Welcome Guest [Log In] [Register]
We hope you enjoy your visit.


You're currently viewing our forum as a guest. This means you are limited to certain areas of the board and there are some features you can't use. If you join our community, you'll be able to access member-only sections, and use many member-only features such as customizing your profile, sending personal messages, and voting in polls. Registration is simple, fast, and completely free.


Join our community!


If you're already a member please log in to your account to access all of our features:

Username:   Password:
Add Reply
Agryl
Topic Started: Feb 11 2010, 08:35 AM (163 Views)
Esaul
Member Avatar
Administrator
Agryl

Prologue
Part I


The look of lust in his face made it so painstakingly impossible to look away. Or maybe something more than that showed. She found herself absorbed in his hazel eyes, almost lost in them. His smile revealed his true intentions. Most people saw only good in him. She, however, saw beyond that mask. A monster loomed in the darkness, patiently waiting for its opportune moment to strike. He fooled even the devil himself, making the hellish fiend appear godsend.

Darla’s eyes flickered open. The image of Robun burned fresh in her mind. Even in her sleep, he continued to haunt her. His words smoothed over, like the fabric of her gown, a gift from her father. She traced it with her fingertips. She found no flaws in it. Each stitch was meticulously placed in a seamless fashion. No matter how hard she tried, only perfection laid before her. Robun was different. He weaved a web of lies, strung together by venom, inflicting anyone that came into contact with him.

Thinking about him didn’t help her anyway. Darla closed her eyes. The hour tolled over the still night. Her fate now tied to the will of time. By dusk, she would be wed to that vile, cynical man. This was not of her consequence, but of her father’s will. Her heart belonged to another. Darla took a breath, reaching to someone that was not there. She expected to feel Favalon’s cool skin, his ragged beard, his tender hands, anything. Instead, she grasped the impalpable. An imagination. Nothing more. A single tear fell; she ignored it, allowing it to trickle down her cheek. “Favalon,” she whispered. A name. A memory. At the end of the day, it wouldn’t matter anymore. Darla hugged herself, afraid that if she let go, everything would fall apart. She didn’t want to feel that sense of vulnerability.

Darla was with him, she was with Favalon. The look he gave was strong enough to pull the tide of the ocean. The desire in his eyes made Darla want him more. She imagined his touch against her skin, gentle and soothing. However, it wasn’t enough. She needed him more than anything. Then soft, tender lips pressed against hers; the breath of life exchanging from one another. It was a passionate kiss; one that meant so little, but so much at the same time. It contained every thought, every memory of him. Her heart quickened, feeling the lust between them continuously grow.

A subtle whisper called out to her. Despite the voice in her head telling her otherwise, Darla turned to look, hoping that it was actually him, the image of Favalon fading away. To her dismay, he wasn’t there. Instead of being greeted by the familiarities of her beloved, she saw only the stars winking at her in the night sky. It saddened her, knowing that he was somewhere she was not. Silently, Darla wondered if Favalon was looking up at the stars, wondering, sharing the same thoughts and hopes as her.

“Darla,” a whisper entered her ears.

Her face radiated, a smile formed. A hand touched her shoulder. His hand. Favalon’s hand. Darla rested her own on top of his, grasping it, never wanting to let go. His touch made everything right in the world. Yet, something spoke to her. A warning. Something about it didn’t feel right. Her finger traced around the back of his hand, searching for familiarities.

“What is the matter, my love?”

“No,” she breathed, barely audible.

She recognized the rasp in Robun's voice. Ever so carefully, she inched her hand away from his. Darla looked outside, searching the sky for those same stars that watched over her, but to her dismay, they vanished. Everywhere she looked, color washed away. A small flicker caught her attention. A single candle remained, resting on her nightstand.


(all i have for now...)
Edited by Esaul, Feb 11 2010, 08:36 AM.
Offline Profile Edit Post Goto Top
 
HopefulDreamer91
Member Avatar

Quote:
 
A monster loomed in the darkness, patiently waiting for its opportune moment to strike.


Wouldn't that be better worded as just, "its' opportunity to strike"?

Quote:
 
Then soft, tender lips pressed against hers;


Perhaps change Then to His? Your choice.



Um... that's all I have... I soooo horribly suck at editing >< and revising... But I think what you have is really good =) You're an amazing writer Will =P
Offline Profile Edit Post Goto Top
 
Esaul
Member Avatar
Administrator
Its has two forms. It's which is it is or its. And you check by reading the context of the sentence. In my case, waiting for it is opportune moment to strike doesn't make sense, so it's (so it is) its. =]

Eh. Possibly, but at the moment I like how it is. =P

And thanks that means a lot =D
Offline Profile Edit Post Goto Top
 
Rawr5492

Loving it, proceed mister! =D
Offline Profile Edit Post Goto Top
 
Esaul
Member Avatar
Administrator
(sample of what i've written in chapter one...)

Chapter I

A single leaf fell, the last of its kind. A delicate breeze threatened to stray it off course, persuading it from touching the earth. A lone tree stood amongst a land of barren waste, slowly rotting away. The ground cracked at various places, revealing crevices that led to a void of nothingness. No signs of life stretched beyond what the eye could see. It was once a place of perfection, unspoiled by the tainted hand of man. Now there was nothing, nothing but the tree and the leaf that slowly fell.

As it touched the deteriorating earth, it shriveled and turned into dust. A woman enshrouded by a dress of fragmented ice bent down, sweeping the particles into her hand. She pressed her lips together, forming a slight smile. Without a thought, she blew the dust, allowing the wind to carry it away. She then turned to face the tree, her smile widening.

She almost failed to see a woman sprawled on the ground, covered in filth. Murky tears streamed down her cheeks, too afraid to look up. Winter frowned upon her sister. Autumn cowered in fear at her approach. Her faith inevitable, she bowed her head in silence. As autumn passed to winter, with spring and summer in due course, the cycle forevermore repeated. Death. Rebirth. They remain constant throughout time as the siblings continue their never ending war.

The tree towered over the sisters. It resisted the turning of the season as the rest of nature followed its definite path. It knew not of pain, of agony, or of strife. It lived unspoiled by the corruption of man. It served as a reminded for those that forgot the evils of the world. It stood as a beacon of hope, even in the darkest of times.

The painting beheld a certain sense of beauty. He mused at it, his mind returning to the present. Oh how he hated winter. The thought chilled his very bones. The wizard shared sympathy with autumn. At first, it felt like an imagination. For hours, he stared at the painting, as if he expected someone to escape from the worn leather canvas. From the many years of seeing it within the confides of the library, he never witnessed a single change in the painting. Today, however, was different. All the leaves fell from the tree. They weren’t on the ground. They were simply gone.

It puzzled him. He felt hopeless, not knowing what it meant. Suspicion lurked in the depths of his mind, but almost at once, he dismissed it. He ran his hand through the thick graying beard, waiting for an answer to come. Before his wearisome eyes, the leaves fell, but that was impossible. Trouble grew, but there was nothing he could do. Even if he left now, he could not prevent the massacre. He closed his eyes, blocking the pain from his mind.

Guilt washed over the wizard, thankful the people of Cisalus were safe. Ithrandur sighed, hardly able to fathom the thought of the lifeless bodies sprawled on the coble streets of his home. He would be no good to anyone dead. At least, he reasoned with himself. The ill attempt to make himself feel better didn’t work. How could anyone be so cold, so heartless?

The library served as a retreat from the outside world. Sometimes, he pretended that he lived a sheltered life. There, only knowledge served as an enemy. Among all of the places in Emmar, this was his favorite. People felt they had to show their prestige by creating a marble city. It took many years, he didn’t want to think of how much slaves toiled upon it.

He admired the wooden structure of the library, far simpler in comparison, but in need of much repair. Several times, Itrhandur thought about repairing it, but within the end he chose not to. It acted as a reminder that people weren’t perfect. Each individual carried their own faults and flaws. Magic created an illusion of a world that imitated perfection. Even the chair he sat in had its faults, a creak that disrupted the silence. Each time he went to repair it, Ithrandur hesitated. The same timeless debate repeated constantly. The wizard refused to allow magic to continue its manifestation. It should only be used for the needy, not for his own selfish greed. Wisdom never tired with age, the process forever moving. Ithrandur still battled with his thoughts.

“Wizard Ithrandur?”

Although the voice registered in his mind, he chose not to respond. A sad smile formed on his face. Once more, he tried to block the pain away by closing his eyes. Valthor stood by his side for many years. He fought for the people of Quar, just like Ithrandur. His heart and soul were pure, purer than any man he had ever met. He wouldn’t take the news well. A part of the wizard, a strong part of him, wished he could lend the man some of his magic, to help him understand. To help him ease the pain too. So much death, so much suffering. It frustrated him that they could do so little. His mind needed to focus on more than word play, the wizard had an obligation to fill the rebellion leader on the events that took shape.

When his grey eyes opened again, he took into account how young Valthor truly was. With a life ahead of him, the warrior chose to fight against the Dark Lord. Admittedly enough, he knew little of his past. At most, he noted that he prayed to Lady Aevum each morning. Something tragic devastated the poor lad for him to become as heavily devoted. The subject of religion was sensitive enough, Ithrandur chose not to dwell in its foolishness, blocking yet another memory. It felt like a lifetime ago, it seemed. He locked that door away, losing the key in the process. Religion chained the free people of the world. It raped them of their will, stripped them of their dignity.
Offline Profile Edit Post Goto Top
 
Rawr5492

I'm liking it more and more, keep it up mister! =]
Offline Profile Edit Post Goto Top
 
la-vida-loca
Member Avatar
Sometimes I think I was born backwards...
alright, i re-read the prologue. it's good that you told me that that wasn't the entire prologue, i think that was what got me the most... ;)

anyway...

Quote:
 
She, however, saw beyond that mask.


- idk why, "that" just sounds out of place there...


Quote:
 
He fooled even the devil himself, making the hellish fiend appear godsend.


- sounds like you're talking about the devil.


Quote:
 
His words smoothed over, like the fabric of her gown, a gift from her father.


- "His words smoothed over"...what did they smooth over? o_O


Quote:
 
The hour tolled over the still night. Her fate now tied to the will of time.


- i think this is where i got the "choppy" thought. these two sentences. it kind of goes from one thing to another. they're related, of course, but i think it's just the period that throws me off there. perhaps make it a comma? and you "was" after "fate".


Quote:
 
Darla took a breath, reaching to someone that was not there. She expected to feel Favalon’s cool skin, his ragged beard, his tender hands, anything. Instead, she grasped the impalpable. An imagination. Nothing more. A single tear fell; she ignored it, allowing it to trickle down her cheek. “Favalon,” she whispered. A name. A memory. At the end of the day, it wouldn’t matter anymore. Darla hugged herself, afraid that if she let go, everything would fall apart. She didn’t want to feel that sense of vulnerability.


- loved this whole part. ^_^ again, though, the short two-word sentences kind of throw me off a little. a comma would work, actually, probably better between "An imagination. Nothing more" i understand that the period is for emphasis, but...eh.


Quote:
 
Her heart quickened, feeling the lust between them continuously grow.


- not sure that "continuously" is exactly the word you're looking for, there. or even if you should even be looking for a word there. "feeling the lust between them grow" could work just find...


Quote:
 
His touch made everything right in the world.


- the "in the world" just seems a bit out of place there, for some reason. to me, anyway, haha. xD


Quote:
 
He would be no good to anyone dead. At least, he reasoned with himself.


- "at least" what? o_O *confuzzled*


Quote:
 
Something tragic devastated the poor lad for him to become as heavily devoted.


- "as" should probably be "so"

---

looking forward to the rest of the prologue, and, of course, to reading what else you've got in chapter 1 and beyond! ;)
Edited by la-vida-loca, Feb 19 2010, 10:25 PM.
Offline Profile Edit Post Goto Top
 
ZetaBoards - Free Forum Hosting
Join the millions that use us for their forum communities. Create your own forum today.
Learn More · Register for Free
« Previous Topic · Novella · Next Topic »
Add Reply