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My Prologue
Member
Total Posts: 173
Last Online: 12th Jun 2004 17:03:24
Registered: 14th May 2004 00:00:00
Hi Guys,
I'm coming to the end of part one of my novel and thought I'd share a little tidbit with any that would care to read. Any comments - good, bad or indifferent - most welcome.
cheers,
Darren.
Most still prayed during this Age, the Final Age of Demythius. Only a few, who had seen their impending doom, lost faith in their Moshyne. Of the few, some succumbed to madness, others died upon their feet, bereft of their will to live. Those were the blessed; they never lived to see the Dawn of the Endless Night.
Amongst the faithful, it is said only one expected a reply to his prayers. Only one carried the blood of the Shoharn: the honoured, in his veins.
The Shoharn felt much as he sat at the large oak table with his dying companion; a single candle flickering randomly upon the tabletop. He watched the shadows dance upon the smooth rock walls, but he did not see them. Aware of the constant struggle between the flame and shadow, endlessly striking and counterstriking in an unwilling battle, he paid them no conscious thought. He heard the faint sigh emitted from fallen wax as it surrendered its form to the crude pewter saucer beneath it. The darkness lingered in the corners of the chamber, threatening to reclaim the room at any moment. He felt all this and more, for the Shoharn was Tobias, Keeper of the Light, Leader of the Sacred Brotherhood, Protector of the people of Demythius. The powerful wizard felt much, as he waited at the humble oak table. But he did not feel honoured.
White knuckles capped his tightly clasped fingers, like the snow on the rocky peaks far above. Tobias drew his consciousness back to the current surroundings. Despite his strong talents, the strain of these last few years had aged him. The hands before him were unfamiliar, as if belonging to someone else. Stains of age mottled wrinkled and weathered skin. Pain infused his swollen joints. But the pain was welcome. It was a beacon to reality. Slowly he eased his over tight grip and flexed his long fingers. The pain grudgingly dissipated from his knuckles. If only the doubts that haunted him, were so easily dispelled.
“Is Stavion right? Is this madness?” Dying echoes answered from the cold stone chamber. Yet the low muddied echoes startled him, for Tobias had not spoken aloud. Pulling the hood from his head Tobias examined the chamber for perhaps the hundredth time that evening. There was little comfort from the polished smoothness of the obsidian walls. They remained unchanged, as they had done for countless eons. He was still alone.
Could there be any plainer answer? If this is not madness, then what is? Vaguely, Tobias hoped that the long dead Pralga miners who pioneered these passages were as skilled as their legends claimed. Just the remembrance of his oppressive location made him shudder. He hated being underground. He ran a quivering hand through his silver trimmed beard as he silently prayed.
“Master give me the strength, show me wisdom, lead me on the path of righteousness, and forgive my soul for this night.”
Yet before his brief prayer was even finished, his thoughts began to wander again. He cursed himself for playing such a game; his devotion to his own plans, for allowing himself to feel pride in his own creation. Their careful execution leading him upon his own cursed path to this night. There was no return now. By secretly declaring his plan to the High Council he had sealed his fate to a route that had no path, only a blind leap of faith into a chasm of uncertainty. Would the arms of his fellow High Councilors be there to catch him, or to fling him to his death?
The wait had been long. Slowly he settled his thoughts and strove to regain the composure for which he was so renowned. Balance. Balance was the critical element, as it has been since the first day of honour. He had to take the gamble. A fool’s gamble perhaps, but a fools chance is better than no chance at all. How many lives would be lost because of his gamble?
Muffled footsteps approaching the chamber, conveniently pushed the thought from his mind. His resolve rekindled anew with the welcome sounds of company, be it friend or foe. “At last” he thought, “They come at last.” But had they come to join him, or betray him, just as he came to betray the thousands of the faithful above?
The heavy door latch clicked with an unnerving suddenness. The door silently swung inward in ghostly contrast. Three robed figures entered, their hoods low over their faces, their footsteps gentled by the sacking bound over them.
He did not need to see their faces to identify each of them. They had been Fellows together in the Brotherhood for thirty years. Stavion led, as always. His broad shoulders and self assured steps setting him immediately apart. Although each was a High Councilor, they had shunned their official ornate robes for such a clandestine meeting, in favour of plain brown robes more usually worn by understudies. Relief fanned the embers of hope within Tobias. If they had come to officially denounce him, they would have donned their traditional robes. It was a start.
He knew Stavion at least would oppose him, and the certainty did not diminish as Stavion stood before him.
Stavion pulled his hood back and examined Tobias in the burnt orange light of the flame. It seemed their paths were ordained to cross for all time. Tobias: Master of the Brotherhood of Light. Stavion had to admit to himself, a grudging admiration for the man. For he was a living rock, sitting calmly at the head of the table, amidst an unseen storm of chaos.
There was no trace of uncertainty. Did he not realize he was within inches of being vanquished? If they had even whispered of his plans before this night, they would be hanged, entrailed and fed to the wolves. Never in all their years together had Stavion seen a moment of weakness, an inkling of doubt. Why should he expect to see it now? He caught himself wondering if Tobias really did speak directly to the Great Master, as the simple villagers believed. He blasphemed himself in seven different languages for even thinking such stupidity. Yet how else could he be so sure?
Tobias rose to greet each brother formerly. “Brother Stavion”. Tobias forced a warm smile he did not feel, and nodded respectfully, in acknowledgement of equals.
“Master”. Stavion’s stoic reply nod was barely perceptible. Their eyes locked. Who held the balance? Tobias with his saintly authority, or Stavion standing in righteous defiance. Each suspected the other had gained favour, but neither knew for sure.
The third Brother stepped forward clearing his throat – successfully capturing Tobias’s penetrating gaze. “Brother Dogian”. Surely he could count on Dogian to support him? It was Dogian who had seconded him for the Master chair.
“Master,” replied Dogian as he nodded deeply. Yes, it was a sign, to Tobias and the others. Dogian would stay loyal to him.
But what of Faylo? The last man stepped out of the shadows at the thought of his name. His angular features intensified by the shadows thrown from the weak lighting. Faylo, was as always, an enigma. Where did his favour lie? Faylo raised a questioning eyebrow. Tobias masked his surprise. Had he shown uncertainty? No, he was too polished a performer to betray himself so easily. Faylo would merely be impatient to proceed.
“Brother Faylo”
“Master”. Faylo nodded impartially. There was no hesitation. The nod was no longer or shorter than necessary. It revealed nothing.
Tobias returned to the head of the table and motioned to the chairs with his hand. “Let us begin Brothers.”
I'm coming to the end of part one of my novel and thought I'd share a little tidbit with any that would care to read. Any comments - good, bad or indifferent - most welcome.
cheers,
Darren.
Most still prayed during this Age, the Final Age of Demythius. Only a few, who had seen their impending doom, lost faith in their Moshyne. Of the few, some succumbed to madness, others died upon their feet, bereft of their will to live. Those were the blessed; they never lived to see the Dawn of the Endless Night.
Amongst the faithful, it is said only one expected a reply to his prayers. Only one carried the blood of the Shoharn: the honoured, in his veins.
The Shoharn felt much as he sat at the large oak table with his dying companion; a single candle flickering randomly upon the tabletop. He watched the shadows dance upon the smooth rock walls, but he did not see them. Aware of the constant struggle between the flame and shadow, endlessly striking and counterstriking in an unwilling battle, he paid them no conscious thought. He heard the faint sigh emitted from fallen wax as it surrendered its form to the crude pewter saucer beneath it. The darkness lingered in the corners of the chamber, threatening to reclaim the room at any moment. He felt all this and more, for the Shoharn was Tobias, Keeper of the Light, Leader of the Sacred Brotherhood, Protector of the people of Demythius. The powerful wizard felt much, as he waited at the humble oak table. But he did not feel honoured.
White knuckles capped his tightly clasped fingers, like the snow on the rocky peaks far above. Tobias drew his consciousness back to the current surroundings. Despite his strong talents, the strain of these last few years had aged him. The hands before him were unfamiliar, as if belonging to someone else. Stains of age mottled wrinkled and weathered skin. Pain infused his swollen joints. But the pain was welcome. It was a beacon to reality. Slowly he eased his over tight grip and flexed his long fingers. The pain grudgingly dissipated from his knuckles. If only the doubts that haunted him, were so easily dispelled.
“Is Stavion right? Is this madness?” Dying echoes answered from the cold stone chamber. Yet the low muddied echoes startled him, for Tobias had not spoken aloud. Pulling the hood from his head Tobias examined the chamber for perhaps the hundredth time that evening. There was little comfort from the polished smoothness of the obsidian walls. They remained unchanged, as they had done for countless eons. He was still alone.
Could there be any plainer answer? If this is not madness, then what is? Vaguely, Tobias hoped that the long dead Pralga miners who pioneered these passages were as skilled as their legends claimed. Just the remembrance of his oppressive location made him shudder. He hated being underground. He ran a quivering hand through his silver trimmed beard as he silently prayed.
“Master give me the strength, show me wisdom, lead me on the path of righteousness, and forgive my soul for this night.”
Yet before his brief prayer was even finished, his thoughts began to wander again. He cursed himself for playing such a game; his devotion to his own plans, for allowing himself to feel pride in his own creation. Their careful execution leading him upon his own cursed path to this night. There was no return now. By secretly declaring his plan to the High Council he had sealed his fate to a route that had no path, only a blind leap of faith into a chasm of uncertainty. Would the arms of his fellow High Councilors be there to catch him, or to fling him to his death?
The wait had been long. Slowly he settled his thoughts and strove to regain the composure for which he was so renowned. Balance. Balance was the critical element, as it has been since the first day of honour. He had to take the gamble. A fool’s gamble perhaps, but a fools chance is better than no chance at all. How many lives would be lost because of his gamble?
Muffled footsteps approaching the chamber, conveniently pushed the thought from his mind. His resolve rekindled anew with the welcome sounds of company, be it friend or foe. “At last” he thought, “They come at last.” But had they come to join him, or betray him, just as he came to betray the thousands of the faithful above?
The heavy door latch clicked with an unnerving suddenness. The door silently swung inward in ghostly contrast. Three robed figures entered, their hoods low over their faces, their footsteps gentled by the sacking bound over them.
He did not need to see their faces to identify each of them. They had been Fellows together in the Brotherhood for thirty years. Stavion led, as always. His broad shoulders and self assured steps setting him immediately apart. Although each was a High Councilor, they had shunned their official ornate robes for such a clandestine meeting, in favour of plain brown robes more usually worn by understudies. Relief fanned the embers of hope within Tobias. If they had come to officially denounce him, they would have donned their traditional robes. It was a start.
He knew Stavion at least would oppose him, and the certainty did not diminish as Stavion stood before him.
Stavion pulled his hood back and examined Tobias in the burnt orange light of the flame. It seemed their paths were ordained to cross for all time. Tobias: Master of the Brotherhood of Light. Stavion had to admit to himself, a grudging admiration for the man. For he was a living rock, sitting calmly at the head of the table, amidst an unseen storm of chaos.
There was no trace of uncertainty. Did he not realize he was within inches of being vanquished? If they had even whispered of his plans before this night, they would be hanged, entrailed and fed to the wolves. Never in all their years together had Stavion seen a moment of weakness, an inkling of doubt. Why should he expect to see it now? He caught himself wondering if Tobias really did speak directly to the Great Master, as the simple villagers believed. He blasphemed himself in seven different languages for even thinking such stupidity. Yet how else could he be so sure?
Tobias rose to greet each brother formerly. “Brother Stavion”. Tobias forced a warm smile he did not feel, and nodded respectfully, in acknowledgement of equals.
“Master”. Stavion’s stoic reply nod was barely perceptible. Their eyes locked. Who held the balance? Tobias with his saintly authority, or Stavion standing in righteous defiance. Each suspected the other had gained favour, but neither knew for sure.
The third Brother stepped forward clearing his throat – successfully capturing Tobias’s penetrating gaze. “Brother Dogian”. Surely he could count on Dogian to support him? It was Dogian who had seconded him for the Master chair.
“Master,” replied Dogian as he nodded deeply. Yes, it was a sign, to Tobias and the others. Dogian would stay loyal to him.
But what of Faylo? The last man stepped out of the shadows at the thought of his name. His angular features intensified by the shadows thrown from the weak lighting. Faylo, was as always, an enigma. Where did his favour lie? Faylo raised a questioning eyebrow. Tobias masked his surprise. Had he shown uncertainty? No, he was too polished a performer to betray himself so easily. Faylo would merely be impatient to proceed.
“Brother Faylo”
“Master”. Faylo nodded impartially. There was no hesitation. The nod was no longer or shorter than necessary. It revealed nothing.
Tobias returned to the head of the table and motioned to the chairs with his hand. “Let us begin Brothers.”
Member
Total Posts: 173
Last Online: 12th Jun 2004 17:03:24
Registered: 14th May 2004 00:00:00
Thanks for reading Jess. I'm really glad you like dit. 
If you would like to read more, you will find Chapter One here: users.bigpond.net.au/slat...Dawn3.html 
"> .
cheers,
Darren.
If you would like to read more, you will find Chapter One here: users.bigpond.net.au/slat...Dawn3.html "> .cheers,
Darren.
lider">
#5 - 14th Feb 2003 18:09:00
Member
Total Posts: 1340
Last Online: 7th Aug 2008 23:08:31
Registered: 14th May 2004 00:00:00
Slatz, I don't like to comment on other people's works-in-progress...'cause frankly I don't feel qualified.
If I buy a book, then the dude has my money and I have the right to say whether I liked it or I was ripped-off...but I just don't know enough about the art of writing to make helpfull, constructive criticism...normally.
But I have to say I liked this. I liked the feel of it...and it made me want to read on. (Which I honestly will do if I get the time.)
Adios
If I buy a book, then the dude has my money and I have the right to say whether I liked it or I was ripped-off...but I just don't know enough about the art of writing to make helpfull, constructive criticism...normally.
But I have to say I liked this. I liked the feel of it...and it made me want to read on. (Which I honestly will do if I get the time.)
Adios
">
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