I don’t know why I’m doing this, but I will be posting the prologue for “Storm’s Knight” right fucking now.
It was a pain in my ass to copy, because apparently my growth happens between chapters, and this particular bit of story was written… At least two months ago.
Comparing this with the new chapter 1(Which I’ve written about 2 to 3 weeks ago), I sat here scratching my head:
“Did I seriously write this crap?!”
It’s important to note that all names are still a subject to change(Since I seriously don’t have any names for most of the locations and some of the characters. my antagonists are literally named “BG1″(Bad Guy 1), “BG2”, etc >>
So yeah, I’m a shit writer, and I am begging you guys’ help in remedying it.
Tips and suggestions will be welcomed.
There’s a chance I might scrap the prologue all together. Since the events in this bit of text don’t happen until like… 1/3 of the way through book 2, But that’s already telling too much, and the sharper nails will figure everything up by chapter 3 if I write anything more >>
So with no further ado, I give you the 1300 word prologue(Or chapter 1, w/e). for Knight’s Storm.
This is about half a chapter length, which would make each chapter 8 A4 pages long. Somehow I feel this is too short…
I’ve no idea how long a chapter should be, and just end chapters where new threads are added to the plot.
He walked slowly among the warriors, the clashing of sword, shield and armor near deafening.
His gaze drifted from soldier to soldier, sensing the burning rage and hatred flowing forth in crimson waves from them.
Hatred and rage which he knew was not real, for none of the soldiers cared when a comrade fell, victim to a sword, and arrow, or a stray spell.
The snow at his feet was dyed red with the blood of the fallen, and a red haze clung to the ground like an early morning mist.
He licked his lips, feeling the thin layer of crusted salty fat that grew thicker as more and more mines were triggered, and warriors were burnt to blackened husks.
He breathed deeply, taking in the scents of ash and sweat and shit as soldiers died around him. Closing his eyes in concentration, he disappeared, reappearing on a cliff overlooking the scarred battlefield.
Reaching outwards with his mind, he felt the souls of every soldier mixed in the melee.
Four hundred and fifty two thousand, eight hundred and sixty four lives… The number was unbelievable.
“I’m sorry I have to involve all of you in this… But your sacrifice will save countless billions of lives.” He said into the empty air.
With a sigh, he unstrapped his backpack and pulled out a small metallic bowl, and a silvery metal cylinder about twenty centimeters long, covered in sharp black runes.
He say down on the rocky soil, and put the cylinder to his forearm; a small, infinitely sharp blade appeared. With one quick motion, he drew the blade towards his palm, leaving behind a faint crimson trickle.
A clenched his teeth, and a vein swelled in his forehead with the effort of keeping his power from healing him instantly.
He held his arm out over the bowl, letting the blood slowly pool inside the small bowl, filling it to the brim.
Once the bowl was filled, he let his skin knit itself back together with a short sigh of relief.
He unscrewed the cylinder, placing the bladed cap on the earth bear him, and carefully lifted the bowl, pouring its contents into the cylinder.
With the blood filling it to the brim, he screwed the cap back on, and pushed the bowl away, discarding it.
Now for the really grim stuff… He thought, examining the cylinder.
He found a golden rune, and with a press of his finger, it turned a bright crimson, producing a short focused beam of the same color from the end of the cylinder. He heaved, the energy coming off the beam weakening him and his resolve.
Closing his eyes, he concentrated, making sure he remembered the position and order of every single rune in the sequence.
I really hope this won’t all be in vain… He thought, and traced the crimson beam through the air, leaving behind a series of pulsing runes.
He surveyed the first step of his work, admiring the slow and steady pulse of the crimson and gold letters, so in sync with his own heart.
He heard thunder in the distance, alarming him to the approaching storm.
It’s already begun. He thought, shaking his head to focus on the task ahead.
He moved quickly, drawing the runes as fast as his caution allowed him to, never even stopping for breath, each line draining his strength and weakening his resolve.
I really hope you know what you’re doing. He thought, and the reply came with his own voice, There’s no other choice…
An hour later, he finally took a breath, having finished laying down the foundation for his spell.
His knees shook, and he could barely lift his hands, but he knew he had to finish it now, or there would never be another chance.
Slowly and carefully, he moved to the center of the rune construct, and with his last strength, he drew 24 final runes around him, forming a rough golden sphere.
“I can’t believe this actually worked…”
It’s now or never, Exile. His future told him.
“Activate…” He said, his voice breaking with the final syllable.
For what it’s worth; I’m sorry. His voice said, and then there was silence.
The runes glowed a bright gold, launching him into the air so high and so quickly that he would have frozen solid had he wasn’t protected by the golden sphere, while the crimson runes formed a cage around the combatants.
He started to fall, his descent slowed down by the golden sphere, while the crimson cage weaved a web of gold, connecting all the combatants to each other and creating a telepathic web which calmed them down.
They dropped their weapons and looked in awe at the golden phoenix hovering above them, and the Exile felt nothing but regret, because he was about to end the lives of each and every one of them.
He felt the warm glow of the sun, and the cool breeze of the wind strengthening his resolve;
With one continuous stroke, he drew eight black runes in the air, and took a deep breath.
Me too…He thought, hoping his future self would hear.
He let out his breath, and the spell activated:
The giant rune construct glowed as bright as the sun, immolating everything within, leaving nothing but an ashen wasteland behind.
It quickly compressed to the size of a small ball, which latched onto the Exile’s chest.
Power flowed through him, flooding every dark corner of his mind and overloading his nerves, snapping his bones and muscles.
Yet he felt no pain, but reveled in the feeling of having this much power at his fingertips.
The storm clouds closed in, darkening the sky and chilling the air.
His body shook from the cold, but he was more than a physical entity now. He isolated his mind from the outside world, and closed his eyes, reaching across the void between the universes.
Finding who he was looking for, he pulled at her mind.
The connection made, he pointed his hands at the warm silvery star, and let loose the energy within.
He started screaming. The power hurt;
It was burning hot and freezing cold and a thousand other pains all at the same time, as if his own body was protesting what he had just done.
he felt blisters appearing on his skin from the heat, than freezing and shattering, leaving large craters where soft raw tissue was visible.
Golden light shot out of his hands towards the star, and he could no longer stop or control his body.
The heat melted the skin and flesh from his arms, leaving nothing but charred black bone.
And all the time, he kept screaming.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the Exile’s power ran dry, and the golden flames sputtered and died out.
He collapsed, and his burnt and limp form slowly began to fall towards the ground.
His eyes opened, and he managed to roll onto his back, admiring his handiwork.
As the star changed its color from silver to red, he started laughing maniacally, realizing what he’d done.
Be proud! You’ve prevented a war. The voice said.
But at what a cost? He asked himself, as he reached the ash covered ground.
Tears made their way through the dried blood and ash covering his face, and each tear burnt soothingly as the salt touched the raw skin of his face.
Thunder rolled in the distance, heralding the end of the world.
He smiled, So it worked after all. He thought, and just as a brilliant flash of light enveloped him, he screamed defiantly, “I AM RAIEL, THE EXILED KNIGHT!” And I am the nameless Exile. Finally realizing what the name really meant.