Writer's Council - Tribunal II

Since the last Writer's Council had tremendous success in bringing the writing community of Zelda Universe together, I have taken it upon myself to reinstate it. The premise is simple: discuss your ideas for future works and put up excerpts from them for review.

The Council is now in session!

First off, I know this point was raised last time, but could someone sticky this? I find it a little annoying that artists get a permanent thread like this, but those of us who write keep having to make a new one.

Question: should we keep to Zelda-related, or can we stick anything and everything in here (besides the kitchen sink)? I'd be happier with the latter, but the former is fine too.

Originally Posted by Tiroth

Question: should we keep to Zelda-related, or can we stick anything and everything in here (besides the kitchen sink)? I'd be happier with the latter, but the former is fine too.

Any writing can be submitted here.


The following is from a currently untitled piece I am doing. Feel free to comment.
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Seran beheld before him a pedestal in which was set the most splendid sword he’d ever laid eyes upon. Its hilt was a lustrous platinum, and its blade was decorated with ancient runes the likes of which he’d never encountered. He had to admit, he greatly desired to wield this weapon.

“Draw the sword,” his teacher commanded him.

He was caught dumbfounded. How could Alastar possibly ask him to do such a thing? It was no mere task to pull a blade from solid stone. And besides, even if he could perform this feat, he sensed a great power emanating from that sword, and he most certainly did not want to disturb such a power. “I am sorry, Master,” he responded. “But I cannot do this.”

Alastar grunted, which was something Seran had never heard him do. His tone was harsh, in sharp contrast to his usually gentle voice. “Are you afraid, boy?” Seran had to admit, he was not only afraid, but utterly terrified. He did not know what would happen when he drew the blade. But he also did not want to know what his master would do if he shirked this task. He could tell that his mentor wouldn’t take ‘yes’ for an answer this time.

“No. I will do this. I am not afraid.”

Alastar knew he was lying. He always knew.

I'm going to regret this, but... I've noticed you use a lot of adverbs when you write. I don't know what it is about that, but it bugs me. It's like your beating me over the head with descriptives... and it comes across... not quite right. I would suggest you try to re-write that and eliminate as many as possible. I bet you find it reads easier, flows a little faster and will sound less...wordy. (You can believe I know wordy. Someday I find a reliable editor though)

And here's something of mine for you all to pick apart (it could use it too - but I'll worry about that later);

It had been a very hot and sticky day, but the old potter smiled, it had also been an unusually good day. Lunnaei would be very relieved; that extra time in the curing oven hadn’t done the porcelain any harm and he knew she hadn’t meant to fall asleep. He grinned at the memory. When he had walked into the small brick building and found the child napping propped up on the only chair’s two back legs, he couldn’t resist and startled her awake. Luckily, she’d managed to catch herself before she crashed to the floor. As he looked at his latest batch of wares, most everything looked better than he had expected. Well, all but one, but it would be the perfect gift for his granddaughter. She had wanted one of her own for years, but he’d put off giving her one. Fragile objects and Lunnaei were never a good combination. As he put some of the items away on the cooling shelves, he heard the door open behind him. He didn’t turn, he knew who it was.

“Grandpa?” she asked quietly, “Did everything come out alright?”

He set the last of the pieces on the shelf and mustered up his best frown he turned to his granddaughter, “Well, Lunnaei, everything appears to be okay, though the ocarina meant for Lord Dorian's son didn’t fare so well.”

“Oh,” she said and turned to leave. As she reached for the door she stopped, turned back around and said, “This letter came for you,” she held it out without looking at him.

“Thank you,” he said as he glanced at the seal and she was almost out the door when he stopped her, “Lunnaei?”

“Yeah,” he heard a sniffle.

“Lunnaei, today is your birthday, we can’t have you crying on your birthday.”

“I’m not crying,” another sniffle.

“Then your nose appears to have sprung a leak.”

“I’m really sorry Grandpa…” she said as she ran over and gave him a hug.

“No, don’t cry,” he said as he returned a squeeze and felt a twinge of guilt for making her worry.

“But I wrecked…”

“Bah, those pieces will be fine, in fact that ocarina looks good it’s just the wrong color, not quite what was ordered.”

“Really?” she sniffed again as she pushed her tears away with her sleeve, “What color is it?”

“You can find out after it cools,” he said and turned her back toward the door, “Besides you’ll have to hurry if you’re going to be on time for you lesson.”

“Oh my gosh, I forgot about that.” She said in a rush and bolted for the door. Again she stopped came back to him, after one more hug she said, “Thanks Gramps, you’re the best.”

“You’re going to be late,” he shook his head as he watched her rush out the door and cringed when the door slammed shut, "Sorry!" came a muffled apology through the door. He looked again at the letter she had handed him; it held the royal crest of Hyrule on it. “Well what do you know about that.” He didn’t open it; instead he put it in his pocket and set about preparing the molds for another ocarina.

Im grateful that you revived this, im gonna post part of my new story as soon as I get my ms word fixed up

EDIT: word fixed so here is tha draft

Im grateful that you revived this, here's the intro to my new fic


Northern Highlands

A soft mist was descending upon the Highlands, it was cold and its humidity penetrated even the best of cloaks causing anyone traveling in that mist to shiver with the bone chilling cold. Being fed by the frequent precipitations, the grass in the hills was as green as it could get. So green in fact that the expression “The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence” never applied. Grass was maybe green, but as winter approached the rain got cooler and cooler, few peoples ventured in the hills because of the late fall weather.

At least one did though. He was standing by a jet black horse in a bowl like valley. His face was hidden by a black cloak and he had the sheath of a sword in his hand. His knuckles were turning white as the freezing cold forced the blood out of his fingers, yet he didn’t budge. He was as disciplined as one could get, water was accumulating on his shoulders and probably decreasing his body temperature dangerously. But he didn’t care much for that, actually he was able to control his body temperature as easily as one can blink.

He was a man of extremely high ethics, no one knew him quite well for the fact that he barely ever said anything to anyone. He was now a bit of a protector for that region, no one in his right mind ever argued with him for he had a bit of a short fuse and once he got going, well you were basically dead. Those were the rumors anyway, he was yet to be seen killing someone other than the thieves or monsters that ventured in the vicinity of the highland village. Yes he never killed anyone for being mad at him, but if ever you annoyed him, he would look at you through his cloak. His grey eyes would scare even the biggest and toughest of insolent soldiers that frequently visited the village. He scared them so much that there was even an order to stay away from his home and never to provoke him…

Originally Posted by achitka

I'm going to regret this, but... I've noticed you use a lot of adverbs when you write. I don't know what it is about that, but it bugs me. It's like your beating me over the head with descriptives... and it comes across... not quite right. I would suggest you try to re-write that and eliminate as many as possible. I bet you find it reads easier, flows a little faster and will sound less...wordy. (You can believe I know wordy. Someday I find a reliable editor though)

Actually, you'd be surprised to find that there are very few adverbs in there when compared to almost all my other works. If there's anything 'not right' about it, it's that two of the sentences are out of order... *fixes*

Actually, you'd be surprised to find that there are very few adverbs in there when compared to almost all my other works. If there's anything 'not right' about it, it's that two of the sentences are out of order... *fixes*

Fixed...Not really, the wordy thing is still there, but I guess I'll let that go and not comment further beyond this; I understand the meaning and feeling you're trying to convey, I just dont think its expressed as well as it could be.

(I told you I was gonna regret it)

I see exactly where you're coming from, I just don't see the wordiness.

This is the VERY beginning of a story, and you know very little about anything, so the description is sort of a necessity.

Schatten, nice

Here's the first couple paragraphs of the next part of my up-and-coming Zelda fic!

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Varon already knew about the incident. He always knew. News had a curious way of finding its way to him, which was largely due to the fact that he had the largest spy network in Analon. He would hear about events before the police had even caught wind of them; he would have already conducted a full-blown investigation before the authorities had even been informed. He was cold, ruthless, and efficient when it came to gathering information, and he knew it.

Perhaps that was why he was such a good thief. His level of perception far surpassed the typical measure, which meant he was quicker on his feet, more resourceful, and more alert than those he tried to outsmart. And the player with the advantage almost always wins.

I did read this, but didn't comment on right away...

originally posted by: SchattenReïter

A soft mist was descending upon the Highlands, it was cold and its humidity penetrated even the best of cloaks causing anyone traveling in that mist to shiver with the bone chilling cold.

This is what's classically known as a run on sentence, and it tells me the same thing more than once. You could actually delete half of it and still convey the same meaning
more like:

A soft mist descended upon the Highlands that brought with it cold, so bone chilling, it penetrated even the best of cloaks.

originally posted by: SchattenReïter

Being fed by the frequent precipitations, the grass in the hills was as green as it could get.

but as winter approached the rain got cooler and cooler, few peoples ventured in the hills because of the late fall weather.

So without it it would look something like this:

Fed by frequent precipitation, the grass in these hills were still green, but as winter approached and the rain got cooler, few people ventured in the hills because of the late fall weather.

and you end up with

A soft mist descended upon the Highlands that brought with it cold, so bone chilling, it penetrated even the best of cloaks. Fed by frequent precipitation, the grass in these hills were still green, but as winter approached and the rain got cooler, few people ventured into the hills because of the late fall weather.

I won't mess with anymore of it. And if I've offended you by re-writing that paragraph I apologize in advance. But you should work on paring out unneeded phrases and descriptions, especially if you covered that subject a few lines before.

A little peice from Project Mudora..not done yet.. so yeaa

^achi, youve got some stuff to put up too

A little except from "WAR"


MID-DAY

General Davgones held a council with his highest officers atop the tallest hill
overlooking the sacred bridge. His cunning plan was to send the left flank
over towards northern end of the bridge, hiding in the tall river grasses.
As he was talking, An ugly pig walked by, snorting as he walked to the base
of the hill, then across the hills, And into the Goron Mountains.
Davgones then ordered his men to go after the Pig, but they were too late, for
it is well known that it is not wise to ride a horse over bridges,
for horses do not like heights, And who would dare cross the Holofrens bridge
with the horrible intention to kill.

Posted by: vacumgod

A little peice from Project Mudora..not done yet.. so yeaa

^achi, youve got some stuff to put up too

Alrighty then, this is a short excerpt of a story I was writing for Project Mudora. I haven't had much time to work on it lately but I will...

Of the Origin of the Chosen and Making of the Sacred Jewels

In the time before the war of the Sister Goddesses, there were born three remarkable children. Each possessed a unique ability, unseen before their time, one, the son of a blacksmith, the next the son of a woodsman, and the third the daughter of a most learned sage. All had met at a time before the foul pig had spoken his lie to the Sister Goddess Farore and had become great friends. They met often to play the games children will play to pass the time until other duties would call them away. On the day of the foul pig's betrayal, the woodsman's son was crossing the very same field and heard the pig's lie. He was not fooled by the slippery tongue of that one and hid himself, until the Goddess had left to return to heaven. He watched as the foul pig ate from the bounty given him by the Sister Goddess as well as his refusal to share with the other animals and watched, as the other grew angry and grumbling began to disperse back into the wilds of the fields and forests nearby.

He ran to the village and found his friends. The daughter was greatly alarmed and insisted they find the Chief Sage and tell him what they had found out. It is a sad truth that mankind will often disregard the thoughts of the young, and this time was no different. The oldest of the three told them they couldn't wait for the adults to do the right thing, so the three sat down and came up with a plan. Using the knowledge of the daughter it was decided that each was to head in a different direction and collect the largest jewel they could find. The blacksmith's son would head to the mountains, the woodsman's son the deepest part of the forests, and the daughter to the depths of Lake Hylia.

After collecting the items they thought would be useful, the three left their homes and met in the middle of the village. Before leaving, the daughter inked a replica of the sacred Triforce upon their hands to aid them and protect them in their travels. The ink she used was special indeed for it was used on only the most sacred of texts, it would never fade or wear away with time. The children had already been gone for several weeks when in the Golden Land, the Triforce shuddered as it resonated the anger of the Sister Goddesses. With the release of Sister Din's fire, upon the fields of Hyrule it burst apart, fleeing from the chaos that was surely to follow. To the Chief Sage's dismay, he recalled the children words and lamented his arrogance. He called for them again but was alarmed to discover they were missing. He then went then to those with the skill of hearing and bid them listen closer to the Goddesses words as ominous dark clouds covered the land.

So any suggestions? comments? complaints?

anybody? anybody? bueller? bueller?

Replica of the Triforce? Alright...

Originally Posted by achitka

And if I've offended you by re-writing that paragraph I apologize in advance. But you should work on paring out unneeded phrases and descriptions, especially if you covered that subject a few lines before.

Hey thanks... and no im not offended at all. I love critics and comments (in this case a suggestion) thank you again

A bit I just wrote for WotH

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About mid-afternoon, Link started to realize that the trail was getting rockier, and not by just a little bit. What were once serrated dirt paths were now treacherous crags, and they had to leap from one boulder to the next to get to their destination. Cliffs became more and more widespread as they pressed on, and the trail seemed to be bending westward rather than southward. Dyrin had mentioned that they’d need to reach the southernmost point of the forest, and it appeared that they were getting close.

Dyrin and Elen had scouted ahead, leaving Link trailing behind to make certain that the enemy hadn’t caught up to them. They hadn’t encountered any more Moblins since their little scuffle that morning, and they wanted to maintain the peace. Dyrin had told Link barely an hour ago that they were nearing a site that Link would very much desire to regard, and so Link had elected that they rest there briefly for a belated luncheon.

He could very much use the meal, as their quickened pace combined with the even more dangerous and difficult terrain was taking its toll. But he knew they could not afford to linger long, and he would likely be absolutely exhausted by nightfall. He hoped Dyrin knew of a safe place to make camp for the night, or they’d be stuck without a fire and without warm food.

His uncle was waiting for him in the bed of a jagged ditch, leaning against a boulder to rest himself. He smiled as Link approached, an expression he hadn’t seen on his uncle’s face in a very long time, since before his father died.

He supposed they must be nearing the detour. “Is it close, Uncle?” Link asked.

“Very close indeed,” Dyrin answered cordially. “Follow me. Your mother’s waiting.”

The two of them stepped out of the ditch and walked a few hundred yards, before finally climbing up a tangled bunch of tree roots onto a precipice, where Elen sat staring out over the brink. Link walked out onto the bluff to join her, and his eyes beheld the most wonderful sight they had ever seen (besides Eryn, of course).

An expansive crystal-clear lake that spanned as far as the eye can see was before him. Islands dotted the horizon, and he could see a pair of boats sailing into the distance. He looked straight down to see the waves slapping the jagged spires below, and for the first time he heard the sound of the sea. His father had described it to him once, but no account could capture the beauty of the noise.

Had they not been so high above the water, he would have shed his tunic and cap and leaped out into the drink to enjoy a comfortable plunge in what must have been the most pristine reservoir in all the world.

“What is this place?” Link demanded, absolutely stunned at the breathtaking view.

Dyrin chuckled under his breath, reminded painfully of Calus. “It is Lake Hylia, the largest of its kind in all Hyrule. I sense you want to go for a swim?” His uncle’s eyes drifted to gaze at a small secluded beachhead at the bottom of the precipice. Link followed his uncle’s stare, and a childish grin crept across his face.

“Oh, yes, that would be wonderful!” he shouted in classic boyish fashion, rushing off into the trees ahead of his uncle, tugging off his tunic as he ran. He cared no longer how troublesome the trail was; all he wanted was to taste that lovely lakewater, and feel its cool, refreshing wetness upon his sweat-crusted skin.

He came shirtless down the cliff-side in leaps and bounds, and, upon setting foot on the sands of the beach, kicked off his boots and tossed aside his cap and plunged into the water. Whatever expectations he had were greatly exceeded, and once the water had rejuvenated his weariness and even magically soothed his cuts and bruises, he dared to dive deeper to observe the undersea ecosystems.

A carpet of sea grasses coated the lake’s floor, and within this underwater shag dwelt hundreds upon hundreds of dazzling denizens of the deep. They were hardly fazed by Link’s intrusion, and in fact swim up to him as if he were one of their own. One of them came so close that he could stroke its scaly skin before fluttering off back into the bustle.

He’d only seen pictures in books of sights like this, but they hardly did the scene justice. No depiction could capture the beauty of the living lakes of Hyrule, least of all this Lake Hylia. He surfaced, gulped as much air as he could manage, and submerged himself under again to continue admiring the loveliness of the unsettled lake.