The Post Your First Chapter Thread

So, just finished the first chapter of my Wuxia tale - the one I'm attempting to write for the novel in a month thing - and it gave me an idea: it would be interesting if we all did a thread in which we shared our first chapters to our various stories, and let people critique them. Here's mine, below:

It was late afternoon in the middle of summer, and deep in the mountains a fierce storm was raging. The old hermit shivered in a corner of his small, lonely hut, doing his best to stay warm in the flimsy pile of straw that passed for his mattress. Beside the man lay a drinking gourd, now empty of spirits, and though the thatch roof leaked in a dozen different places somehow the shallow fire-pit at the center of the hovel was still dry, and a thin wisp of smoke rose from a single bit of smoldering charcoal. After a time the old man stirred, scratched his blush-red nose, and clambered to his feet – the drink that was supposed to help him sleep had instead made a brief trip outside necessary. Muttering about sore back muscles, the old man stepped out into the howling gale.

The wind whipped at his bushy white beard and icy raindrops collected on his overgrown eyebrows as the wizened hermit fumbled with his sash. After what felt like an age, the old man finally finished his business and, soaked and cursing, hobbled back towards the hut and the promise of its meager comfort and warmth. Many years later, even after time had stolen away much of his memories of that night, the old man would still remember one thing with clarity – the intense heat of the lightning strike. It was not unlike working all day in a rice field under a hot sun, if it were possible to bottle an entire day’s worth of sunlight and then release it all at once, or compressing the experience of staring at a bright bonfire for a few hours into a single instant.

When the old man came to his senses, he was slicked with mud, and nearby a baby was crying. Struggling to his feet, the old man vaguely wiped his face and shirt. Peals of thunder echoed amongst the mountain peaks, and at first it was difficult to pinpoint the infant’s location, but after a time the old man realized that the sound was coming from the direction of the shrine hidden in the woods behind the hermit’s hovel. Wary of braving the moss-slick steps that led up to the shrine in the middle of such a storm, the hermit determined he would investigate the noise after the storm had let up, and returned to his straw matting, but as the hours passed the storm only intensified and the cries grew louder and more desperate, until the old man was so overcome by curiosity that he could bear to wait out the storm no longer. Once more he rose out of bed, his tired old bones aching in the chill night air as he stepped back outside.

As he clambered up the wet stone steps, the hermit spied the glow of eyes watching him from amongst the roots and hollows of the forest. By now the sun had long since set, and despite the storm’s fury the creatures of the night were beginning to stir. The hermit understood their restlessness – the full Moon was but two days away, and he too was subject to its spell. He scratched his nose, remembering better days. The shrine came into view.

Now the hermit understood what had happened earlier – lightning had all but destroyed the ancient shrine. Most of its roof had simply been blown to splinters, and a thick beam still smoldered, threatening to collapse what was left of the structure. The hermit tugged on his beard in agitation – repairing the shrine himself was out of the question with his bad back, and the alms left by pilgrims were his sole source of alcohol. His shrine was well off the main pass through the mountains, and it would be many moons before travelers even noticed the damage – nobody traveled during the rainy season if they could help it, and even when the roads were dry few took the high mountain pass. The old man wasn’t even certain that the nearby villages would even be willing to pay for the costs of repair – over the years visits to the shrine had dwindled. The hermit felt old. Exasperated, he nearly left the shrine behind, before he remembered his original purpose in coming to the shrine on such a night. Sure enough, he could hear the cries of an infant coming from within the shrine itself. Carefully pulling aside a bit of fallen rooftop, the old man clambered over the debris and into the small shrine.

Sure enough, there was a baby boy – naked and wet – screaming amongst the burnt out incense and other various offerings. The old man noticed a long-stale ball of sweet rice amongst the scattered ashes and wood chips, and greedily gobbled it up before returning his attention to the infant. He scratched at his large nose, lost in thoughts of long-gone days. It had been a long time since anyone had offered him a human sacrifice – countless years – and it seemed strange that they would brave the mountain on such a night. For a moment he considered the possibility that the villagers below were blaming him for the storm and that the child was an attempt to appease his anger, but he was well aware that the villagers knew his days of storm-bringing were long gone – the old man was as dangerous as a toothless old dog, and both he and they knew it. Deciding that ultimately it wasn’t really important how the child had gotten there, and remembering that it had been ages since he had last tasted man-flesh, the mountain hermit scooped the child up, and opened his mouth far wider than humanely possible.

With a loud crack and a puff of smoke, a sword appeared out of thin air and immediately pressed the point of its blade into the old hermit’s neck. It hovered in that position as if held aloft by an invisible wielder, until a warm trickle of blood ran down the old man’s collar and stained his shirt red. Only after the hermit gently returned the child to the ground did the blade let up and clatter to the floor. The old hermit studied the blade. No one had forged a sword like this in a thousand years. The blade was made of bronze and straight, and what passed for a hilt was bound in leather straps, nailed in place with bronze studs. On the flat of the blade the words “Invincible Under Heaven” had been etched in a script that no living scholar would recognize, and the blade lacked any other decoration. The hermit knew the blade well.

“It has been an age since I have felt the sting of the Cloud Gathering Sword, “ the old man gingerly rubbed his neck, “and I think I can see what it is you would have me do, oh Swift-Impetuous-Manly-Augustness, but there is one thing you have forgotten” the old man furrowed his brow, then yelled to the storm clouds, “I do not have tits!” A second bolt of lightning struck the shrine, sending the old hermit, the sword, and the infant – still in the old man’s arms - flying. The old man blinked in a feeble attempt to remove the afterimage, but eventually his vision cleared enough to survey the damage. The shrine was gone – the heat of the bolt had pulverized it to ruin – and in its place stood a large, shaggy yak, a she-yak, brimming with milk.

“Very well – but send me more rice-wine!” The storm stopped immediately, and the clouds parted. The moon was nearly full.

The old hermit smiled mischievously, scooped the infant up, and headed back to the hovel. The yak followed, and the sword disappeared in a puff of smoke.

What do you think? I know its a bit short, but right now I'm just trying to write stuff down without getting too far into details. For example, I'd like to work in a better description of the old hermit somewhere in there, and could probably go a bit further in setting up the world's setting, but at the same time I want to avoid giving away the surprise (that the hermit is actually a tengu, a sort of japanese hawk-man monster, and the child the son of the god of thunder). Any thoughts?

edited 1st Nov '11 11:05:07 AM by MyGodItsFullofStars

Why do we need this? We already have TCC and Random Excerpts.

I'm new here...what is TCC? And random excerpts is nice, but first chapters typically say a lot about your novel. You know, its the first thing people are going to read, so it needs special attention, and its where you put your first interesting hook. So having a thread dedicated to first chapters specifically sounds like a decent idea to me.

Troper Critique Club.

Weird, I rarely see the people mentioned in the OP other than Leradny in there...

Posts can easily get buried in TCC, since it's such a long thread.

Also, I agree with this.

Glad you do!

Uhm...so anybody have anything to say about the actual chapter I posted??