EVE Fiction

Prologue (opening segment continued)

The Conall family farm lay on the outskirts of Gudrun, their name carved into a stone plaque hanging by short chains from the mailbox at the main road, nearly two kilometres up a long gravel parkway from the family home itself. Across the main road lay an open stone quarry, where workers had recently discovered a rich source of precious metals that surveys had failed to discover. Technically, the quarry was on family land, and tonight’s meal was in celebration of their expected compensation.

The meal, however, was not ready, and the family was busy securing the home to prevent the intrusion of the massive cloud of dust lifted from the quarry by powerful winds. Doors were closed, shutters shut, and any gaps were being lined with as much packing tape as could be found. Mya and Marcus Conall, mother and father, wife and husband, worked at opposite ends of the home with their two eldest children, Lucas and Shane, while their youngest, Setiel, only four years of age and named for Mya’s recently passed grandfather, watched the news on the omnibox, oblivious to the proceedings and blissfully unconcerned.

“Cut here please, Luke,” Mya asked her boy, shaking her hand gently with a piece of tape held tightly between her thumb and forefinger while holding the role with the other. Lucas reached up with a pair of scissors and snipped the tape where his mother was indicating. She secured the end to the frame of shutters, which was now entirely crack-free. Smiles lit through the black grime that now covered both their faces, and mother and son gave each other a quick high-five.

“We’re done up here,” Mya shouted down the hall.

“Us too,” came the reply from Shane, who’s black face appeared at the other end of the hall, his long blonde hair falling in a somewhat amusing contrast.

Marcus appeared behind him, also grinning. The grime made little difference to his appearance, as he was a naturally dark-skinned man. He was a big man, nearly a full two meters, a heavily muscled Matar with a strong ancestry of tough workers and fighters all. But he was retired now, attempting to live a life of peace on the ranch he had dreamed of since he was a child. Marcus and Mya had fallen in love seventeen years earlier, and they had now been happily married for a decade.

“I hope you don’t all expect to be eating in this condition,” Mya announced, still smiling at their success but with her fists firmly on her hips.

Marcus grin dropped a little. “Ah, Mya, dear, about that…”
Mya grimaced inside.

“We tried to secure the kitchen first, but once the dust was coming inside, it was coming from everywhere.”
A whole bird, and four kilograms of fresh vegetables, all from their own stock, ruined. Mya felt a little strung out in that moment as she walked up the hall to the kitchen around the corner, where Marcus and Shane stood attempting to look as innocent as possible.

“Stand aside, please,” Mya asked. The did, shuffling like dogs with their tails between their legs. Mya didn’t blame them, these things happened, but this was going to be a special meal. Money was tight, and this season had not been good. As she looked upon the filth covered prep work that remained of her special meal, she had to cling to the thought of the money they would soon receive for the find in the quarry. The same quarry that had ruined her special meal.

Oh the irony, she didn’t say, as she inspected the damage. This meal was not happening. At least, not tonight.

“Well, if anyone’s got an alternative suggestion for dinner, now’s the time to speak up,” she said to nobody in particular.

“Pizza!” Came innocent shout from the living room. Young Setiel came blazing into the kitchen without watching where he was going, and bounced straight off his father’s legs and fell on his backside. He looked up nonchalantly before presenting a cheeky grin to everyone in the room. Mya couldn’t help but chuckle.

“I can go get something, Mum,” Shane, their oldest, offered.

“Not in this storm you won’t. I’ll do it,” Marcus said. “I insist. I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

He grabbed a hooded leather coat from a rack near the front door, put it on and walked back over to plant a kiss on his wife, but at the last minute, hesitated, then backed off.

“Dear,” he said, taking her hands. “When you’ve washed your face, I owe you a kiss.”

She pulled her hands away and wacked him across the arm, unable to hold back another chuckle. Marcus grinned, pulled his hood up, and stepped toward the door.

“Seal this back up behind me. I’ll be back soon.”

As he opened the door, the howl of the wind outside rose in decibels, but the wind was crossing the door, and very little dust came in at all. Marcus grabbed a pair of goggles out of a pocket and placed them on his face, and gave a little wave just before closing the door. Shane quickly resealed the tape around the door. A few minutes later, the diesel engine of the family truck revved to life and its bright headlights shone through the translucent shutters, a glow that gradually receded as the truck reversed away, and then vanished completely as Marcus backed up the parkway into the storm.

“Okay kids,” Mya said. “Who’s first in the shower?”

(end so far)

Okay, so that's that. I understand that some of the concepts here (like pizza) may not have stood the test of history, and alternatives would be welcome, as I am so far unfamiliar with Matar cuisine. Perhaps someone can enlighten me, or perhaps pizza is fine. Perhaps the recipe survived. If anyone knows for sure, that's the kind of criticism I need. Also, names are a big one. I chose the name of the city carefully. Even though Gudrun doesn't exist in the lore so far, that doesn't mean there is no room to introduce a small, unnoticed city in the middle of nowhere. Introduce new lore that doesn't contradict existing lore. Of course, if I am contradicting existing lore, tell me.

I don't see why the idea of a flat bread with vegetables, fruit or other toppings would not have survived. The sheer simplicity of it would have been easy to figure out.

Hey! I got replies, that's awesome cuz I wasn't going to write any more until I got some feedback :p

I would like to see a bit more, though, so I'll leave this here before I continue working, but based on this and future feedback I'll be writing a lot more than just a few paragraphs before submitting for more feedback instead of doing it piecemeal.

I just wanted to get a sense of where my grasp on the lore is at for now with just this opening scene. I'll wait and see if this gets any more feedback over the next fortnight, then I'll just continue writing with or without it. In the meantime, thanks for your contribution guys, I gathered pretty much what you just said, that something as simple as the concept of pizza, perhaps even the name of it, would survive for as long as people were able to make it, which doesn't require incredibly complex technology to do.

This so makes me want to write my own stories... Please, keep it up. We definitely need more of these!

However....


Because I've had some pretty awesome feedback and you guys have enjoyed what you've read so far, I think I'll provide you with just one more little morsel for now. The following occurs immediately after what I've posted above (also, what I posted above has been edited in mine a little, a few minor corrections, like Shane calling his mum "mya" instead of mum, which I hadn't noticed I'd done initially).


Outside was cold. The first thing Marcus had noticed walking outside in the howling, dust-infested wind was the instant freeze that cut straight through his coat. The truck wasn’t that far away, but even with all of his might, getting there was a struggle against the cold, powerful wind. The next thing he noticed, not long after the cold, was the pain. The wind was so powerful that the dust moved against any exposed skin like sandpaper.

The driver’s seat of the family truck invited him inside, where it was calm and warm. The howl lowered to a whisper with intermittent knocks and ticks of bits and pieces getting blown up against the side of the vehicle’s metal skin. There would be some serious abrasion damage to the paintwork in the morning, if the truck had ever had paintwork.

No rain had fallen yet, and the road was still dry. Still, Marcus kept his speed low as visibility was easily less than fifty metres. The trip into Gudrun would take about twenty minutes at this rate, but Marcus didn’t expect this to keep up for long after the rain hit. Most storms like this died pretty quickly soon after the rain itself began to fall, so he kept his finger crossed that this would be no different.

Ten minutes in, however, there was still no rain. Marcus could see the lights of Gudrun, but not as much more than a set of ethereal blurry glowing orbs that seemed to be forever away. Suddenly, a very bright set of ethereal blurry orbs appeared, very close, and in that moment Marcus’ heart skipped a beat as he pulled the truck off to the side of the road. In the heat of the slightly panicked moment, he accidentally flipped off his headlights.

The approaching vehicle was travelling on the correct side of the road though, and passed without incident, although a lot faster than Marcus would consider safe. It wasn’t a small vehicle, either, and suddenly Marcus realised it wasn’t the only one, but rather, the first of a convoy of six large vehicles, bigger than his own. By their size, Marcus guessed a response team heading for the quarry to secure any loose bits and pieces.

Better late than never, he figured, and put his wheels back on the tarmac. Gudrun continued to get brighter. Actually, it was a little brighter than he was used to, even with visibility being so bad. He found himself leaning forward, squinting over the steering wheel of the truck, as if it would help him see more clearly, but to no avail. He was beginning to feel quite unsettled, however, and started to drive just a little faster than he would consider safe.

The closer he got to Gudrun, the tighter the knot in his chest became. The blurs became sharper, the lights became brighter, and the orbs became hotter, winking on and off and appearing in various locations throughout the city. Gudrun’s own lights were all off, however, and Marcus realised he was watching the city burn. No, not burn. He was watching it being burned.

Gudrun was under attack.

It can be better. This is all still just draft material. Thanks, though

Good, solid writing.. I do have some "issues" from a lore perspective..

I am assuming the story takes place pre-Amarr, in which case the dust thing perplexes me. Matar is a temperate world, presumably one of the most hospitable in New Eden, before the Amarr came. It had a wide variety of climates and geographies. Unless of course, it is post Amarr, in which case the planet could have been razed by Amarrian fleets and the dust is a symptom of such?

Please don't take these critiques beyond a desire to see your work adhere to the established fiction, obviously, it could take place in a desert region of the planet.. And very well may be post Amarr, in which case the issues become non-issues..

Your writing is very good, keep at it! Being a hopeless Eve lore junky, I had to point it out....

When I read your description of the dust, it was my hunch it was going to be a symbol or metaphor of some kind. I wrote a non-science fiction novella inspired by my time in northern Saskatchewan, Canada. Smoke covered the sky, completely like you describe. In the morning you would wake up with a layer of soot and dust around your campsite. Just an idea if your dust metaphor is hard to work. Open quarries and deserts are pretty dusty though I would imagine, unless its a plant deluged in a liquid or plasma of some sort.

I like your writing as well. Its succinct and avoids minor clichés. I personally try to keep my sentences short, avoid adverbs and excessive adjectives when I want to really focus on the action and intensify it. I focus on Verbs instead, and use more sentences if necessary. You might want to apply this timing technique to your story after some re-reads, but its a question of style and nobody has the ultimate authority. Stephen King has said though, that adverbs are his enemy.

"I have been to Jita and you don't scare me!" vs "You don't scare me. I've been to Jita."

Love the work! Keep us updated!
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The Teacher