The Great Steppe

[Ryden]

So I'm writing a fantasy story. And my basic idea is to have this traditional fantasy land, only it covers a small portion of a planet bigger than earth. The rest of the planet is unknown and unexplored. North of the kingdoms lies a vast steppe, and beyond that an impregnable range of mountains that few have crossed. The story takes place on the steppe, and the main premise is fantasy in a steppe nomad setting, drawing influences from mongols, huns, kirgiz, khazars, uighurs etcetra instead of knights and medieval things.

I'm kinda fascinated by the vastness of an unexplored wilderness and what may lie beyond... And I have a real interest in the history of horse archer empires and steppe nomad life.

Here's what I've written. By no means is it the start of the story or even part of it, It's an attempt at introducing thr setting and the main characters. Keep in mind I'm a novice writer with english as my second language after swedish. I'd like moreso critisism on the world, setting and how it's described, than on grammar, punctuation etc. Here goes:

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Chapter I

The Wild Stag was a mediocre establishment on the eastern end of Northaven, the northernmost of the five trading towns. There were other, better inns closer to the marketplace, but in those kinds of places people asked too many questions. At the Wild Stag, one could keep a low profile and blend in with the motley crowd of hunters, fur merchants, miners, rangers and a large number of mysterious individuals who came and went with no one ever really knowing where they came from or went to. Tseten had insisted they stay there, and Aigiarn had not dared argue. Wasn’t keeping your head safely attached to your body worth more than a night’s sleep in a proper bed at say, The Northern Crown? After the past weeks ride from Eastwood Dale, she wasn’t so sure anymore. By the time they had tied their horses outside and stepped into the smoky pub, her body was aching in places she had not known could ache.
“Northaven really is the last piece of civilization you’ll find up here,” said the beefy innkeeper as he poured them two mugs of dark brown ale. “So you’d better cherish this one drink,” he continued, “the stuff the nomads brew is undrinkable, and them rangers, they’d sooner rape their own mothers than touch a drink.”
“What can you tell us about the road north?”, said Tseten as he sipped the bitter liquid.
“It’s not much of a road really. Just a trail along the river where the wagons go every so often. Beyond the trade station it’s not even that, it turns into a path that even the rangers have a hard time following.” He eyed them suspiciously. “You aren’t thinking of going north past the trade station are you? Them nomads will have your ears before the sun sets.” He spat.
Tseten took a deep drink. “We’re going past the trade station, beyond the frozen mountains.”
“Then you’ll be sure to lose more than just your ears. The last man to try and cross the Khoshut passes has not been heard or seen for more than six moons.”
“We know.” Aigiarn said, looking into her mug. She had barely touched her drink. She did not fancy the strong dark beer of the frontier, but she knew she couldn’t let it show. This was no place for a woman to show weakness. You either ride with the men or you get ridden by the men, she thought to herself. Or worse. She forced a calm face as she drank deeply, the bitter taste filling her mouth. The bewildered inn keep stood speechless, his watery eyes full of curiosity.
Tseten gave Aigiarn a glance advising caution. “Our business is our own, inn keep.” Tseten’s tone suggested this was the end of the conversation. The innkeeper gave him a sour look and turned away. Tseten and Aigiarn only had time to share another quick glance before they were interrupted.
“If you’re hunting north of Khoshut, ye better know what you’re doing,” a raspy voice said. The voice belonged to a man standing behind them; a man who had not been there with Aigiarn last looked. Tseten and she both looked the silent-moving newcomer over.

He wasn’t an old man, but his features were somehow beyond his years, torn by endless nights in the wilderness. His face was adorned by a nasty-looking red scar that crept from the forehead over the nose and down the cheek. His chin was covered by a slight grey stubble. He was squat, slightly hunchbacked but still muscular. On his head was the traditional scarf of the rangers, and he was dressed in the flowing cloths of a nomad, practical clothes that gave the skin room to breathe, tightly tucked into leather gloves and boots. Around the waist he wore a thick leather belt with large pouches; a similar belt went across his chest. He was not armed from what Aigiarn could see. What really struck her about the man was his eyes, unlike any she has ever seen before. She had never seen such light blue eyes, looking into them was like looking up into the sky a bright winter’s morning. There was a wisdom in the eyes as well, the confidence of a man who had witnessed the gates of hell and come back for more, a man who had seen everything there was to be seen. She found comfort and safety in those eyes, and she stared into them for what seemed like en eternity.
“And what do you know of it?” Tseten asked.
“I traversed the passes of Khoshut when you two were still babes at yer mothers’ breasts.” He was quiet for a moment. “Many tell tall tales about going beyond the frozen mountains past the great steppe, seeing the forests of the taiga and the icy tundra. Why should I think you two more than common fortune-seekers looking to boast yer reputations?”
“You tell tall tales yourself ranger, but what you think of us is no matter.” Tseten seemed almost arrogant, but Aigiarn knew he did not mean to. Tseten simply always said what he thought, not covering it in curtsies and false words. The man did not seem to mind Tseten’s straight forwardness. He simply gave them each a long look with those icy sky blue eyes, nodded to himself and left just as swiftly and has silently as he had come.

Aigiarn found herself staring at the door long after the chilly wind the man had let in as he exited had died away. When she looked up, Tseten was looking at her, frowning.
“You’d better keep your tongue in check, young lady. Who knows who the inn keep will talk to about us? This is not the right place to be engaging in mindless conversation.”
“You’re the one who told him where we’re going, the blame is on you as well,” Aigiarn said.
Tseten answered with thoughtful silence, and went black to his drink. He gave an impression of danger as he sat there on the bar stool. The way he moved, the way he walked, all of it reeked of danger. In the beginning Tseten had scared Aigiarn, but she had soon figured out that it was just a surface. Beneath his rough-cut features and the thin slits that were his eyes she had discovered both humour and sorrow, compassion and ice-cold determination. But what really defined Tseten was his sense of duty. He was a man to follow, a man to take orders from. A man?, she thought. Part of her did not think of Tseten as a man. He had barely seen twenty-two winters in his life time, and there was a certain insecurity about him. An insecurity that only Aigiarn could see, through all his tough attitude and bold talk. Deep inside Tseten was an insecure boy who really just wanted to go home, a boy playing a man, playing a warrior. He looked the part at least, Aigiarn thought. He had the thin, curved eyes of a nomad and the sharp jaw line of a southerner. The small beard on his chin and the short stubble of black hair that covered his head gave him a grim look. A cold, fearless look. When he smiled though, his rock of a face turned into a beaming sun. Aigiarn smiled inside herself when she thought of it. But Tseten did not smile often.

Aigiarn was torn from her thoughts by a sudden nausea. The brew of the north was strong, and she was not used to its effects. The smoke-thick air was suddenly hard to breathe, and it felt as though a giant hand was clenching her chest.
“Tseten, I need to go outside,” she struggled to say before starting towards the door without waiting for his reply. The distance between the bar and the door seemed like a million miles, every step a lifetime. When she finally reached the door and stepped out into the chilly afternoon, it felt like being free again. She drew deep breaths of the icy air, and started walking briskly towards the edge of town. The Wild Stag was located in the fur merchants’ district, and the air that had felt so fresh when she stepped outside soon felt worse than she smoke inside. Aigiarn hurried her steps as she passed by dozens of hunters skinning wolverines, ferrets and whatever other animals they had caught. The remains lay rotting in giant tubs next to them. There were not many people in the streets, which was understandable. In other parts of Northaven the streets were packed, especially in the winter months when the miners came down from the mountain ranges, but in the fur merchants district only those who had business there walked the streets. That was one of reasons she and Tseten had gone here for an inn. As Aigiarn walked, she studied the houses she passed. Northaven was by no means an impressive town, but it had a certain appeal to it. Most houses were built with sturdy wood, thick logs made to hold up against whatever winds were thrown at them. The houses were low, rarely more than one or two stories, but many made up for it in width. Every now and then she spotted a yurt, the peculiar fur tents the nomads lived in. She knew nomads from the so-called friendly tribes got along well with the people in Northaven, and many decided to settle here, sometimes even marrying southerners.

The street Aigiarn walked on came to a sudden end between a store selling lamb pies and a big house that looked like a merchant’s residence. Where the road ended was a wooden fence that led to a pen full of yaks. Aigiarn carefully unhooked the gate, and made her way across to the other side. Yaks were normally friendly, and were used to carry heavy things on the steppe, where horse and wagon could not go. Outside the pen she stepped out into a slope of dry grass with small trees scattered throughout, which kind she did not know. The ground got steep quickly as she climbed the slope, and when she finally got to the top all the aching from the long ride had returned. On the bright side, the wobbliness she had felt at the Wild Stag was all but gone. She sat down on the hard ground for a rest, and took a deep breath. Up here the air was truly clean, Aigiarn let it fill her lungs; let it fill every part of her body until she felt the icy cold tingle inside. As she let the air out it formed a cloud in the air in front of her. She felt refreshed, clean, like all worries were washed away for an instant. The view here was truly magnificent. The sprawling town of Northaven spread out below her. It somehow looked smaller from up here. She could see the market at the centre; the people looked like ants swirling about, each one minding to their own business. From the south she saw the great north road climbing into the town, and in the north it continued, albeit much smaller, to the trading station by the Khujand river. As Aigiarn looked north she saw the frozen mountains far away, blue against the horizon, their edgy, ever snow-covered peaks reaching for the sky. They looked close, but Tseten had told her it only seemed that way because of how tall they were. In reality it would take them months to reach the mountain range, and all that way the mountains would play tricks with their minds, seeming closer than they were. It was said that many a man had lost their sanity on the steppe trying to reach those peaks. Between Northaven and the Frozen Mountains lay the great steppe, stretching miles and miles to the north, northeast and northwest. It was truly vast; one could travel the wilderness for a lifetime without seeing the same place twice. North of Northaven was the Khujand River, flowing south from its mysterious springs deep within the mountains. She had heard there was a waterfall where the river met its end; maybe Tseten would let her see it as they travelled north. There were many people living on the steppe, nomads living off the sparse resources the land could offer. Some were friendly, some where not. It was dangerous for someone without experience to venture beyond Northaven without a guide.

The mountains drew Aigiarn’s attention yet again. There was only one place to cross it was said; the Khoshut passes. The passes were located somewhere to the north, and only open in the summer when enough snow and ice melted. Every year the ice would melt differently, so there was no true way of knowing how to get though the passes, even if you had crossed it before. Very few people crossed anyway, and hundreds had died trying, freezing in the mountain holds when the path they had chosen turned out to be the wrong one. The tales of what was in the other side were many, each one different then the one before. As the sun set in the north, Aigiarn let her thoughts run free, thinking of the other side of the mountains and the lands she had only heard of in the tales. The thought that she was actually going there make her stomach tingle, but she was not so much afraid as eager to get going. If only Tseten could find a guide soon.

***

Djizak looked up from his book as the girl came out on the street. An interesting book it was, written by the great poet Toktogul and dedicated to the great steppe. As good as Toktogul’s writing was, however, the girl was much more pleasing to look at. She was short but not little, built in a way that made her seem powerful and yet graceful. Her face was pretty enough, thought not the prettiest Djizak had seen. Her large, hazel eyes gave her features an innocent look, but there was a determination in them that made Djizak think differently. Her auburn hair was tied up in an intricate knot, the same used by the nomad women when riding, it complemented her features well. With the baggy riding clothes she was dressed in it was hard for Djizak to get a good look at her body, but he had a vivid imagination and had no trouble envisioning her taking them off. A leather vest covered most of her chest, below it was a large white tunic made from a thick fabric, which covered her arms down to her hands, where it was tucked into her worn riding gloves. Around her waist was thick belt carrying the things one needed in the north, and holding up her baggy trousers. Her knees and elbows were wrapped in leather straps to ensure that the many folds of her clothing did not get in the way, and her shins were covered by sturdy riding boots with steel-covered toes. An outfit fit for a traveller, Djizak thought as he scribbled a few words on a paper concealed by his book. Carefully he opened a small cage on the ground next to him, and let the falcon he kept inside climb onto his hand. He carefully inserted the paper into a metal tube, marked it with his seal and fastened it tightly on the falcon’s leg. With a quick thrust of his arm the falcon soared to the skies carrying Djizak’s message. As he returned to the words of Toktogul, the bird was already disappearing over the rooftops, heading to the north.

***

[Jarshen]

I liked this, it has an easy pace to it and as an introduction to the chracters and your world it is evocative, it comes across as if you are writing about what you know. There is also the hint of mystery with the blue eyed man, setting up an intrigue for the reader.
The only real bit that I was not sure of was this piece. Better to have the reader see this rather than simply be told. It makes us wonder why she is with him, so feels a bit false.

An insecurity that only Aigiarn could see, through all his tough attitude and bold talk. Deep inside Tseten was an insecure boy who really just wanted to go home, a boy playing a man, playing a warrior. He looked the part at least, Aigiarn thought.

Well that is my tuppence worth.

[woodsman]

Ditto jarshen, i think you've set the world up nicely. I can almost feel the atmosphere in the pub and this is a well planned out piece of writing, i hope you continue. The general theme/plot also appears to have lots of scope and promise for a good yarn, good luck and keep going.

[Ryden]

Thanks guys, I really appreciate you taking the time to read and feedback!