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Writer
Join Date: Nov 2007
Gender: Male
Posts: 40
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prologue
this is the prologue to a story i am writing. I havent decided on a title or anything, but please read and tell me what you think.
The adventurers trudged through the forest. The forest was a strange and mysterious place. Tall, looming trees were ensnared by creeping vines. Sunlight poked through the few holes in the canopy as the trees followed their annual autumnal cycle. A crisp wind blew, shaking the branches and causing the leaves to fly about. Sharp growls and noises echoed throughout the forest. Snapping twigs and bird cries caused the adventurers to be on guard, but they were proud, experienced men, practiced in each of their crafts. There were seven of them in all: three swordsmen, two archers, a diplomat, and a healer.
They walked along the path, gradually coming to an enclosed clearing. A great tree stood on the banks of a pool. It was a clear pool, deep and with small fishing dancing in its depths. Rocks lay carelessly on its edges, moss-covered, old, and worn. The dominating figure of the scene, the great tree, caught the eye of the proud warriors. A slight wind whisked through its branches full of lush, green leaves, even in the middle of autumn. A thick trunk with old, withered bark was the sign of great age. This tree was old, an anchor to the world. The roots spread from beneath the trunk deep into the ground and pool. Nothing could uproot this tree, this great oak. It would last forever. The adventurers gazed at its glory, transfixed by it the way man is transfixed by gold.
“Ahh, I see you like this tree, yes?” whispered an old voice. The adventurers shifted their gaze to that of a man leaning up against the trunk of the tree. Old and pale he sat there, just resting. He was clothed in a black cloak with his hood up, clutching a gnarled staff much like the one held by the group’s healer, Arkengale. “This is an interesting tree, yes. It is ancient. It has been here forever, and will remain here forever.” They could not see his face beneath his hood but they knew it was him speaking. Even though he was sitting apart from the adventurers, they could still hear his whisper as if he was speaking into their ears.
“Great Warriors, you have traveled long and far,” the man slowly stood up, addressing them formally. The group, intrigued by this eccentric man, listened to each word as if it alone was the answer to life’s meaning, “yes, I know who you are, I know of your quest. Proud warriors and great leaders, you are the heroes of your people sent out to find a way to save your dying kingdom.” Simultaneously, each man in the group stiffened, Arkengale, a young man, the youngest of them all, shifted nervously.
The man in the black cloak laughed, “It is not strange that I would know this. News of your quest has traveled far and wide, and there are those who wish to help you, and those who wish to hurt you.”
Eolela, the group’s leader stepped forward, “and which, may I ask, are you?” Eolela’s hand rested on the hilt of his great, double-edged sword. He was wary.
“Me? Why, I am neither,” he chuckled, “in fact I hold the answer your question, I have what you are looking for.” The man withdrew his hood. His pale face and bald head held a smile that sent shivers down Arkengale’s spine. Eolela stood resolute and unafraid. He gestured towards the pool. “Yes, this, I believe, may be what you have fought and journeyed for.”
“The pool is our answer?” questioned Eolela, “how can this pool help us in any way. If you know our quest then you surely know that we are in need of something more powerful than water.” Eolela’s tone was heavy and he stared at the man, testing him.
The man, however, did not appear threatened. In his calm manner he went on, “Do you see this tree? It has been here forever, and will remain here forever. The tree, however, is just a tree. It is special only because it lives off the pool,” the man knelt down, running his hand across one of the tree’s roots that disappeared into the depths of the pool, “it is the water that gives the tree its power. It is the water that causes the tree to live forever.” The man’s hand now spread over the water, lingering close to ripples caused by the breeze but not quite touching it. “It is the water that which could cause you too to live forever.”
Someone within the group gasped. The man laughed again, his dry laugh, “I see you recognize the gravity of its power. And yet you do not. There is more to this water than meets the eye. It holds great power, even beyond sustaining life for eternity.”
Eolela took another step forward, “if this water is what you say it is then I thank you for telling us,” he knelt down in front of the pool, “for it may be just what we have been searching for.” He bent forward to take a drink of the water. In a sudden movement, the black cloaked man cried out a loud, piercing yell. He held his staff in the air, and a ball of glowing light formed in his other hand. He screamed the command, and it hurdled into Eolela’s chest, sending him flying backwards. Eolela slumped to the ground in an awkward position as the man leapt nimbly across the pool, advancing towards him.
“Fool! You cannot drink of this water,” he yelled as he focused his power on Eolela. The wind picked up, and the sky darkened, thunder echoed in the distance. Eolela groaned, his eyes wide, as an invisible force lifted him into the air. The wind whipped his hair and his clothing, tugging at him as he resisted its force. He hung before the man, whose outstretched hand was grasping at something in front of Eolela. All of a sudden Eolela screamed and his eyes rolled awkwardly. The man, though not actually touching Eolela, pulled at an invisible thing from his chest. The man’s eyes were wild, black and gold they flashed, as if on fire. As the man pulled, a gray, smoke-like figure came forth from Eolela’s chest. It resisted being taken from Eolela, but the man’s strength was too much. With a final tug, it flew forth with a whistling scream and drifted into the air above everyone’s heads. Eolela fell to the ground, dead.
As if waking from a dream, Eolela’s companions snapped from the transfixing event and jumped into action. All except Arkengale who, amidst the confusion, walked to Eolela’s side and knelt down. As Arkengale knelt, the others fought.
The man dealt easily with all of them. Swords glanced off his staff, sending showers of sparks up in the air. Arrows hurtled towards him, but turned to ash as they came into contact. The man laughed his wicked laugh as one by one each of the adventurers was suspended into the air and killed. Five other gray figures joined Eolela’s in the air, forming a ring above the battle.
The wind picked up even more, swirling around the clearing, accompanied by the clap of thunder and lightning. The man turned his head towards Arkengale, who had been cradling his leader’s head in his lap.
“You,” he addressed him, “why do you not fight?”
“I am a simple healer,” Arkengale shouted, “I heal the wounds of the fight, not create them.”
“A pity,” he said just as he sent a flash of energy towards his foe. Arkengale dove just in time. He picked up the sword of a fallen comrade and turned to face the man, “This time however, I will fight, for my comrades and my kingdom.” The man laughed and raised his staff to send another flash towards Arkengale.
Arkengale charged towards the man, avoiding the flash of energy on the way. He plunged his sword deep into the man’s side only to find that it had turned to ash in his hands. The man laughed and brought his staff down. Arkengale barely managed to raise his staff in time to parry the strike. Sparks flew as the two struggled. The man’s superior strength, however, proved too much for Arkengale and he collapsed under the pressure. The man raised his staff again to strike, but Arkengale was young and limber. He rolled away just as the staff came crashing down, and crawled in the direction of the tree, searching for refuge.
He looked behind only to see a flash of light and then felt searing pain as he was blasted forwards. His body screamed with white-hot pain as he struggled to stand. He quickly reached in his cloak, his hand shaking, and grasped an herb. Forcing it into his mouth, he felt relief. It did not overcome the pain, but it was enough for Arkengale to turn his attention to his attacker. Arkengale stood between the pool and the man. The man standing idly, leaning on his staff, a grin on his face.
“The pain is great, is it not? There is no remedy for it, it will slowly eat away at you until you die, ever increasing.” He advanced towards Arkengale, and, for the third time, raised his staff. Arkengale backed up to the edge of the pool. The man brought the staff down and Arkengale raised his to block. They stood there, locked in struggle. The man forced Arkengale back another step, shoving his face close to Arkengale’s, “give up, you cannot win,” he whispered.
Arkengale was unable to respond because he was focusing all his will power and determination on pushing the man backward. The six ghost-like figures circled above their epic struggle. He was shaking, every muscle in his body cried out in pain as, slowly, he began to give in. He slid backward, inch by inch. His foe gave a mighty push, and Arkengale stepped back into the pool to keep his balance.
In that moment, a changed came over Arkengale. His pain was gone. His fatigue was gone. His muscles and mind felt young and rested, powerful almost. Energy spread throughout his body like wildfire.
He looked up to see shock on the man’s face as he realized what was happening to Arkengale, “No! You will die!”
“No,” replied Arkengale, “I will heal.” With that Arkengale shoved him backward and regained his poise. The man began to form a great, pulsing ball of energy. Although Arkengale had never seen or created magic of any kind, he knew in that moment he could do the same. He felt the energy welling up in his body, and then he sent flying towards the man, guided by Arkengale’s intent to kill him, who in turn had sent some flying towards Arkengale. The two flashes of energy crashed together in a great angry outburst sending energy flying in all directions. Arkengale resisted just long enough to see the man scream, shrivel up, and turn to ash, only the black cloak remaining. Then Arkengale too, was blasted backward into the water, pain overtaking his senses. He drifted for a single moment on the surface, and then began to sink.
Unable to move or think, he slowly sunk down into the depths. For a fleeting moment, he saw, indistinctly through the clear water, a person rise up and adorn himself with the black cloak. The person looked down at Arkengale and their eyes met for a brief second. Then he fled as Arkengale’s vision clouded and he gradually lost consciousness.
__________________
If one is lucky,
a solitary fantasy can totally transform
one million realities.
Last edited by Rambling Sage : 11-12-2007 at 06:36 PM.
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