I mentioned last week that there’s a notion kicking around in my head for my next project. I also mentioned that I want to ensure the story is about characters, not just the universe and any cool stuff that’s in it. As much as imaginations are captivated by things like Jedi knights, Sith lords, alien beings, and far-off worlds with radical ecosystems, if none of the characters are interesting or appealing you might as well forget trying to tell an actual story and just pitch the setting to a video game company.
You don’t just need characters. You need characters who will be the focus of the action, the ones to whom readers will relate, heroes to cheer for and villains to boo at. And they don’t just spring out of the aether fully-formed and ready to kick ass. They came from somewhere, have reasons for doing what they do, entertain doubts and hold on to dreams. These are all things you should know before you write the first word of your story.
In my case, I’m taking the time to interview my characters. I start out with some basic questions (name, profession, viewpoints on some of the galaxy’s fixtures) and get more personal from there. I’m not sure how many questions is enough – ten? Fifteen? Twenty? Any more than that seems excessive. Naturally, the most interesting part is writing the answers. It helps me nail down the voice of the character, gives me a peek into what makes them tick, and gets me excited to throw them to the wolves prowling around the plot I’m brewing.
As long as humankind has been able to lift their eyes, our imaginations have been filling the apparent void in the night sky. The heavens are full of all sorts of wonders, and the closer a celestial body is to our own, the more often it serves as inspiration. That’s part of the reason why Mars featured so prominently in early science fiction, and continues to captivate readers new and old to this day.
One hundred years ago, Edgar Rice Burroughs got into the serial business with his short stories featuring a man named John Carter. Taking a cue from Mark Twain’s Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s court, Carter was a Civil War soldier transported to the surface of Mars where lower gravity gave him superpowers. While an immortal man traveling to another planet via astral projection may seem a bit odd by today’s standards, Burroughs’ work is consistent with the pulpy, unashamed adventure that was prevalent at the time in other works such as Tom Swift, Buck Rogers, and later, Flash Gordon. He was one of the first to truly popularize science fiction as a genre, and Mars was a big part of his work.
Likewise, luminary Ray Bradbury took us to the red planet. His Martian Chronicles were a bit more grounded than the adventures of John Carter, dealing with the necessary colonization of Mars after we as a species degrade and erode our home planet to the point of inhabitability. Speculative fiction often has the earmarks of cautionary tales, and the many short stories that link together to form the future history of our relationship with the red planet are no exception. The fact that Mars was inhabited long before humans showed up allowed Bradbury to examine the follies of historical colonization as well as how we as a species did, and continue to, face annihilation at our own hands. Just as Heinlein would use the moon to espouse his viewpoints, Bradbury’s tales of Mars communicate an unflinching view on human nature and the perils of xenophobia.
Even when Mars isn’t encompassing all aspects of a story, it still serves as an inspiration. The desolation and quiet peace of the planet makes one of the key scenes in Watchmen all the more powerful. The film Total Recall used it as not only an exotic location but part of the story’s questioning of reality and perception. As a world much closer (and, it turns out, more hospitable) than Venus, Mars often represents a clean slate for those willing to brave it, as well as presenting its share of mysteries and opportunities.
One thing that Avatar: The Last Airbender demonstrates along with good character development and a fully-realized world is momentum. After Book 2‘s climax, Aang and his friends find themselves in enemy territory. The Fire Nation is stronger than ever, and poised to bring the war to a victorious end when the comet arrives. Most interesting of all, however, is where this journey has taken the character of Prince Zuko.
Zuko spent the lion’s share of the first two seasons chasing Aang. The young Avatar represented his only hope of returning home and regaining his honor. Banished from the Fire Nation and scarred for his perceived weakness, his own tenacity and his uncle’s unwavering support were all that propelled him forward in his quest. And in the end, he was able to achieve his goals.
Yet, as Book 3 begins, Zuko seems more unhappy than ever. Despite the rewards, the accolades, and even the approval of his father, Zuko is troubled and conflicted. The opportunity the return home came with a high price. He had to turn on his uncle, trust his scheming sister, and go against his instincts when it came to Aang. It weighs heavily on the prince, and it is clear that he has chosen the wrong path. His struggle to find the right one is something to which many can relate, and one of the most compelling reasons to keep watching.
Zuko is also a microcosm for the Fire Nation itself. It would be easy to paint them as a monolithic, evil force. However, The Last Airbender‘s scribes are smarter than that. It’s ludicrous to believe that every member of a particular section of the world’s population all subscribe to the same ideology. While there is a certain amount of pride, loyalty, and tradition that goes with being a native of the Fire Nation, most of the people in it are just people. Even those who have or do serve in the war have families, people who love them, and things they fear.
Aang recognizes this. His own conflict comes with the notion of doing what must be done in order to end the war. Unlike Katara and Sokka, he sees the people and not its deeds, and even knows that Fire Lord Ozai, his ultimate foe, is a human being, and that taking the man’s life would diminish the world and lessen his own soul. He has just as much reason to hate the Fire Nation as anyone, considering their genocide of the Air Nomads, but Aang believes in going beyond that. He believes that the Avatar, and people in general, can and should be better than that.
After the somewhat slow and spotty start from Book 1 and the accelerating tension of Book 2, Book 3 only breaks pace once to my knowledge, and even then it gives us insight on the Fire Nation, underscores Aang’s inner conflict, and allows a brief breather before the breathtaking finale of the series. I picked up the graphic novels in “The Promise” storyline immediately after we finished watching Avatar: The Last Airbender, and spirits as my witness, we will find a way to watch Legend of Korra without paying through the nose.
We have no cable TV, you see. Merely the Internets.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim and apologize in advance for what may turn out to be only passable fan fiction as I write down stuff that goes through my head as I play this game. Also, the following does contain spoilers for the game. Fairly be ye warned.
Since coming to Skyrim, I’ve faced many challenges. I’ve faced down wolves, bears, trolls. I’ve taken on a veritable army of draugr and more than my share of hagravens. I have laid waste to bandit encampments and strongholds alike. I have slain dragons. I have saved the world on at least one occasion. And yet, yesterday morning, I felt more edgy and nervous than on any of those occasions.
Aela, of course, knew something was on my mind, and asked me about it immediately.
I remember the first time I saw her. Fresh from my aborted execution, on the run and confused from Helgn, she glanced at me with narrowed eyes while she fought that Giant outside Pelagia Farm. I’d met Nords before, but to see one such as her in her native environment, full of beautiful ferocity and unwavering bravery, I was struck, even then. She said nothing of my magic but I could feel her suspicion. Now, as a Companion, and chosen by Kodlak Whitemane to succeed him as Harbinger, her eyes were not suspicious, but concerned.
“I’ve been thinking,” I managed to begin.
“You do that quite a bit, for a Companion. Maybe that’s why Kodlak chose you.”
“He could have chosen you. You were close. He trusted you. You ran by his side many nights.”
Aela shrugged. “What could be is not what is. I’m more concerned for you than I am for Kodlak. He is in Sovngarde. You are here.”
“And so are you.” I cleared my throat. Why was this so difficult? “I keep thinking of how I came to be here, of that day at the farm when we met. Do you remember?”
“I do.” She smiled a little. “I thought this spindly little mageling had a surprising amount of balls, standing with us against a Giant.”
“And I found you more dangerous than that Giant, to be certain.”
“Yet you stood by me and helped take it down. You’ve stood by me many times since then.”
As she spoke, Aela noticed the metal glittering under my tunic. Without prompting, she pulled out the amulet, and looked in my eyes.
“You know what wearing Mara means, don’t you?”
I nodded. “The priest in Riften told me. The question is, Aela, do you know why I wear it now?”
There was softness, there in her eyes, that I had not anticipated. Her fingers lingered near my chest. “I won’t lie. I’d like that.”
“I won’t lie either. I want you for my wife.”
She smiled. “Then it’s settled. We should go to Riften immediately. Times like these, to dally is to waste precious moments.”
So we did. We made the arrangements at the Temple, and the delighted priest admonished me not to be late for my own wedding. We rented a room at the Barb and Bee for the night, but Aela was restless. It was her nature. Her blood ran as hot as ever.
“You know what we should do?”
She turned and looked at me. It was an incredulous gaze, anticipating some sort of arcane scheme worthy of the Archmage of Winterhold.
“We should hunt.”
She blinked. I smiled. I was glad I could surprise her.
“On the eve of our wedding?”
“Can you think of a better way to spend it?”
Her smirk was coy. “Connor, you do know the way to a lady’s heart.”
So it was that we found ourselves north of Riften, stalking wolves, her with her bow and I with my Skyforged blade. Its edge softly glowed with the electric energy with which I’d enchanted it. Eorlund disapproved of my doing so, but nobody denied the results. I was watching Aela, taking in the way she matched the wolves move for move, until they bolted. She looked back at me, wondering perhaps if I’d made too much noise, and then her eyes lifted and widened.
I don’t know how it snuck up on us. They’re not known for being terribly sneaky or subtle. But the dragon plummeted out of the sky on us, and my Skyforged blade flew from my grip. I brought up my dragonbone shield, and seeing it and that I was armored in the stuff, the dragon was incensed. I looked in its eyes and, in that moment, as it always was when I fought the Dov, we knew one another. His body pinned mine and his jaws snapped at me. My other blade was far from my hand, strapped to my back, and I was too distracted to summon Magicka. I struggled, smelled the fetid breath, closed my eyes.
I heard Aela’s howl. By the light of the moon, I saw my bride-to-be leap across the dragon’s snout, raking him with her claws. I had banished my own wolf-spirit to settle a conflict within myself, but Aela was as comfortable as ever wearing her two disparate skins. Now she wore the skin of Hircine, the skin of the werewolf, as she protected me and distracted the dragon. He wheeled on her, leaving me half-pushed into the muck, taking a deep breath and bathing the foliage in blue fire. Aela was quick, dodging away, roaring in defiance. The dragon snapped at her, swept in with claws and wings, finally catching her with his tail. It was when Aela was knocked away that I properly introduced myself.
“YOL TOOR!”
The words Paarthumax had taught me took shape in my mouth and issued forth as orange flame. The dragon staggered, turned, and stared. Now on my feet, I reached over my shoulder and drew Dragonbane, the sword of the Blades given to me by Esbern. I gripped my shield and charged. Dragonbone met dragonbone with a mighty crash, and Aela was slicing into its hide with her claws. But dragons are cunning, and he knew there was a bond between us, the way we each leaped to the other’s defense. When Aela sprang again, the dragon spun and swept out his tail, grabbing Aela’s ankle and slamming her back into the ground. He faced away from me, and even if I got his attention, I didn’t know how badly he would hurt her with his back claws as he turned.
“TIID KLO!”
Time itself stilled at the sound of my voice. I dropped my shield, ran as fast as I was able, and with my free hand I scooped up the werewolf from where she lay. I shoved her with as much strength as I could muster. I then backed away, as time once again flowed, as the dragon’s jaws closed on empty air. Aela hadn’t yet moved from where I’d pushed her. I swallowed my fear and looked up at the dragon, backing away slowly. My foot glanced off of Skyforged steel, and I bent to hold my Companions blade in my off-hand. Dragonbane seemed to gleam in the moonlight. The dragon leapt into the sky, blanketing the forest in fire. I ran, sheathing my blades, picking up Aela and running from the inferno. The dragon landed directly in front of me. I bent to lay Aela aside and stood between her and my foe. He inhaled, glaring eyes full of hatred, nostrils flaring as he prepared to breathe again.
“FUS RO DAH!”
The first shout I’d ever learned, one of my most powerful weapons, caused the dragon to lose his footing and slide down the hillside. Blades came free of their scabbards and with the mightiest cry I could muster, I leapt down after it. I slashed across his snout, ensuring I had his full attention. He roared at me, and I roared right back. I stabbed him in the cheek with Dragonbane, pushing myself upwards using the blade as my fulcrum. Landing directly between his horns, I brought my weapons down with all of my strength. Scale, muscle, and bone gave way under the strike and the dragon twitched violently as life fled from his body. Gasping for breath, I pulled my blades free and slid down the side of his still face, returning my blades to their homes. I looked up at the moon and closed my eyes as the wind came over me, carrying the voices of the Dov with it to fill my ears and my soul, telling me this Dovah‘s name and adding his voice to my own. When it was over, and nothing but his bones remained, I turned to see to Aela.
“No wonder they sing songs about you.”
She was already there, clad only in moonlight, holding my shield in one hand and her own axe in the other. Bruises and scratches did nothing to slow her as she made her way down the hill to me. I tipped her chin towards me and tasted her kiss for the first time.
“After tomorrow, I will take this dragon’s scales and make you something special.”
“You already gave me something special.” Aela’s gaze didn’t break from mine. “I’m going to spend my life giving you all I can in return.”
The day had been chosen as much for the weather as anything else. Bright and sunny, on a weekend, it was the perfect time for parents to bring their kids to the zoo. It wasn’t too crowded, as many families were on vacations, but there were still enough visitors that the two men on the bench in the big cats section didn’t stick out too much.
Joe had the briefcase between his feet as he sat, watching the crowd. Kids walked by frequently, pointing at animals or sipping milkshakes or fighting with siblings. It made him miss his own child, living with his mother as part of the aftermath of the divorce, but he pulled his mind back to what was about to happen. Beside him, Frank leaned back against the bench.
“Think this will satisfy the man in the wheelchair?”
“Could be.” Joe didn’t like to speculate. “Could also be that it’s not worth the trouble.”
“He shouldn’t have hired us to acquire it in the first place, then.”
That, in and of itself, had taken some doing. Several cars, a sat-nav system, a couple unfortunate civilians, and a great deal of gunfire had gone into stealing the case. It was after losing Donalee that Joe had doubled the asking price. Donalee had been a good asset. Working with her and Frank reminded Joe of better days, more legitimate days, but those were over now. He grimaced as he thought of the girl bleeding out by the road. The worst part was, what else was he suited for? Flipping burgers? Answering phones? Making nice at company parties? No. This was his life, making shady deals with shadier men in places like this.
Two men approached through the crowd, carrying a briefcase of their own. As agreed, one of them was holding a map of the city with a zoo circled in yellow highlighter, and an arrow drawn on in red. Joe and Frank stood. The other men stopped a couple feet away, and the two pairs faced each other. The sky darkened as the sun dipped behind cloud cover. Neither of the newcomers spoke.
“Here’s how this works.” Joe held up his case. “I’m going to count to three. On three, we step to each other, I hand you this case-” He gestured to the man across from him. “-and Frank gets handed the money. Then we all walk away happy. Questions?”
There were none. Joe took a deep breath and counted. The four men moved like clockwork, and if the sun hadn’t peeked out from behind its cloud, Joe would never have seen it.
A glint of metal in the other man’s hand.
Joe stopped immediately but Frank hadn’t seen it. He was reaching out for the money. The man across from him swung his arm up into Frank’s torso from the side, under the arm, and Frank gasped. He didn’t cry out, though. Funny thing about the human lung: stab it in one place, you can still scream. Stab it in another, you can’t make a sound.
Joe brought the case up, hard, punching the other man in the stomach with it. He backpedaled quickly. A flowerpot shattered under his foot and he lost his balance. Momentum kept him going backwards, over the railing, and down the seven foot drop into the enclosure below. Years of practice before and after recruitment had him twisting and moving his body as he fell, his knees bending at just the right time to absorb the impact. He looked up, case still in hand, fingers ready to go for his sidearm.
The men at the railing weren’t looking at him.
He turned, then, and saw the tiger approaching.
He’d landed on the far side of the small, artificial river that allowed the cats to bathe at their leisure but also kept them from getting a good start on the wall. The jungle cat was moving slowly, carefully, not taking her eyes from the intruder. Joe didn’t look up again. He heard people making noise, probably pointing at him, but he knew if he so much as glanced away, he was done for. These cats were not docile or domesticated. They were wild animals kept locked away from the open spaces they loved.
Joe made no sudden movements, kept his gun in its holster under his jacket, the case at his side. He moved as slowly, as quietly, as the tiger approaching him. Every step the tiger took, he took. It was like a very quiet, very deadly dance. The keepers had to have little doors or other ways to enter the enclosure, and Joe intended to find one. The tigress growled softly, a sound less threatening and more curious, as she kept pace with him. Joe couldn’t help but smile. Most prey probably tried to flee by this point.
“Hey, mister! Over here!”
Joe didn’t look. The sound came from his right, and he moved towards it at the same agonizing pace. The tiger, for her part, paused at the sight of the zookeeper, even more uncertain of what was going on. Joe inclined his head to the tiger in a respectful way, and felt hands on his right arm. He took the hint and stepped that way, into a small concrete hallway as the concealed door closed behind him.
Before the poor zookeeper could say a word, Joe smacked him with the case across the jaw. He was out cold before he knew what happened.
Minutes later, he emerged wearing a zookeeper’s uniform under his jacket, case in hand. Losing Frank bothered him more than he liked to admit. He’d been alone in the cold before, after he’d been burned, but this was different. This felt far more personal. Paying the money was cleaner, but this double-cross meant the man in the wheelchair wanted the case even more badly than Joe had realized.
He found a public phone, and made a call.
“Hello, Natalya. Joe here. Are you free for lunch?”
