Logan Shadowhand: a retrospective (part two)

Filed under Fiction, Writing Journal on September 2, 2008
Keywords: fantasy fiction, Logan Shadowhand, Shattered Amulet

I wrote about 14 pages of the original manuscript featuring Logan Shadowhand in the time between my senior year in high school and when I met my wife. It sat in a folder until after we got married. When I pulled it out again, I knew the story needed some serious work.

My first change was to break up the duo of Loghan and Callivaan. The latter was promoted to king of the elves while the former became a wandering rogue. I also replaced “hobbit” with “dwelph”. This was the beginning of my efforts to distance the characters and the setting from their Dungeons & Dragons roots.

I went back to school for my Bachelor’s degree while working on this version of the manuscript. I enrolled in a writing workshop my junior year, and submitted the second chapter as one of my critique assignments. Here is the scene from the first chapter where Logan is introduced:

Loghan Shadowhand stood in the middle of the long line of farmers, traders and travelers that moved at a snail’s pace through the main gates of the fortress-city of Jordia. Dust kicked up by shuffling feet covered the black leather pants and vest that he wore over a tunic of faded blue. He had been looking at the same rear end for the last half-hour and was ready to curse the gods for their cruel humor. What were they thinking when they made the dwelphian race only three feet tall? Even dwarves were bigger than that!

Fortunately, the thirty-foot wall that surrounded Jordia slowly climbed higher over the shoulders of Loghan’s fellow commuters, proof that the line truly was moving. Stony faces framed by conical helmets occasionally stopped at points along the ramparts to stare at those seeking entrance. Finally, Loghan was through the gates and into the gatehouse yard, a small area walled off from the main city. In times of attack, the raised portcullis on the east end would drop and soldiers of the Watchguard would pour out of doors in the north and south walls while crossbow bolts would rain down upon the enemy from above.

For now, the travelers passed through unhindered, but under the watchful eye of a few soldiers who stood at the portcullis. Occasionally, someone would be pulled from the line and questioned by one of the soldiers, an officer, by the marks on his armor. Loghan muttered under his breath. It would just be his luck if he got singled out.

“I am Corporal Heren. Please state your name and business.” The soldier’s gruff voice came from somewhere within the mass of black, coarse hair that covered his face. Loghan didn’t look up, but merely continued forward hoping that he would get lost in the shuffle. A hand clenched his collar and jerked him out of the line.

“I asked you your name and business.” Loghan could feel the man’s suspicion and sense of superiority as the officer’s dark eyes crawled up and down him, trying to gauge what kind of threat Loghan could be. Or like most people, the poor Corporal could just be trying to guess what Loghan was. Dwelphs were rarely seen outside of the Greytolde Woods, so were little known or recognized at first glance. Their short stature often misled people into believing they were dwarves, but they lacked the race’s stolid frame. Pointy ears and high cheekbones led others to the conclusion that they were some branch of pygmy elves. Some thought dwelphs were a half-breed, but Loghan was quick to correct that insult. Others, beguiled by his short-cropped black hair and big, round black eyes, just wrote him off as a precocious youth.

“My name is Loghan Shadowhand,” Loghan replied, with a grand, sweeping bow. “I’m nobody, just a tired artist looking for a place to sleep.”

“Well, Loghan Shadowhand, lodging can be found at the Traveler’s Inn on the north end of Fountain Square. I must warn you that we don’t allow weapons to be unsheathed by civilians in Jordia. I realize that some places don’t mind individuals taking the law into their own hands, but we have rules here.”

“I completely understand, sir. I try to avoid violence as much as possible, myself.”

Heren looked skeptically at Loghan’s innocent smile and wide, open eyes. “Penalties for lawbreakers are swift and harsh,” the Corporal continued. “Lord Doryn does not tolerate lawlessness. I am not sure what sort of ‘artist’ would have need of those,” he pointed to the two daggers sheathed at Loghan’s hips with a sneer, “but you will need to purchase a permit if you wish to use them.”

“I’ll remember that,” Loghan said with a forced smile. “Can I go now?” Corporal Heren frowned.

“You don’t seem to be hearing me. Civilians are not allowed to bring weapons into the city without a permit.”

“Okay.” Inside, Loghan boiled and fumed. Bureaucratic paperwork typically went hand-in-hand with wasted time and outrageous fees. He hid it well behind an impish grin. “Where do I go to get one of these permits?” The Corporal jerked his thumb in the direction of the north door.

Inside was a small office with a couple desks. A husky woman in a shirt of chain mail sat behind the far one, her feet propped up and her arms crossed beneath her breasts. At the opening of the door, she quickly sat up and began thumbing through some papers. The near desk was occupied by a slight man in a plain brown tunic. Spectacles rested halfway down his nose, which was buried in a stack of parchment. A quill rested in the fingers of his right hand, the tips of which were stained black. Loghan cleared his throat. After several moments of standing, he impatiently rapped his knuckles on the desk, startling the scribe.

“I was told I need to purchase a permit,” Loghan announced.

“Hmm. Oh, yes.” The scribe reached into a drawer and pulled out several sheets. “If you would please fill out this, and this, and this one.” Loghan’s scowl deepened at each, but he quickly scribbled on the necessary lines, then handed them back. “Very good, Mr. Shadowhand. The permit is valid for seven days, at which time it will need to be renewed.” The man then pulled out another, smaller piece of paper, stamped it, and held it out towards Loghan. “That’ll be five gold.”

“What? That’s ridiculous! You sure got some racket going here.” The tirade bounced off the scribe, his face displaying obvious disinterest. Loghan grumbled under his breath and untied a purse from his belt.

“Thank you. Have a nice day.” The scribe scooped up the money and Loghan indignantly snatched the permit. Then he angrily marched out the door. At the portcullis he stopped, waved the permit under Heren’s nose and gave a mock salute before proceeding through.

It’s not hard to understand the comments I received from the workshop based on this introduction. Logan’s sarcasm and indignation read with more humor than I intended, and his inability to slip past Heren at the gate set the stage for future “bumbling.” Another major rewrite was in store.

Related Posts

• Logan Shadowhand: a retrospective (part one)
• Logan Shadowhand: a retrospective (part three)
• Back in the spotlight
• Applying what I learned
• The evolution of Logan Shadowhand