u/CygnusX-1-2112b

In a piece I'm in process of the primary antagonist is meant to be a competent but very arrogant (non-human) woman with a domineering and predatory presence named Cephnir. I want to see if I've set the correct atmosphere and have constructed her actions correctly to fulfill that goal, and if there are any places where I contradict themselves. Apologies in advance for the length, I'm aware that I'm long-winded and verbose.

Also apologies to the mods if this is not the right sub for this or right format for the post. Really wish I could just attach the docx or a PDF or something instead of creating a massive wall of text like this.

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Cephnir’s lips peeled from the rim of a crystal drinking glass, leaving their blackened burgundy impression stained upon it. The rugged bite of earthy red wine clung to the corners of her mouth. Her tongue lurked along the inside of her teeth as she lingered on the acrid taste and found it wanting.

The great wide surface of the plotting map showed the arrangement of the region. Miles upon miles of the map’s steppes and boreal forest were eclipsed by the six fingers of her free hand, which were splayed upon it in possessive ownership. In the north sat a small carving of a peakglider, one clawed foot upon an outcropping of rock, its wings outstretched with pride. Small banners on posts crowded hungrily at its feet as though wolves set upon cornered prey.

As she lowered the glass to the plotting table she drank in a long breath through her nose. The air was warm with sweat, perfume and sweet rot. From the dimly-lit corners of the lavish hall came whispers of immoral promise, layered upon by lecherous noises of pleasure and laughter that came just a touch too readily. White noise that now barely even reached her ear. Interwoven with the iniquity was the voice of the Field Marshal Irilet as he too droned on, not yet aware how boring he had become.

“-the point being that if we dedicate a sufficient force to the effort, we may be able to undermine a portion of the city walls in the span of three weeks.”

Cephnir did not answer. Anonymous hands lasciviously caressed the scaled red skin of her shoulder in proposition. She shrugged them off and continued to study the map. The web of roads to the peakglider’s north was extensive.

“Such a breach would make an assault on the city within our grasp.” A xarphi noble with a staccato voice added.

“It may be a fine plan.” Grumbled another.

Agreement crept around the table. Finally, Cephnir’s voice poured slow and smooth like warm honey. The table went silent.

“It does not fix your blunder, Field Marshal. The encirclement was still a fool’s error.”

No answer. She continued.

“You seem to think I don’t bother to read the field reports from your officers. How long will the northern detachment’s field rations last? Say it aloud.”

Irilet finally found a pitiful parody of his voice. “Eleven days, Ma’am. The loot the raiding company were able to secure from the roads were…disappointing. I delivered the appropriate punishment to their commander for his failure. Personally.”

Cephnir resumed the drinking chalice. She took a moment to revel in the barbed liquid slithering down her throat. She remained stooped over the map.

“The scouting company wrote of a large merchant’s caravan on the northern road.” Her voice was still fluid, devoid of urgency. “The report I read indicated it was large enough to supply the northern detachment for a considerable length of time.”

“Exactly why my punishment of the raiding company was appropriate. Their failure complicated my plan, but I assure you the capture of Hem Falaer is still inevitable.” He answered more boldly this time.

“And yet…” her nostrils flared in a spark of anger. Her tone slowed. “Your own letter to the raiding company commander indicates that it was you who withheld the order to attack.”

She did not need to see his face. The scent of stress and fear now mixed with the warm air.

“W-we all had reason to believe it was only a forward element of the caravan. I-”

“Shut up.”

Cephnir did not raise her voice. She did not have to. One of the nobles at the table snickered just loud enough to be heard over the ambient moans.

Cephnir took another dragging sip from her chalice before letting it fall to the floor with a chiming pop, scattering a wave of shards across the black stone. She rose from her stooped posture to her full towering height, now glaring down at Irilet from across the plotting table.

“Did you really think that you could cover your pathetic ass by blaming an idiot you could conveniently get rid of?” She stepped back from the table and began to circle towards him. “Did you think yourself so well-adored that nobody would copy the letter just in case they could use it for their own gain? Or maybe you truly do think I am illiterate?”

“Ma’am. Red Wolf, y-y-you misunderstand my intention.” His voice quivered as he began to slowly withdraw.

Her hooves clacked in steady rhythm as she began to close the gap between them. Her voice was still honey, but now spiked with poison. “You do not tell me what I understand and do not understand.”

Irilet sped his retreat as she neared, but her long stride outpaced him. Her fingers wrapped about his leathery skin, the second opposing digit opposite to her thumb creating an absolute grip that enveloped his forearm. He wrenched away with a full body tug in a bid to commit to a desperate escape. She almost let herself sneer at the expression on his face when he realized that his arm did not budge. He continued to struggle as her other hand took hold of his jaw and tilted his face to meet hers.

“Enough. Spare a fraction of your dignity and stop fighting." Cephnir said she loomed over him.

I've been in the process of writing a novel for the past year or so, and the last episode just made me realize something about my inner monologue.

When I am carefully reading back something I've written, my mind hears it in his voice. Not too unusual in and of itself, but I've realized they when I don't like the section I read it with the same tone and cadence that he does when he's reading something goofy and dumb like the last episode. I tend to ignore my own punctuation and intended inflections, and make it sound juvenile.

It has the effect of making me hate the scene even more, even when it may not be entirely justified. Wonder how much stuff I've deleted that isn't actually too bad that just sounded bad because of the way I was tricking myself into reading it.

Maybe I should try reading it the Meatcanyon way and just mispronounce and trip over words until I'm screaming curses in my head. That might be a more balanced approach.

Was exploring an idea in an otherwise very grounded sci-fi setting where a PMC creates it's highly sought-after but legally questionable mercenaries through an extreme form of mental indoctrination and training. They're put into a medically induced coma for a period of about six months so that multiple cybernetic and biological augmentations can be performed, and while they're under, their minds are surgically wired to a simulation system that puts them through rapid and constant combat simulations and mental fortitude training exercises. From the outside, they've been in a surgical bed being cut apart and put back together for a few months. But as far as new recruits are concerned, they've been at war for hundreds of years, died painfully countless times, been forced to make monstrous decisions over and over again, and had every one of their morals rewritten through lifetimes of scripted experiences.

They come out on the other end of the procedure as all but without their humanity, their completely amoral nature only kept in check by the unbelievable amounts of propaganda they were subject to during their simulations.

Trying to get a general vibe from people on where this sort of thing falls on the lameness scale. Unreasonably grimdark edgelord stuff, or an avenue to create a compelling allegory for the real human cost paid by real people who have been exposed to doing terrible things from a young age because those above them think it makes for a better military force?

edit: Decided in not following through on the idea. Definitely too edgelordy for my setting and style, not to mention all the pinholes in the practicality and logic of the whole thing, with solutions that drive it into an even more dark and edgy place. For military forces in my setting I'll be sticking to mostly regular humans, with the caveat that most are genetically designed and have some degree of cybernetics due to cultural norms making those things accessible and acceptable to varying degrees across most of human society.

Title makes the answer since obvious (get the book going to grip reader, establish world smoothly as you go.), but let me explain a bit of nuance.

If you were reading a cross between High Fantasy and Scifi, where the Protagonist is from the High Fantasy side of things and there's a key moment where the worlds collide, would you want the story to start very close to/at that moment? Or would you have a better appreciation for the story if it took a couple chapters to follow a smaller-scale conflict that results in that key moment and establishes the characters and world?

Or is all of that dead weight if you came to the story seeking the impact of those worlds colliding? They're very different genres, so I wouldn't be surprised if sci-fi fans wouldn't come to read about beeboo and seevah going to find the lost hood of goobernamen for several dozen pages before the trandocian federation arrives and declares that they have assumed control. (If it's not obvious that's just bullshit I made up on the spot, not actually what I'm thinking)

Just been thinking about that since I saw mention that a big hurdle a lot of writers trip on is determining where their story actually should have started.

Edit: I think I've settled into what I'll be doing. it's a full length novel so there will be lots of room to work with. the first two chapters will follow the high priestess of a doomed city under siege. She witnesses unexplained lights in the sky that she interprets as a message from the divine, which gives get the resolve to influence the council to hold off on surrendering. This buys just enough time for the stars to fall. I'll use that time for character work, weave in a bit of establishment of the world, and continuously build the pressure on the protagonist until they're at their breaking point. The reader will know generally what's coming, but she will be acting wholly on desperate faith that appears more and more to have just been confirmation bias that will cost innocent people their lives.

Became conscious of the fact that I do this recently because my wife pointed it out after I complained that socks never last me more than three or four months. I walk toe-to-heel when I'm walking around the house in socks or bare feet, and am wondering if anyone else does it. My running theory is that it's because I grew up in a house with very old pine board subfloors and my room was right above my parents, so walking around during the day and at night I tried to be quiet, and that developed a gait that automatically reflected that. I've tried walking heel-to-toe, and I just feel like I'm practically stomping.

A project I'm working on includes a section where a human character in a hardshell combat exoskeleton eventually gets overpowered/outmaneuvered by a raiding force of non-humans wielding arms reminiscent of late medieval period Europe. For the logistics of the scene to work, I want to establish a realistic number of assailants solely focusing on him while other elements of the force are busy with other elements of the defending forces. Here are the conditions:

-The powered armor has artificial muscle and hydraulics fur fast and sustained force, and exposed areas at the joints for flexibility that are covered by heavy mesh similar to a shark-resistant wetsuit.

-hard plates of armor themselves are titanium alloy, Aerospace grade and 5/8" thick on average, so not penetrating the plates themselves with pikes or bolts

-power supply of suit is not in danger of running out, very high field sustainability.

-human is armed with a rifle and four 36-round magazines of 10x71mm, as well as a handgun with two 16-round magazines of ~.40.

-the human is exhausted from multiple days of fighting and being kept awake, only still standing from a cocktail of stimulants the suit keeps injecting him with. Exhaustion doesn't affect strength due to the power output of his armor, but it does greatly affect reaction time and reasoning.

-attackers are humanoid but with great genetic diversity in features and size, on average stronger than a baseline human.

-attackers are not dumb, use screening tactics and attempt to use terrain to their advantage

-human is there to guard an unarmored and exposed VIP, cannot maneuver as quickly as their suit truly allows because of the limitations of the VIP they're protecting.

I just want to scene to make sense to avoid the pitfall of making the armored humans only being tanks when the plot requires it.