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Agryl...again...xD
Topic Started: Dec 2 2010, 05:25 PM (220 Views)
Esaul
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AGRYL

PROLOGUE PART I


Something in his face made it so painstakingly impossible to look away. Maybe the way he looked at her, with an innocent demeanor, his handsome features reflecting that of a man full of wealth and power. That look alone broke all resistances from the women in waiting. They swooned over the way he walked, elegant, full of suave. The way he carried himself showed sophistication of the highest level. A prideful man not afraid to show how much he carried in his purse, he was eager to spend it as fast as he earned it. His speech continued to display the confidence of his manner. He swayed those he talked to with ease. If a person couldn’t be bought with money, he won them over by his words. He played to his strengths, without showing weakness.

He strung the hearts of women, thinking of them as prizes of conquest. Every person envied him. All the women knew of his reputation in the city. Even outsiders, traveling from as far as Laedon have heard his name. Yet, they didn’t seem to care. They threw their body at him, one by one, sometimes a single woman would visit him every night of the week. After their escapade they went around boasting of the sex, most of it pure exaggeration. Not only the eligible bachelorettes were at risk, married women sought out his services.

Darla refused to be one of his conquests. There was no denying it though, he was handsome. A smooth, clean shaven face, dark blonde hair parted to the sides, and gentle emerald green eyes melted and broke the hearts of countless. Despite these attractive traits in this man, she in fact saw a monster in its stead. It loomed in the darkness, waiting for its opportune moment to strike. She saw through the veil of lies weaved together by his words of poison.

The hour tolled across the dead grounds. Darla sighed, shifting uncomfortably, unable to sleep. She looked outside her window, thinking, wondering. The stars twinkled, communicating in their secret language as they watched her. They knew her secret. By dusk, she would be wed to that vile, cynical man. The bell echoed again, her fate now tied to the will of time. Locked away, in the very depths of her heart, she longed for another, her true love. He was off somewhere, miles away from her arms, sharing the same thoughts as Darla.

Unconsciously, she traced her fingers over the fabric of her gown. She found no flaws in it. Each meticulous stitch found its way sewn into the cloth, forming shape as it complemented her figure. No matter how hard she tried, she could only find perfection. Her mind drifted to her betroth, who in appearance seemed perfect, like her dress. However, she knew his true nature even though others refused to see.

Thinking about him didn’t help her any. Darla closed her eyes. This marriage was not of her consequence, but of her father’s will. Darla took a breath, reaching to someone that wasn’t 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 day’s end it wouldn’t matter anymore. Darla hugged herself, searching for that time and place where she didn’t have a care in the world. She clung to the past, to that one night she spent with him. If she let go of that, she would lose herself. She would cease to be.

In her mind, she was with Favalon. The look he gave her pulled Darla closer to him. His touch against her skin was gentle and soothing. Then his soft tender lips pressed against hers, sharing their souls with 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 as the lust grew.

A subtle whisper called to her. Despite the voice telling Darla otherwise, she turned around half expectedly. The image of Favalon dissipated. The stars continued to watch Darla, winking, sharing the same sense of helplessness. Maybe Favalon watched them too, thinking about her. She confided in the stars, asking them to look over him, to keep him safe. Each night, she tried to count them, afraid of losing just one. The more she counted, Darla told herself, the less she would worry.
“Darla,” a soft whisper broke the silence.

Her face radiated, a smile formed. A hand touched her shoulders. Favalon’s hand. She 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 didn’t feel right. Her fingers traced the back of his hand. She couldn’t find the scar that should be right there. Turning around, Darla hoped to see the familiarities of her beloved. Instead, Robun, her betroth, stood there with a smile, making her cringe.

“What is the matter, my love?”

“No,” she hugged herself again, trying to find that place in her mind.

The stars closed their eyes to the world, leaving her alone. Cold filled her body, her breathing shallowed. Color washed away everywhere she looked. The world she knew slipped from her grasp. Her heart raced. She was losing herself. Darla kissed her mother’s necklace for comfort. She often found herself doing that when she was afraid of being alone. Instead of the shell protecting the blue gem, it encased her, sheltering Darla from all harm. But there was no escaping. The only thing left was the flickering candle light. She prayed the flame wouldn’t leave her. Darla hated the dark more than anything. “Please,” she muttered repeatedly. “Please.”

The flame slowly started to fade, leaving her vulnerable. Even the stars betrayed her, looking away. Memories of Favalon flashed in rapid succession. Each time she tried to reach for one, it slipped her fingertips. The last one came into focus. He left without a word. It broke her heart, but Darla thought nothing of it, at least not at the time. Favalon left her. “No,” she breathed wordlessly. Doubt weaved its way through hope, enclosing it within a pit of nothingness. Without hope, without Favalon, she had nothing left.

She whispered softly, barely audible, a verse her mother taught her. She sought solace in Aevum. Even with no hope, Darla knew she would protect her Child. Hugging herself tighter, she closed her eyes to the world, saying the same thing over and over:

“I am your faithful Child, cold and forsaken.
Guide me, so I can meet your warm embrace.
I will remain strong, humbled and unshaken.”


Each repetition grew louder, more confident. The more she believed, the more comforted she felt.

***

A winter’s breeze blew the flaps of the tent, diminishing the torches that had offered little light and comfort. A disgruntled man cursed under his breath darkly. Back home he didn’t have to deal with cold weather, or fires going out. His fingers wouldn’t be nimble, probably close to being frost bitten. In fact, if he were home, he would be rubbing his hands merrily in front of the fire. Mistress Siren scolded them for their childish antics. Even after that, she still filled their bellies of warm food and ale. Not a night went by when poor Bae turned down one of the drunken bastards, Favalon included. At times she joined around the hearth as they boasted of the glory days. They drank well into the night, and by morning she picked them up and scooted them along home.

Oh how he wished to shed the unneeded weight. What he wouldn’t give to rid of the fur mantle or the extra layers of clothing he wore even under his armor. Despite that, he still froze. This made Favalon foul and bitter. The only thing he had now was the drink in his hand. It provided the warlord with everything he needed and could ask for. It gave him some worth, not a lot, but it was enough. It helped him cease his restless mind, keeping unwanted thoughts at bay. It also gave him company, filling the empty void. At this point, the solitude was more than welcoming.

He paced about the tent, muttering incoherently to himself. Thoughts and memories blurred becoming as hazy as Favalon. The drinking helped, no matter how much he wanted to deny it, it wasn’t all that long ago when he stood over his father’s grave, swearing an oath that he would never be lie him. Much good it did him now. They had more in common than he wanted to admit it. Those that had served under his father saw the uncanny resemblance. Most agreed though that Favalon’s smile came from his mother. And he agreed. Favalor never smiled. He never had a kind word to say to anyone. Some days Favalon thought the only thing that old bastard cared for was his drink. The mix of alcohol and his thoughts rendered Favalon weak. He reached for his ale, beckoning for the warlord to take it. He simply didn’t care anymore. Why should he? The path he walked grew bleak, far from any means of redemption.

Dark whispers spoke to him, flowing with the wind. He ignored it at first, paying no heed. He was the master of his own mind. Nothing, not even the drink could control him. Not even a woman could enslave his heart. That was a lie. The pain he felt, the reason he drank was indeed because of her. A woman. A love. His love. And for the first time, he didn’t want to think about her. Favalon willed his thoughts elsewhere. He wouldn’t mind if it drifted to his godforsaken father. As long as it didn’t bring him pain. No shield, no armor could protect him from what she did. And what good were they? This wound was worse than any he had. Yet, he didn’t bruise, didn’t bleed. Instead it inflicted his heart, Favalon’s only vulnerable spot. She didn’t love her. She didn’t want him anymore.

“Why Darla?” he muttered before greedily taking another drink.

Deep down, Favlaon knew why. He had no wealth, no social status. He was but an embarrassment to her. That saddened him considerably. The seconds soon became minutes as he continued to pace and drink. Upon coming to the last drop, he peered curiously into the bottle. Empty. Frantically he scanned the tent for more. It was impossible. But that wouldn’t be. There had to be more. He just had to look harder. Despite his efforts, he found nothing. His mood darkened, glowering at nothing. The idea of sobering irritated him.

The chill of the winter’s night seeped in as the flaps opened. Favalon turned to face a young man who slammed a fist to his heart. No, this was no man. This was a boy. His eyes revealed his innocence and youth. He could tell that they had never seen a second of combat. His heart wept, fearing that more wouldn’t survive night’s end. At least twice the boy’s age, he presumed that he was single, barely leaving the shelter and comfort of his parent’s home. Oh, what he has yet to see. The things that Favalon alone saw would make him have nightmares for the rest of his life. And then some.

“M’lord,” he remained at attention until the warlord dismissively waved his hand. “The scouts have gone out to survey the area.”
Favalon heard the words, but he couldn’t process what he was saying. Nor did he care for that matter. The men sat around the little fires they could muster, making the most of a bleak situation. They avoided drinking and chose to welcome the company of each other. They tried brightening the mood by swapping stories. He, however, chose the comforts of isolation. Favalon knew they spoke of him and what he did within his tent. None dared to speak out. He envied them greatly, oh how he wished he could be with his men.

“I need another drink.”

“M’lord?”

A boy indeed. His father wouldn’t have accepted backtalk, or for his men to question him. Favalon had to remind himself that he wasn’t his father. At least that’s what he thought anyway. The only thing he feared the most was his father’s shadow. It lurked in every corner, haunting, taunting, laughing. He wasn’t the one that abandoned his mother. He wasn’t the one who drove their family to poverty. Even as the years went by, his mother stayed faithful to that man. He couldn’t figure out how she could’ve done it. No, he wasn’t his father at all, he never would be.

“I need another drink,” the tone of his voice tensed, the boy left without hesitation.

The wind blew in more, threatening to diminish the torches. Time slowly went by since they left Edemar. A blizzard prevented the battalion to travel for the past three days. They were precious and crucial. Even without the worry of war, Favalon had enough on his mind as it was. He longed for the simple life he once lived all those years ago. It slipped away before he had a chance to grasp it. It was too late. There was nothing he could do about it. In time, all wounds healed, but Favlon knew he would have permanent scars. She inflicted him in a way no one else had before.

A memory of the distant past provoked his consciousness. Rain lightly drizzled the warm summer’s night. The moon lit the night, amplifying his festive mood. It was but his third night in Edemar, and already he was invited for drinks in the pub. Whistling a monotonous tune, he ascended several flights of stairs, mastering the keep’s layout in a matter of hours, at least he thought. The solid wooden door wouldn’t budge. He couldn’t understand why. This was the way to the pub, he was almost certain of it. Favalon was about to shoulder the door when an alluring voice caused him to turn.

She only stated a simple fact, but it was enough for him. The feeling was one he never experienced before, one he knew he would never have again. The love he had for her crushed when he learned of her betroth. His heart more than shattered. It turned to dust, swept away form the continuous wind from outside. The memory served nothing to him other than just that. A memory. The agony, the anguish, it dominated his consciousness. The more he thought back to that night, the more it pained him. Oh what he wouldn’t give to go back. He loved her so, more than anything else in his life. The feeling he had was a new and unfamiliar one. He feared getting hurt like his mother had.

“It’s locked.”

Her voice broke the stillness of the night. The people of Edemar were all indoors by sundown. The only movement occurred when the occasional guard patrolled the streets. Favalon had finished his routes and was trying to find his way. Obviously that hadn’t worked. Everything looked the same to him. He wasn’t sure how anyone could find their way around. He did his best not to betray his confusion. At the time, he didn’t know she was the princess. Maybe if he had, he would’ve acted more appropriately.
As he recalled, he never managed to find his way to the pub. Instead, the two spent the night walking the grounds of the keep. They talked about their childhood, what it was like growing up, and about where life has taken them. The more they spent time together, the more Favalon knew he was falling in love. He smiled and laughed constantly, something his father never did. When the topic arrived to their fathers, he told her about him. Even then, he should’ve realized who Darla really was.
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la-vida-loca
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Sometimes I think I was born backwards...
Quote:
 
They threw their body at him, one by one


should be "bodies", because "they" is more than one. ;)

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la-vida-loca
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Sometimes I think I was born backwards...
Quote:
 
He was off somewhere, miles away from her arms,


miles doesn't seem too far for some reason...maybe it's just me. hundreds of miles, maybe? tens of miles? o_O

Quote:
 
it slipped her fingertips


i believe you are missing a "through", there. :P

Quote:
 
His fingers wouldn’t be nimble, probably close to being frost bitten. In fact, if he were home,


i believe you want the word "numb", not "nimble". ;)

Quote:
 
swearing an oath that he would never be lie him."

be "like" him. simple typo. ;)

Quote:
 
She didn’t love her. She didn’t want him anymore.


she didn't love him. :P


Whelp, over all i'd have to say.... that this is excellent, william!!! :) i know that's not very in depth but it is so i really don't know what else to tell you. xD
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Ben Zwycky
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Fearsome Fleet Leader :D
Quote:
 
Something in his face made it so painstakingly impossible to look away


painstakingly means extremely carefully and methodically, did you mean painfully here?


Quote:
 
Much good it did him now. They had more in common than he wanted to admit it. Those that had served under his father saw the uncanny resemblance. Most agreed though that Favalon’s smile came from his mother. And he agreed


A number of little things in this section:


It should be 'A lot of good it did him now', much is for negative sentences and questions

Also, it should be ' They had more in common than he wanted to admit', drop the 'it', since you already have what he doesn't want to admit in the same clause.

The, 'most agreed, and he agreed' is a little awkward. All the short sentences in a row gives a very staccato, broken feel to the narrative, making it a little uncomfortable to read, it would help to join a few together, for example here:

A lot of good it did him now; they had more in common than he wanted to admit. Those that had served under his father saw the uncanny resemblance, though most agreed that Favalon’s smile came from his mother, himself among them.
Quote:
 
It turned to dust, swept away form the continuous wind from outside.


should be 'swept away by' , and just leave it as 'the wind' or 'the buffeting wind' rather than 'the continuous wind from outside', which seems a little clumsy.
Quote:
 
When the topic arrived to their fathers


should be 'when the topic arrived at their fathers', or 'when the topic drifted to their fathers'

There may be some other minor things, but I'm a little sleepy right now. Good to see you back here and that you haven't given up on this. The imagery is powerful and moving, is Favalon going to live this time around? My novel posts in my strongbox are a bit out of date, since I've been tweaking it after removing the forum tags, so I'd have to provide it to people as a secure pdf or something.

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Esaul
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Wow, thanks for that. So far, I think I want Favalon to die still. I'll play around with some ideas, but for the first time in a long time, I'm actually almost done completing the prologue. >.< xD
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