice, but that’s just a stupid thought. On those days off, I spent them in my room, usually sleeping the whole day away. A few times, I’d have enough energy to walk around town and pick up some food, not that I needed to do so. The Hunters provided all the food the recruits needed back at the base, but I still got some things to snack on whenever I wasn’t with Alistair.
Over the months, he seemed to yell at me less often, and I caught him smiling every now and then whenever I did something right. It made me feel like maybe I wasn’t a complete screw-up, and it also kind of made me happy a bit to see this crotchety old man show me some hint of kindness and, dare I say it, compassion.
The Hunters the character refers to are the group of mages who protect regular humans from other mages who try to kill humans(I finally decided to go with murder instead of subjugating them).