The Lute Player

[Verruckter]

Here is a short story by me, called The Lute Player.

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The lute player stood there, just watching the town burn away in the twilight. It looked as though both the sky and the flames were one, uniting in a melancholic beauty. From afar, he could see the amber goblin dancing on the land, spreading from house to house until it had reached the outer limits of the village. Soon, all the huts were falling apart as the traveler grinned. Everything had happened so swiftly, yet it would be remembered forever, imprinted in the perpetually green soil like a shadow cast by a ghostly stone. But he turned his back and looked no more behind him, as he knew the events of the last hours would haunt his nights eternally. He staggered a short distance and collapsed under a tree. He ran his dirty hands across his face, spreading ashes on his nose and cheeks. On the other side, the woods appeared as a black mass cutting out from below the sky while the moon rose behind them. He knew he could not stay for long. Feeling ambitious, he stood up and started to walk once again. As the dusk turned to darkness, the fire had run out of food and the lutist had travelled a long distance. So long that he could now spot, vacillating under the pale moon, the few remaining lit up torches of a now nearby town. He felt his legs would be able to carry him until there, but no more. And so they did.

Painfully, he dragged himself, stopping from time to time to catch his breath, until he had reached the other town. The air was thicker, denser, as though a dreadful veil strangled the life out of joy itself. He stumbled through the gates guarding the city and across the narrow streets. Buildings stood a few stories high on both sides, unlit windows hanging above him. The moonlight projected a blue gleam upon the paving stones and what would in broad daylight seem alive and joyful was now reminiscient of dread; majestic gargoyles and ornemants had taken an awesome shape. After stumbling around, trying to find his way, he arrived at the center place. The only inn was poorly decorated but the sign hanging above the entrance featured a crow with it's wings spread wide. Inside, the poorly lit entrance lead to a large room. On the right, the register stood in a cold and uninviting way. The tables and broken stools scattered on the floor reminded him of the possible events that may had happened some time before. Some were still intact, though, and a few remaining customers were drinking ale and wine. In a corner, a fireplace had gone cold and someone had fallen asleep in a large chair. The second floor, which could be seen from below, consisted of five apparently small rooms whose doors were decorated with small crosses. The lute player stepped forward, looking cautiously around him, and asked the innkeeper for a meal and a place to stay. In exchange, he would play his instrument for those who were there. Surprised, the man looked at him, raising a single eyebrow. His expression quickly changed, as if he had realised his insolence, and accepted the offer.


And so, with his lute, the player chose a table on which he sat. All looks turned towards him as notes began to fly softly from the strings, organising into patterns and rhymes and forming melodies that filled the ears of those present. Everyone paid attention as his fast fingers strummed and plucked their way through the sheet he had memorised and played a thousand times before. Much too soon it was over, as the crowd expressed, but he would play no more for the night. He picked up his carryings and after a meal went up to his well earned and fortunately dreamless sleep.

A few hours later, morning had risen and the first gloomy rays of sunlight peaked through the curtains, reaching the lutist's closed eyelids. He opened them and stared through the window, taking a moment to wake up. Outside, a single, shapeless cloud drifted in the distant horizon. Now, with his package on his back, he walked down the stairs only to find out that everyone had left, even the keeper. His leg was feeling better already, as he could walk without limping. He moved across the room and opened the front door. Outside, the spring breeze filled his nose and he was blinded by the surrounding light. Utter silence filled the air. Not a single voice nor bird was heard, but only the humming of the cool wind. He looked around for hours, seeking another soul but there was none to find. The city seemed deserted. He walked to a public bench, upon which he sat, took out his instrument and once again started to play. As the strings vibrated, he closed his eyes to concentrate. Suddenly, he heard noise. It was not immediately loud, but rather, its volume increased progressively. It soon filled the space around him. As he opened his eyelids once again, people surrounded him; merchants and customers were busy doing commerce, others were working and some were enjoying the day. Unsure what to think, the lute player had a vague impression of deja vu. No one paid attention to him, except a peculiar young man who seemed to have been looking at him for hours. As the song ended, the man stood up and came closer. Impressed, he began to ask him questions. He pondered where he did learn to play such beautiful melodies and how rigorously he practiced each day. He then asked where he had got such a fine instrument. The player answered simply that he had received it along with great responsibilities and that it had the ability to give him what he desired. Surprised but confused, the man invited him to perform at a gathering that would happen the same night. He reluctantly agreed.

The sun was now setting on the land and a crowd had gathered in the outer limits of the city. Quite a few people were attending, eager to hear the now famous player and his lute. Rumour had spread about the instrument's skill. The event began, and a few other musicians played before him. Now it was his turn to perform. As he stood up, a man shouted from within the mass. He required from the player that he would have to show the instrument's powers. The lutist replied that it was not that simple, that he could not do so in such a context. Angry, the man rallied his neighbours to his cause. Soon, the whole crowd had demanded to witness the extroardinary. Struck with awe, the player stepped back. He escaped from the crowd and grabbed a torch that was driven into the ground. Furious, he raised it high as the crowd stared in disbelief and cried: « This is what happened last time to the greedy men! » And he threw the torch onto the wooden rooftop of the closest house, then disappeared into the twilight.

------------

I don't know if it makes much sense, I improvised the story as I wrote it. Next time I'll think it through :P Constructive criticism welcome!

[Tibs]

Lutist*

[Verruckter]

Originally Posted by Tibs

Lutist*

Thanks for the critical input.

[ShastaTwist]

Originally Posted by Verruckter

Everything had happened so swiftly, yet it would be remembered forever, imprinted in the perpetually green soil like a shadow casted by a ghostly stone.

Cast*

Originally Posted by Verruckter

On the other side, the woods appeared as a black mass cutting out from below the sky as the moon rose behind them.

Too many "as"s.

Originally Posted by Verruckter

As the dusk turned to darkness, the fire had ran out of food and the lutist had travelled a long distance.

run*

Originally Posted by Verruckter

So long that he could now spot, vacillating under the pale moon, the few remaining lit up torches of a now nearby town.

What?

Originally Posted by Verruckter

The air was thicker, more dense, as though a dreadful veil strangled the life out of joy itself.

I believe it's "denser."

Originally Posted by Verruckter

He stubmled through the gates guarding the city and across the narrow streets. Buildings were standing a few stories high on his sides and lightless windows hung upon him. The moonlight projected a blue gleam upon the paving stones and what would in broad daylight seem alive and joyful was now reminiscient of dread; majestic gargoyles and ornemants had taken an awesome shape.

Stumbled*

Buildings stood a few stories high on both sides, unlit windows hanging above him.*

(New sentence) Majestic gargoyles and ornaments had taken a (anything but awesome, please) shape.*

Originally Posted by Verruckter

After stumbling around, trying to find his way, he arrived at the center place. The only inn was poorly decorated but the sign hanging above the entrance featured a crow with it's wings spread wide. Inisde, the poorly lit entrance lead to a large room. On the right, the register stood in a cold and uninviting way. The tables and brokens stools scattered on the floor reminded of the possible events that may had happened some time before. Some were still intact, though, and a few remaining customers were drinking ale and wine. In a corner, a fireplace had ran cold and someone had fallen asleep in a large chair. The second floor, which could be seen from below, consisted of five apparently small rooms whose doors were decorated with small crosses. The lute player stepped forward, looking cautiously around him, and asked the innkeeper for a meal and a place to stay. In exchange, he would play his instrument for those who were there. Surprise, the man looked at him, raising a single eyebrow. His expression quickly changed, as if he had realised his insolence, and agreed to the offer.

Center place? Just "center."

Inside* broken* him of* realized*

In a corner, a fireplace had gone cold*

Surprised*

and he accepted the offer*

You never actually mentioned the lutist entering the inn.

Originally Posted by Verruckter

And so, with his lute, the player chose a table on which he sat. All looks turned towards him as notes began to fly softly from the strings, organising in patterns and rhymes and forming melodies that filled the ears of those present. Everyone paid attention as his fast fingers strummed and plucked their way through the sheet he had memorised and played a thousand times before. Much too soon it was over, as the crowd expressed, but he would play no more for the night. He picked up his carryings and after a meal went up to his well earned and fortunately dreamless sleep.

the player chose a table and sat.*

All eyes turned towards him* organizing into*

memorized*

Much too soon, it was over and the crowd urged him to play more, but he would not.*

Items/things/belongings, not carryings.

Originally Posted by Verruckter

A few hours later, morning had risen and the first gloomy rays of sunlight peaked through the curtains, reaching the lutist's closed eyelids. He opened them and stared through the window, taking a moment to wake up. Outside, a single, shapeless cloud drifted in the distant horizon. Now with his package on his back he walked down the stairs only to find out that everyone had left, even the keeper. His leg was feeling better already, as he could walk without limping. He moved across the room and opened the front door. Outside, the spring breeze filled his nose and he was blinded by the surrounding light. Utter silence filled the air. Not a single voice nor bird was heard, but only the humming of the cool wind. He looked around for hours, seeking another soul but there was none to find. The city seemed deserted. He walked to a public bench on which he sat, took out his instrument and once again started to play. As the strings vibrated, he closed his eyes to concentrate. Suddenly, he heard noise. It was not immediately loud, but rather, it's volume increased progressively. It soon filled the space around him. As he opened his eyelids once again, people surrounded him; merchants and customers were busy doing commerce, others were working and some were enjoying the day. Unsure what to think, the lute player had a vague impression of deja vu. No one paid attention to him, except a peculiar young man who seemed to have been looking at him for hours. As the song ended, the man stood up and came closer. Impressed, he began to ask him questions. He pondered where he did learn to play such beautiful melodies and how rigorously he would practive every day. He then asked where he had god such a fine instrument. The player answered simply that he had received it along with great responsibilities and that it had the ability to give him what he desired. Surprised but confused, the man invited him to perform at a gathering that would happen the same night. He reluctantly agreed.

Now, with his package on his back,*

He walked to a public bench, upon which he sat*

Its, not it's.

He pondered where he'd learned to play such beautiful melodies and how rigorously he practiced each day.*

Got, not god.

Originally Posted by Verruckter

The sun was now setting on the land and a crowd had gathered in the outer limits of the city. Quite a few people were attending, eager to hear the now famous player and his lute. Rumour had spread about the instrument's skill. The event began, and a few other musicians played before him. Now it was his turn to perform. As he stood up, a man shouted from within the mass. He required from the player that he would have to show the instrument's powers. The lutist replied that it was not that simple, that he could not do so in such a context. Angry, the man rallied his neighbours to his cause. Soon, the whole crowd had required to witness the extroardinary. Struck with awe, the player stepped back. He escaped from the crowd and grabbed a torch that was driven into the ground. Furious, he raised it high as the crowd stared in disbeleif and cried: « This is what happened last time to the greedy men! » And he threw the torch onto the wooden rooftop of the closest house, then dissapeared into the twilight.

famous lute player*

You're talking about the instrument's skill. Isn't the lutist the one with the skill?

He told the player that he would have to shower the instrument's powers.*

(What's with you and the word required?)

Soon, the whole crowd demanded to witness the extraordinary.*

disbelief*

disappeared*




You write in passive voice a lot and it makes the story seem extremely awkward to read. It's a fairly decent story, it could be developed more with more details and dialogue.

[Verruckter]

My first language is french and I translated directly what would sound right. I guess that's why the syntax is apparently horrible. I don't really get why you took the time to do this... But I guess thanks?

I also chose to not use any dialog until the end, but I guess that didn't work too good.

[ShastaTwist]

It's not horrible, it could just be improved. I took the time to do this in order to possibly improve the flow of your story. If it's not appreciated, then I'm sorry.

[Verruckter]

Originally Posted by ShastaTwist

It's not horrible, it could just be improved. I took the time to do this in order to possibly improve the flow of your story. If it's not appreciated, then I'm sorry.

Nah, I was just a bit surprised someone took the time to do it.. And I guess at bit offended at first, but it doesn't really matter.

I'll try to re-write it some time. Or not, maybe I'll write something else (after reading a few more books in english).

[ShastaTwist]

It's not that it was bad. The story was good and, now knowing that your first language is French, it's really quite remarkable how well this is written.

[Verruckter]

I updated, removing most of the mistakes Shasta pointed out (now I realise the horrible typing errors I made lol). I chose to keep the -ise endings, because... well, I can. I asked for a second opinion on some of the things she suggested to changed and I was told I was in fact right.

I also chose to keep the word "awesome", using it in it's original meaning.

I hope this makes it all easier to read.