My self. My shadow.

[Wynken]

There was nothing particularly remarkable about that bright, sunshiny day. It was midsummer, and the tiny branches which encroached upon the narrow forest path tugged at the young man’s robe. He groaned in mild frustration and shielded his eyes as a brilliant ray of sun poked through the light canopy of trees to strike his face. It was events like that, so rich with sensory experience, which would often make him question his world view. Today, however, his excitement stifled the natural impulse to justify contradiction. Today, he was on a mission.

He was a scholar at heart and now in profession, as he had been recently hired by the local academy. They had been impressed with his knowledge of (and more than a little amused by his belief in) skepticism. The scholar simply refused to accept that the world existed beyond his consciousness.

“We could use someone of your talents”, the headmaster had said. The proper arrangements were made, paperwork filed, and, before he knew it, the scholar had been assigned a research project. “The Grand Library is not far from here. It maintains several manuscripts you may find enlightening.”

The headmaster was a proper old man. The sort you may read about in children’s stories; a caricature really with a long stark white beard, circular reading glasses, and a pointed nose. He continued to brief the scholar on his task in a deep and haughty voice, “We’d like for you to study these, transcribe any portions of import, and return with a teachable knowledge of what ‘is’, is. And what ‘is’, isn’t”.

He had set out immediately and even now, as the scholar moved through the forest path, the magnificent building of the Grand Library came into view. The meticulously tended gardens and wonderfully detailed architecture dragged him from his contemplation as his eyes struggled to take in all of the beauty they beheld. Flowers of every shape and color were tended in straight rows and meticulous bunches, and their vibrancy was magnified in contrast to the clean white building of the Grand Library. Marveled, he crossed the grounds and stepped into the entrance way of the large anteroom. The library's interior was no less picturesque than its lawn. A grand and sweeping staircase lay just ahead, spiraling upward and opening to a second story loft which was supported by masterfully detailed pillars of white marble . Above this, and immediately overhead, the magnificent stain glass skylight of the foyer’s domed ceiling could be seen depicting the triumph of knowledge over evil, as well as various religious symbols. The sight of it was breathtaking.

Suddenly, another of the scholar's senses was assaulted as the unmistakable aroma of books, both new and old, filled the room with a sense of gravity. It was as if he breathed the very essence of knowledge, and the scholar found himself feeling slightly overwhelmed. Drawn by that alluring smell, he entered the doorway to the left of the foyer and the grand staircase, and he found himself standing in the midst of countless volumes. His eyes quickly surveyed the hall, unable to fully appreciate the many bookcases that lined the walls of the room from its floor to its ceiling. He approached one of rows and gently ran his fingers along the spines of several of the books there as he gleefully read their titles.

[Wynken]

The scholar slowly moved from one shelf to the next, merely browsing to get his bearings and to truly relish the experience of visiting such a place. Books of every imaginable subject existed in row after row, volume after volume, and the scholar mused that it would take several lifetimes just to count them all, let alone to read them. Having spent a sufficient time dawdling, and eager to begin his studies, the scholar finally sought the section containing philosophical references.

However, as he looked, one book caught his attention and seemed almost to leap from its place of rest it so stood out amongst the others it was nestled with. It seemed almost as if the book had been meaning to be found, or that someone had placed it there for such a purpose. He suddenly felt unexplainably self conscious, and, looking around to ensure he was alone, the scholar pulled the book slowly from the shelving. It was not a large tome, no bigger than a standard piece of writing parchment that had been folded in half lengthwise. So rich and bold were the colors of the finely woven cover that the vivid forest scene displayed across it and the spine seemed nearly life-like. The stream seemed to flow gently over the rocky ford, and the bows of the trees could be imagined to sway to and fro with the breeze. Looking once more over his shoulder, the scholar opened the cover and began to read.

The binding cracked as he turned its pages, indicating that it was scarcely opened, if ever. The pages were so crisp that the book appeared to have been fashioned that very day, but the tale it held claimed to be of an earlier age. Skimming the pages, the scholar read of a nameless hero. The book portrayed the man as a defender of truth and a boon to the needy. Given good fortune by the magical sword he carried, the hero would travel the lands and share his luck through charity and other good deeds. He found that he much liked the character, connecting with him in a real way. Feeling a desire for privacy the scholar moved into a private study room and anxiously continued reading where he had left off.

So enchanted was he that the scholar failed to notice that the book had subtly changed its tone. It no longer focused on the hero or the recounting of his exciting deeds, but rather centered upon detailing the boundless powers of his magnificent blade. The scholar shifted uncomfortably and looked up from the book to survey the room before continuing. The exact origin of the sword was neglected, but the history of how it came to the hero was discussed. The scholar paid no mind to the book's inconsistencies in time frame or to its obvious historical inaccuracies. Rather, he found himself desiring that he should be so lucky, and he silently cursed the hero for being chosen to wield such a marvelous weapon.

His demeanor soured as he quickly skimmed the pages. Sweat had formed on his brow, which he wiped with another anxious glance around the room. Several others occupied various places around the hall, and the scholar eyed them each with suspicion. Satisfied that they were preoccupied, he continued once more. As he read, the scholar came to the realization, or was it only wishful thinking, that the story of the sword was a documentary work. The hero would have long since passed, and he wondered if the book would contain clues as to the swords present state. Skipping ahead to the book’s end, he focused solely on one passage that he deemed of great importance, a segment that he felt would lead him to the sword's current resting place.

Visibly shaking with sheer excitement and adrenaline, the scholar surveyed the room once more and tried to calm himself as he thought of his recent discovery. He stood and, keeping his fingers on the page of interest, he simultaneously closed the book and applied pressure so as to tear the page from its backing. Confident that the page was now loose and that, even if the room had been filled with onlookers, no one would have recognized the action, the scholar moved once more to the Great Hall. In a similarly masked action, he removed the page and slipped it into his memoirs and then returned the volume to the empty place on the shelf. He lingered a while longer, once again skimming the titles of books in various locations before exiting.

Such hasty and materialistic action is uncharacteristic for one so skeptical of what ‘is’. Had he stopped to observe and evaluate his motives, the scholar may have recognized this contradiction. However, such is the nature of the book and the enchantment written in to its pages. So focused was he on his discovery that the scholar paid no attention to the mental distractions that he had become so accustomed to. Just as he had become entrenched within the promise of his new position, so was he captivated and held by this magically inspired determination.

[Wynken]

Fully secluded upon the forest path once more, the scholar calmed as he walked. The peace of the quite trees helped to settle his mind, but it remained of singular intent. The scholar recounted the heroic deeds made possible by the enchanted blade as he traveled, and he allowed his imagination to wonder about what he may accomplish with such good fortune and such a well crafted weapon. He no longer appreciated or even envied the hero, holding him in utter contempt. He smiled as his mind conjured images of his own renown, a fame earned through noble and courageous adventures to the benefit of peaceful peoples as he replaced the hero with himself. A river came in to view and the scholar quickened his pace, leaving the walking path behind.

The water meandered lazily through the landscape and, after several miles, opened to a small lake. Moving up to the water’s edge, the scholar again took in his surroundings to ensure his privacy. He had made that a habit as of late, but it was one that he didn't recognize as such. The scholar carefully walked the rocky eastern shore, if it could be called that for in places it afforded him only inches between the lake to the west and the stone face on his right hand side. After some time, from the cliff high above, came the faint sound of children's laughter, and he guessed that he was below a small village. Had this been a typical day the scholar may have stopped to consider the innocence of such a sound, but he was so close now and every step carried him one footfall farther from ordinary.

The coast behind him receded as he had finally happened on the first evidence that the book was not a work of fiction. There in the mountainside was a small puncture. It was an almost perfectly round portal standing chest high as if someone had carved a window into the side of the rock. The way it was worked made it difficult to see from any angle other than straight ahead, and it would easily be missed from a distance. The entire scene was such a microcosm for mortal existence, the narrow path and the small opening into the fulfillment of dreams. However, the symbolism was lost on the scholar who without any forethought climbed head first into the opening.

After weathering the short fall, the scholar found himself in a small and unremarkable cavern. It was surprisingly dry and also well lit as light reflected from the lake's surface and onto the ceiling. On the back wall upon a small alter carved into the rock, the scholar saw what he had come for. As he moved closer, he found that the sword was not at all as he had pictured it.

The blade was certainly a thing of beauty and looked like silver freshly and perfectly polished. However, it was entangled by vine-like inlays which wound up and around from the guard. They appeared to be inset rock, but, on closer inspection, the scholar found that it was neither stone nor a vine. The hilt was fashioned in the likeness of a very miniature and very dead tree, and was made entirely of petrified wood. The guard formed the roots, one of which wrapped clear around the blade. The grip was the trunk of the tree and its dead and leafless branches formed a spire shaped pommel. Having come this far and marveling at the contrasting beauty of the blade and its hilt, the scholar picked up the sword. He felt a twinge inside of himself but ignored it as he looked at his own image reflected in the polished edge.

Reality failed and all went black.

[Wynken]

While asleep, the scholar dreamed deeply of himself and the world in which he existed. He envisioned himself as a mere vapor moving amongst the vast and immense celestial bodies of the universe until finally coming to rest inside the cave beside his physical self. He watched as his being slowly faded from existence, followed by the cave and the rest of the surrounding lands. Before long only the essence of his cognitive self remained in a dark expanse. He believed he saw a light in the distance, a mere pin prick in the infinite space, and then he opened his eyes.

Awakening from his state of unconsciousness, the scholar found that he felt much better. 'I suppose the past day's events had gotten the better of me', he thought while brushing the dust from his traveler’s cloak. 'I had gotten myself quite worked up. It's no wonder I collapsed'. He rubbed his eyes trying futilely to hold on to the dreams that now rushed from memory and lingered only in his subconscious.

Feeling somehow enlightened to the world around him, he desired to commit his adventure to paper, and to record what little he recalled of his vision. The scholar imagined that the knowledge gained was the sword's good fortune already beginning to shower him with blessings. However, the cave was much dimmer than it appeared when he had first arrived, so he once again picked up the sword and moved to the opening in the mountain.

Outside, he found that the sun was low on the horizon, and he wondered if he had slept for an entire day or only hours. Compelled by curiosity, the scholar examined his newly acquired weapon in the waning light, and he noticed that the blade was showing signs of tarnish that he had missed before. Possessing none of the materials needed to attend to that now, he made his way along the northern shore, away from the coast where he began and toward the lakes far end. He could see that the trees were more sparse there and would provide more light. The path broadened slightly in that direction and he quickly reached the lake’s edge. Finding a place to sit, the scholar used his lap as a table and he transcribed what he recalled of his dream into his memoirs. Considering the recent events, he couldn't accept such a vivid and meaningful vision as coincidence. He paused his writing to run his fingers down the flat of his sword and to let his mind wander through his previous adventure.

"The conscious mind is a powerful thing indeed", he said as he traced the intricate inlays that embellish the sword's blade. "Perhaps mine wishes for me to transcend the laws it has established. Perhaps it will allow me to uncover its mysteries."

As he finished exploring that line of reasoning, he was filled with a comforting warmth. Looking again into his own eyes reflected in the silver blade, the scholar considered that the sword was attempting to give him reassurance. He rest the sword beside him and returned once more to his scribing. As he smiled to himself at the thought of finally attaining the truth, the scholar was too distracted to notice as more tarnish crept up the blade.

[Wynken]

As the scholar finished his writings and stood from his place upon the shore, the sky was immersed in the orange hues of sunset. He hastily gathered his belongings, smiled at his recent conquest, and followed the lake to the river which would intersect his pathway home. The thought of home sparked his memory, and, for the first time since the previous afternoon, he thought of the academy and of his research.

‘It doesn’t matter now’, he considered as he toyed the sword’s hilt once more. ‘I don’t need them and their research. I know the truth.’

The final thought seemed forced, almost fabricated, as if it didn’t truly belong to him. The scholar ignored the implications of such a notion, and merely accepted it as enlightenment bestowed by the blade’s magic. In actuality, the scholar had no idea what truth he was even referring to, but that too was neglected in favor of blind acceptance.

He walked the path to the nearby city, and, the next morning, he paid for transport back to his home. He couldn’t return to the academy without having some presentable research of course, and, at first, he had meant to compile something. He had meant to do a great many things, but instead grew increasingly paranoid and withdrawn. Gone were the thoughts of heroism and the hope of accomplishing good deeds, and the tarnish that everyday enveloped more of the once pristine blade troubled him deeply. Most days were spent trying to restore the silver to its previous shine. Until one day he awoke and simply accepted that the blade had always appeared that worn.

“Whatever happened to that young scholar”, the academy’s headmaster inquired of his aid. “You know, the interesting fellow we sent to the Grand Library early in the summer?”

“Ah yes”, the assistant said from beneath a pile of paperwork. “You mean Wynken Vanaril. No one has heard from him, sir.”


Just a short back story, as much for my benefit as that of anyone else.

[Knave]

Hello, I will be your Knave this evening, my main purpose will be to inspect you, work you over, pommel you with words, kick you into action, inspire you to greatness, remind you that you are human, tell you that to err is human, confirm your suspicions that in the Book of Err God smote Err vigorously, and then clothe you again in the shining raiments of enlightenment. You may now kneel, and kiss my ring.

Plot Construction ~ 14/30

Story: ~ 4/10 - In terms of this being an intentional short, I enjoyed it, but the structure really did make for what might be seen as a ten minute short. Basic story lines run the gamut in four parts, but here there was little in the way of introduction to give back story to the backstory, and while everything moved smoothly, there was nothing that I could call tension except between narrator and puppet. In terms of construction, it’s simple in design, though it was enjoyable.

Strategy: ~ 4/10 - Wynken has gone from a literary fetishist to a man consumed by usurping the power of legends. When you make statements to some philosophical end, you might do best to wax thick as to your proper meaning. Underneath the rich description that drove this thread more than the character, there was the inconsistency of Wynken as a person. I’m well aware that no human being is completely whole in their reasoning, especially when they ponder things unearthly, but Wynken here abandoned everything on a whim, defaced a book, and went wondering through the forest searching for something he had no certain idea existed. Curiosity is one thing, but Wynken leaps to lust in the space of three paragraphs after fondling a book. This could have been better justified by some greater knowledge of Wynken’s previous life and why he felt at first enamored with, and jealous of this historical hero. If you gave more credit to the sword for influencing Wynken from his library, while somewhat cliché in itself, things would have made more sense.

Setting: ~ 6/10 – The initial setting was a smash, truly enjoyable to see and read. I must say, you’ve got this setting business down in terms of flowery language in cahoots with content, I’m not sure if asking for more would be particularly appropriate, what deserves attention receives attention in the proper amount, and stylistically , I’d say that you glaze over unimportant details with a nice flourish. As far as scenting books on the wind, you might want to describe that in such a way that it has some identifiable characteristic because otherwise, I really do like it. What stole the point that would have given you a seven was that the setting dimmed with Wynken’s ambition. While I could consider it representative of Wynken’s narrowing gaze, it might serve a purpose, but doesn’t change the fact.

Characterization ~ 13/30

Continuity ~ 3/10 – Things happened, things that were vaguely connected. While things could have been done in such a way as to invoke some sense of history, the sad fact remains that the story while entertaining was in many places shallow. This is a backstory, Wynky, while this is certainly the explanation of how Wynken gets his sword, it could have served as a greater story for the sword itself, there are more mysteries raised here than answered.

Interaction ~ 5/10 – What helped best here, and hurt elsewhere, is that we do not spend quite nearly as much time as is unpleasantly common inside the head of the character, but are still treated to his senses, and his feelings. Less is more here. Just the same sadly, you’ve lost out because while this story was short, it peters off as it gains focus. This is another reason why I don’t think it was a stylistic attempt at being minimal. He even focuses on his epiphanic dream, which is glossed thoroughly.

Character ~ 4/10 - Ah…I see, this that kind of character. Well, for whatever intentions you’re writing Wynken as a skeptic philosopher, do keep in mind that the two sentences focused on his beliefs are not quite compatible. The second states that he is knowledgeable enough to be respectable. The third simply writes him off as being stubborn. However you want to portray Wynken, try to keep it all in the same line. Wynken, for whatever purpose, doesn’t come off as particularly real, his motives are inconsistent; his thoughts are hardly known in full, and when they are, they are too shallow.

Writing Style ~ 20/30 -

Creativity ~ 5/10 – Here is a point where you might have caught an additional point for waxing philosophical about the ideas of your character, and even combative with them rather than hanging lampshades here or there. Nothing jumped at me when I read it, on the whole, it was pleasantly mild throughout. Advanced tricks will do the best of us justice, and even for the sake of fun, it might be good to throw one in for the sake of practice.

Mechanics ~ 7/10 – Some business with commas, but nothing too much in terms of errors. Why aren’t you getting an eight? Because grammar too can be striking when employed well. It’s like calculus or statistics, the focus may be boring, the benefits not readily apparent, but when it comes to putting people on the moon or making some formula to properly predict crime rates either rising and falling in certain areas those who do it well are respected for it.

Clarity ~ 8/10 – I don’t think I had to look back more than once, I’ve got no complaints.

Wild Card: 5/10 – I didn’t hate what I was reading, and you kept things moving. In the end, it didn’t feel like I was pulling teeth as I read on.

!Final Score!

!52!

For the sum of your efforts, I present your award, a heap of experience coming to the total of: 342!

And for gold: 150 pieces for some silky stockings…men still wear stockings in this setting right? The upper class ones? You know what, as an award for a nice short story, I am awarding Wynken with
Beige Stockings: Typical to the Althanian man are the clothes and garb of fashion where one’s legs are always in need of some better form of protection. A daring accessory for any man of adventure, and a requirement for some truly incredible parties, these are the top of Althanian undergarments. While rather thin, these garments provide ample protection...from that horrible sensation of nakedness which even pants cannot properly banish.

[Silence Sei]

GP-EXP added.