Little Low-fantasy Dialogue Snippet
(BEFORE READING: not a lot of context needed, but I’m trying to illustrate a sort of generational divide here. Cyrus is about 60 and his retainer, Erick Karoff, is 16. Cyrus’ whole character is based around his goal of preventing a war by any means necessary. He’s been noticing a worrying divide between the younger people, and those that were around 30 years ago for the recent civil war. He’s beginning to realize that no matter how hard he tries, people don’t realize the gravity of war, and another one is inevitable. Please lmk if that’s illustrated well in this scene).
After mounting their horses, Cyrus and his retainers began their way towards the keep. The stone castle loomed in the distance, casting a shadow over the marble buildings that surrounded it. As he gazed at the rocky face of the hill that the keep sat upon, memories began to swell up inside his head. The familiar smells and sounds of the city brought his thoughts back to his earlier days. Cyrus was silent as a deep sadness flowed throughout his core. His visit with Fraun confirmed his worst fears; deep within him, he knew his work was futile.
“My lord?” asked a worried Erick, “You look ill.”
“Would you allow me a question, boy?” Cyrus ignored the squire’s observation.
“Count Sokolov, I don’t think you need my permission to do anything.”
Cyrus hesitated as they trotted down the road and looked at the youth’s face, almost hidden behind his large coif.
“How old are you?” asked the old count.
“Sixteen, milord.”
“You wear a man’s armor, have you seen battle?”
“Not yet, milord,” he laughed, “I hope I will someday though.”
“Does it not frighten you?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t put much thought to it, milord,” he paused, pondering, “I’ve heard all sorts of stories though, from my father’s men. They fought for you at the Battle of the Lonely Lake.”
Count Sokolov grimaced, “That was more of a massacre than a battle.”
“All the better, milord. When they drink they go on and on about the fire, and how you burned out the rebels. I used to dream of Sir Grigger the Blue and his duel with Count Bale, when I was younger of course,” he sighed, “Sometimes I wish I were there sword, shield, armor and all. Was it glorious, milord?”
“It was...for a moment at least. You’re a lucky young man, Erick Karoff.”
“I am?” his eyes glanced up at Cyrus.’
“You were born into peace, that’s all you’ve known. I suppose that’s more of a curse than a blessing, though.”
“A curse?” asked the boy.
“There are sorrows in war that you will never be prepared for, things boys like you shouldn’t endure. Trust me when I say this of all things, the glory fades,” said Cyrus.
“You’re a gloomy man, milord.”
Cyrus chuckled, “Perhaps.”
ps. i really want this scene to have a sort of sorrowful vibe. Also, please critique my dialogue, I’m looking for improvement!