Troll Hunter (Part 4)

This ends my Troll Hunter "sort-of-serial".  Links to the first two parts can be found on Part 3, here.

     Blood streamed down Lady Edlewine’s arm from her blade.  The troll towering over her teetered and fell, the back of each leg destabilized.  Edlewine smiled, the brief curl of her pale lips just reaching her equally pale blue eyes.  Baron Raymond cheered.
     “Prince Luther, would you like the honors?” Edlewine asked.  The Prince set his horse to a trot, spinning an elaborate rapier at his side.  He plunged it deep into the troll’s ribcage.
     A few of the other trolls stopped to look at their new opponents.  Drool dripped down from their chins.  One tossed his hunk of stone in Edlewine’s direction.  She nudged her horse to shift out of the way right on time.  Now that we’ve lost the element of surprise…It gets interesting, she thought.
     “New plan,” said Edlewine.  “If we can get them to throw their rocks at us, it shall give Gretmot’s archers a chance to drop more of them.”
     Prince Luther’s eyes widened.  “So we’re playing bait?”  He swallowed.
     “Yes.”
     “Lovely.”
     Edlewine steered her horse away from the fortress, facing uphill.  The mare increased speed without a need for her mistress’ urging.  A thud several paces behind her signaled another close call.  Aramel, don’t fail me now.
     Another troll perished near to the fortress, the fletching of dozens of arrows visible from hundreds of meters.  A battle cry rang out from its killers.
     Edlewine’s party avoided a full volley of stones.  Prince Henry cried out, “the beasts nearly hit me that time.”  Edlewine hid a grin.
     “Prince, keep your men up here taunting the trolls.  I’m taking the Baron with me to slay their ogre friend,” she said.
     The Baron shivered.  “Why are you taking me with you?”
     “I don’t trust you out of my sight.”  Edlewine kicked her mare to a gallop.
     “Coming, milady,” the Baron murmured.  He groaned.
     “Ogres are tougher to kill than trolls.  We’ll need to completely cut off its mobility before we can lay the final blow.  Achilles, hamstrings, ankles, all need sliced up if we are to get him on the ground.”
     The Baron folded his hands, shutting his eyes for a moment.  “Ready, so much as I shall ever be.”
     Edlewine jerked her mare in a zigzag, avoiding more and more rocks as they approached their target.  She told the Baron to do the same.  He took the advice.
     The ogre looked over at the pair of them no more than a dozen strides from its gnarled feet.  It kicked at them, but failed to achieve even a glancing blow.  Edlewine whipped up her sword, slashing its heel, then digging into its ankle.  It withdrew the limb, settling for a piece of the hillside jutting out from the turf to deal with them.
     “Now is our chance,” Edlewine shouted.  She rode behind one of the ogre’s legs as it bent down.  With the Baron on the opposite side, each set to tearing as many tendons as possible.  The ogre grunted with every wound.  Nothing kept it from tumbling backward.
     “We’ve slayed an ogre,” said the Baron, his eyes bulging.
     Edlewine huffed.  She sheathed her sword.  “Not just yet.  Its heart still beats.”
     The Baron nodded.  He glanced toward the heavens, bid thanks to God, and rushed to end it all.
     Prince Luther’s knights descended on the surviving trolls, scattered them.  The Prince raised his banner and beamed.  “An ogre hunter too, it seems, Lady Edlewine.”
     Edlewine laughed.  “Today.”

Seven Reasons For Character Existence

Each character in any work of prose should adhere to at least one of these:

1.   They represent a concept, heavily rooted in theme
2.   They support a concept, heavily rooted in theme
3.   They represent a person, place, or group known to the author, rooted in the "real world"
4.   They help further the plot, expand upon setting, and/or develop other characters
5.   They are interesting enough to carry the story on their shoulders
6.   They create/deepen conflict
7.   Comic relief

Did I miss anything?

I Am Not A Serial Killer

I read I Am Not A Serial Killer in roughly forty-eight hours.  That ought to say a lot if you've read any of my crits in which I note how long it took me to read the books.

Fifteen pages per chapter was a surprising average going in.  The pacing was fast, but not thriller speed.  Luckily, I don't mind.  The pacing was just the right velocity and the language just simple enough to allow me to cruise at Mach 2.  Fewer words played a part, yet a rate of about fifty pages per hour is really good for me.  The other aspects of plot went over well with me too.  There was a logical progression of events that may have left me bored if they weren't as well-written.  Although, I must say that Dan Wells' prose aren't as sharp as Robert Jordan's.  Since Dan writes YA, he can get away with it.

John Cleaver is an odd character.  He's dark and mysterious.  He's violent and twisted.  He has sociopathic tendencies.  Alright.  While readers probably can't relate to John a ton, (or at least, I hope not...) I happen to be a fifteen-year-old male, so I could "get him" as much as possible.  The strangeness of his emotions caused the perfect amount of near-cringes.  I can't really even describe the sensations.  My favorite part was when he watched Brooke crying and he couldn't fully pick up on her emotional cues.  The rest of the characters were passable or a little higher.  I liked Margret, even though she played a small role.

The setting satisfied the novel's needs, no more, no less.  I didn't get quite as much of a "lived in" feel as I should have gotten.  However, it never bothered me while I was reading.

I Am Not A Serial Killer received five stars from me on goodreads, with a true score of 93% (give or take).  Anyone who enjoys YA paranormal, or even crime fiction (it read sort of like crime), will like the first book in the John Cleaver series.

Troll Hunter (Part 3)

Parts 1 and 2 of this four-part (probably) series can be found here and here respectively.

     The grey walls of Gretmot poked out of the treetops.  Blurs up on the battlements focused into bowmen as Lady Edlewine hit the tree line.  Fewer than a dozen trees thick, the forest buffeted little but visibility.  As it was, Edlewine managed only snatches of the trolls’ burly forms.  A southern troll in plainer view hefted a rock from the unkempt plain toward the fortress.  The cracking of stone mixed with snarling from the trolls and shouts from the men.
     “There sounds to be quite a few of them,” said Baron Raymond.
     Edlewine adjusted her skirts.  “Sixteen trolls and an ogre.”  More than even I have fought with far more retainers.  Aramel may be needed after all, she thought.
     Prince Luther cleared his throat.  “At the time of Lady Edlewine’s departure, she means.  Surely Gretmot’s defenders lessened their number.”
     The party galloped out into the field of battle.  Edlewine spotted three massive corpses strewn across the grass, each with no less than a score of arrows embedded in their torsos.  One troll staggered, its hands clutching at a tight grouping of bodkins plunged into its heart.  It dropped to its knees, and then collapsed in a heap.
     “Worry not, my fellows,” came Sir Henry’s whine.  “We have a troll hunter among us.”  Edlewine turned to frown at him.  He smirked back.
     “Do not charge them head-on,” said Edlewine, returning to her usual facing.  “The Baron and I will swing to the back of their formation.  Prince Luther, take your knights just behind their center.  Harry the back line while we slit their hamstrings.”
     “As you say, milady,” said the Prince.  He motioned for his men to follow.
     Edlewine caught a glance of the lone ogre, its biceps rippling as it lifted up a stray boulder.  A wolf-shaped burn adorned its near shoulder.  Likely the Wolf King, she thought.
     “God be praised,” shouted an archer from the crenels.  “Reinforcements.”
     Edlewine looked toward the wall, smiling weakly.  She drew her longsword from its enamel scabbard and kneed her horse toward the rearmost hill troll.

Red Herrings

Every year we learn a little about propaganda.  We go over testimonials, "the ol' bait-an'-switch", transfer, etc.  One technique that tends to get glossed over is the red herring.

A red herring is (according to Merriam-Webster) "something that distracts attention from the real issue".  They find their place in mystery novels, movies, and commercials, although not incredibly often.  However, they are used enough for me to mention them.

One of the strongest uses of a red herring that I can think of was a character on the show "A Pup Named Scooby Doo".  His name was a quite literal display of the term: Red Herring.  Freddy would always blame Red for the mysteries his crew investigated, even though it was never/almost never his fault.  Comedy was a part of it, but this display mostly just detracted from what was going on at the time, a classic red herring.

I've only wrote one red herring that I can think of.  It was included in the satire that I posted in two segments a few weeks ago, "Never Impressed".  In that case, I used a literal red herring in a fish tank to confuse readers, get a laugh, and depressurize tension that I built up, only to ramp it up a tiny bit in the next sentence.

Because I haven't used them too often, I don't really know a whole lot about proper use of red herrings.  Nevertheless, they are a legitimate tool in your writing toolbox that you can (and possibly should) experiment with.

Have you included red herrings in your fiction?