Some question on "written english"
Hi all, :-)
i follow this community since a long time but didnt posted too much (i also lost old account)
i think this is one of the most passionate and helpful community iv ever seen, and the title "A forum for cartography enthusiasts" simply recall the spirit of "posters"
I got a question (off-topic question from cartography)
My mother language is Italian, but with the school, the music, the internet and many fantasy books i can consider english as my second language
i got some "grammar" problem but i think is normal :-)
I am a fan of fantasy (like many others in here i suppose) and i wrote short stories to use for role play or for the simple desire to write.
But i realized that English is really better to write a good fantasy... the words, the terms, are really more meaningful, and more onomatopoeic
then a crazy idea
If i try to write something in English?
and i did it,
so i wanted to ask an opinion to you (except for "little" grammar mistakes, consider that i use Synonims dictionary, Google translator for doubts) on a small part of the story,
if the "setting" is right, the terms are correct, and if the general idea can be okay!
I will thank you very much if you give your opinion
This is the part :
The Hills of Brenderytuc
It was a cold winter's day, covered by a grey sky and scared with sharp gusts of wind when Gador found the entrance of the old tumulus.
Hidden behind a pile of mossy rocks was concealed a black crevice, just close enough to allow the passage of only one person at time.
Gador waited a second and looked around at the sorrounding creepy forest. It was quiet, and scary. More than the fear of being followed was
the gloomy feeling that the spirits of the dead that dwelt in the woods were watching him. But the only observers were two curious squirrels
with the spotted fur, watching him from a rough and dry branch of an old oakthorn.
Gador tried to hide the entrance as best he could taking some boughs from nearby bushes and went over. He knew that people avoided
that dusky place, and the worth was all of the reputation of Brenderytuc. Gador had heard of stories that could keep away marching's armies.
But he also knew that brigands were much more enslaved of stealth than of superstition, and that place was so dark and outlayed that a bit of
caution could certainly be a good deal.
Gador went ahead with a small candlelight. The passage was narrow and the way before him felt down steeply into the depths of darkness.
He felt almost suffocated by the impending terrain above his head, and his back was crossed by a slight shudder. "This place is creepier than the
last time," he thought.
Some tangled roots of bushes grown over the mound caress his face like cold, ghostly fingers. Whenever he made a visit to the old tomb,
Gador solemny promise to himself that he would never come back. But the taste of shining gold for a smuggler was stronger than any kind of
oath, even though it was pronounced in front of deities, and the two bags of fine salt on his back and the dozen of cruets filled by valuables
exotic oils tucked in his leather belt actually worth much more than a solemn promise.
(thank you very much)