Wow. I haven't blogged in a while.
Well, here's a little something I started late June. I don't know what to make of it- can you help? I mean, I know *kindof* what goes on, plot-wise, but I don't think this is a strong enough beginning. Tell me what you think!
THE HALF-TAMED MONSTER
For the last of a thousand times, Darren wished he had kept his stupid mouth shut.
He stood outside The Cave, trying to muster the courage to walk into the blackness. It wasn’t the unknown that made him reluctant to move any closer; it was the known. The Beast lurked in there- Darren shuddered at the thought- and he had promised to fetch it.
As he stood there, looking up at the gray stone- black in the moonlight, he couldn’t remember why he had made such a promise; had it been for honor? No one had offered him money- he knew that all too well, and there weren’t any girls in town that were good enough for him.
“Hello?” He cried into the darkness; perhaps he wouldn’t have to actually go in there. His voice echoed on and on into the nothing; he craned his ears for a reply. “Monstress? Come out!”
But of course, she didn’t come out. Darren considered drawing his sword- perhaps he could force her out- but decided against it; who knew what arsenal of weapons the Monstress had.
He took a deep breath and stepped into the threshold; he keenly noticed how the floor was scratched and ripped apart, like a mason had repeatedly drawn his tools against it. But no one ever came to The Cave; it was madness. The Beast did it, then; Darren shuddered- the full moon must have helped.
“Come out, by order of King Horun!” Darren cried, fisting his hands to steady his nerves. “He bids you slay Tehor the Troll!”
And still, nothing.
Hope suddenly filled Darren’s heart- perhaps the Monstress was not there. The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed; no one had replied, and he hadn’t been killed, and those two factors alone contradicted with everything he had heard about the Monstress.
And that left him with a once in a lifetime opportunity: to scope out The Cave. He’d take something as proof that he had went, gain infinite respect, and all would be well.
There was always the possibility that the Monstress would realize something was missing, smell his scent and hunt him down, but the probability of that was miniscule. Darren decided to entirely ignore that option; he felt around in the underbrush for a torch, lit it, and plunged into The Cave.
The first ten spans or so was a tight tunnel; in the first two spans, Darren learned to not look down. The floor was covered in bones, feathers, rotting hides, and an assortment of unrecognizable, half-decomposed things. And if that wasn’t unnerving enough, pictures appeared on the walls; he could make out tall blobs and fat blobs and buff blobs, all painted black, which were vaguely humanoid- they carried weapons, at least- and all were dying or dead.
He didn’t look for specifics of their bloody end, but he couldn’t ignore the constant presence of the red-colored wolf in every picture.
And as if that wasn’t enough, trophies of the Monstress’ victories hung on the tunnel walls; swords, bows and arrows, a lance, a few spears, a dagger or two, a handful of shields. Darren slowed just to look at them, and stopped entirely at another bend.
A human skeleton was pinned to the wall, save for the right hand- it had fallen to the floor. Tattered, bloodstained clothes hung over the man’s frame, and an arrow was still lodged in his rib cage. Darren leaned closer, just to be sure it was real; the bones were scratched and pecked and splintering in places from where animals had gnawed, scraped, and ripped the rotting flesh away.
Yes, it was most definitely authentic.
The smell, though, was stifled by the cool air and a constant breeze- he didn’t know from where, but he was thankful for it all the same.
“Hello?” Darren asked, calling into the darkness once more- just to check that his suspicion was correct. The skeleton didn’t answer him, nor did anything else.
The hope that had fueled him to go into The Cave morphed into morbid interest; Darren ignored the pangs of worry, of survival, and continued past the bones and trophies. He scrambled up a steep slope- towards the top were two stairs, like the Monstress was carving them herself. On second thought, she probably was.
At the very top, he had to crawl on his hands and knees, and reached the top of the slope gasping for air, and his hands stinging from the many rocks and uneven patches of the stone.
He lifted his torch into the black expanse around him and gasped.
The tunnel had been half-expected; it’s not like the Monstress would have wanted intruders. But this was the very opposite- never in his wildest dreams would Darren have suspected the Beast to live in a place like the the one he had just stepped- crawled- into.
The room- cavern, really- could have swallowed Darren’s entire house, and probably the stables, too. The torch in his hand cast dancing shadows on the rough cavern walls; was that a bookshelf, carved out of the cave’s side?
He eased himself to his feet, slowly, because every noise he made echoed a hundred-fold. The more he looked the more amazed he became-
This was not a monster’s lair.
It mirrored a scholar’s most private study; tables and papers scattered the floor, interrupted by the occasional pillow or chair. In one corner was a fire pit, with a spit and a metal grill. Pots, pans, and rather large knives covered another table shoved into a corner, and herbs were strapped to the wall, drying.
The bookshelf had a skimpy collection, but Darren supposed that was because most of the volumes and scrolls were everywhere they weren’t supposed to be. But other things were displayed on its shelves; a root so twisted and gnarled that Darren couldn’t tell one end from another, an assortment of arrowheads, some feathers, a massive, dead beetle, and a necklace of bear teeth.
Darren made his way towards a table; where had the Monstress gotten her own books? He’d never know, of course, but he bet she’d stolen them. If he could just find one with a name in it, to use as proof that he had entered The Cave and sought out the Beast…
He rifled through the pages spread across the tables lined up in a straight row. Was that arithmatic? He poked through one volume- she must have stolen it from some poor student in Theirshire, since Ravenden didn’t have a school or any great learned people.
Darren froze. Theirshire? But the Monstress was only allowed within a day’s ride of Ravenden, and Theirshire was a solid three days away.
He snatched the book from the piles, stuffing a few pages of notes into the binding. King Horun would be quite interested to hear this news; the Monstress wasn’t a force to be ignored. What other damage had she done?
He’d be sure to get a few Threshes for this tidbit of information.
But what did the Monstress even want from a book of shapes and numbers? She couldn’t benefit from it- she’d probably never handled money in her life. She was scum of the earth, the Beast of the Terren Mountains, the Scourge of Ravenden- why would she even bother to try to advance herself over the rest of them?
Darren shoved the thought away; The Cave seemed more eerie, now that he knew that the Monstress wasn’t totally a mindless beast. She could read, he was sure, and that knowledge alone was a threat to every man, woman, and child in Ravenden.
But at least she couldn’t disguise herself; she was too… unnatural to ever be assumed human.
Darren turned, book in one hand, torch in the other, and started towards the partial stairway, ready to return. He had his proof and honor in hand, and that would be sufficient to calm the other’s anger when he reappeared without the Monstress.
The blow came from nowhere.
Is there too much description? Not enough action? Please tell me!