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|05-08-2006, 11:43 AM||#1|
Join Date: May 2006
This is a prologue that I've written for a book I'm working on. I'm only 15, so it's not too great. Also, tell me if it feels to "Christopher Paolinish" Sorry if it's a bit long.
Of Darkness and Flame
Darkness surrounded this tent. Death itself visited the small swamp tent on the cold night. The winter wind whistled around the camp, and the first hints of rain dabbled over the canvas. An unholy Knight visited. He was a Shade; spawn of Shadows, but of a higher plane than they.
The Shade looked suspiciously at the MordWraith, bent low over the small gem lying on the floor. The large, green, warty creature swayed from side to side as he conversed with the Seers. The room they sat in was tinted an odd shade of green, one that reminded the Shade of swamps and algae. The MordWraith looked up, his pale green eyes wild and glowing with an un-earthly light.
“What do the spirits say?” the Shade hissed in his rendering of speech, guttural and low.
The MordWraith glanced around the room, looking for something invisible. “They say,” he paused and lowered his nasal voice. “that He has come.”
The Shade sounded impatient. “Who?’
“They will only tell me that He has come. He is in…” here the Wraith bent low again and wavered a few moments longer. “a city, far to the west of here. Mystery surrounds this seeing. I can tell you no more.” He started to rise.
The Shade stopped him with an icy grip of his steel-gloved hand. The pattern on the glove glowed red as blood and moved with its own rhythm, possibly the beat of the stone heart of the creature it belonged to. “You know more.” He pulled on the MordWraith’s arm. “Tell me.”
“I don’t know anything else, save what I have told you.”
The Shade rose and opened the flap of the tent, letting in the starlight. Slowly, a tall, inhuman figure filled the doorway. The MordWraith could not make out the form.
“I have a friend here who may convince you otherwise.”
The MordWraith’s voice was filled with fear, yet indignant. “How do I have proof that he can harm me?”
Then, as the figure stepped into the light, the MordWraith saw. Its body was that of a huge bear, its head a lion’s. On its back were folded a pair of huge wings. Then it spoke. Not in a voice audible, but in a transmission that any living being within miles could have heard: Anta zanta mâta redan!(meaning: Fire engulf your mind!)
The MordWraith screamed as tentacles of fire reached out from the Jinn and grabbed his mind, seizing it, slowly crushing the life out of it.
“Kwan, kwan!” the Wraith screamed in agony. “Slaton mortoliė! Mortoliė!”
Again tendrils reached out from the mind of the Jinn and grabbed the MordWraith’s. Phthm mâta enclesie!
“He is the descendant of…Ar-Eredros! The spirits told me never to tell or I would die!” The wraith broke down sobbing. “Mortoliė, mortoliė…”
“Then die you must,” said the Shade. He turned to the Jinn. “Kill him.”
The weeping MordWraith heard the voice again. Zradon zanta mat, the Jinn said, as only the whispering wind saw what passed that night.
Through the darkness of night another Darkness rode. Not on any earthly being, but of a Dark steed. Bred by the Shades, the horses possessed an unholy speed. Its nostrils flared with fire and its eyes burned as embers in a dying fire, only the wind rushing past them fanning the flame of life.
“Nek, nek,” the Shade whispered to his mount. As they neared the intersection on the Kenmar road, the Shade opened his eyes and peered through the veil of night. Three figures, robed in black awaited him.
“Rachka,” he assured his horse as he leapt from its saddle, high into the air.
The night watchmen heard the beat of a horse’s footsteps and readied their bows. But as the steed passed through the intersection, they stared in disbelief as they saw it riderless.
“He will come,” the tall man in black assured the two. “He will come.”
“Thloka!” they heard a shout from above as the Shade descended in a cloud of fire. His sword glistened red in the light as he landed, silently, as a cat would.
“Nek anta!” He yelled as he sent a bolt of flame into the night watchmen. They vanished into smoke as if they had never lived. He turned slowly, his black cloak writhing with flame, his invisible eyes pouring forth smoke.
“So, Rikkanon Shadebane, you await me,” he hissed at the robed man.
“You will kill no more, Mortoth Fire-Breather.” Rikkanon promised him. He unsheathed a long broadsword. It glowed blue in the heavy shroud that covered the earth. “Kelfa!” he exclaimed as the sword exploded into water. The sword was there, but semi-translucent, wavering as water, suspended on a hilt.
“You have learned the ancient magics well,” the Shade commented. “But no living being will ever stand up to me!” as he said the final words, his body flared up even more, the pillar of fire reaching to the heavens.
Rikkanon remained unmoved by the wave of heat. “Kelfa Koban!” he yelled and jumped backwards. Rain poured from the sky as Mortoth hissed in agony.
“We end this here!” he yelled, springing forwards at Rikkanon. “Naxa nek!” he screamed in midair. Beneath them, the ground parted into chasms of fire. The rain steamed, roiling about them in clouds of vapor. Rikkanon parried blow after blow of the demon’s blade.
“Nalxta blakor!” he exclaimed, lunging at the Shade, his blade swinging treacherously. Lightning erupted from the clouds and thunder rolled across the heavens.
With a tremendous swing, Rikkanon drove his blade into the Shade’s neck. The Shade laughed. “Rikkanon Shadebane, do not even you know the only way to kill a Shade?” With Rikkanon struggling to remove his sword, the Shade put a fiery hand on the warrior’s chest and uttered a single word. “Zradon!” Rikkanon fell limply to the ground. “Yanta slaton!” Mortoth yelled. His horse galloped up, his mane tossing. Mortoth mounted the horse, and, with a final apathetic look toward the dead body, rode off into the gloom.
Several days later, a Black horse galloped up outside the castle of Hope. Its mane flew violently, its rider tall, cloaked in black. It was Mortoth. He dismounted his horse and approached the castle gates cautiously.
“Xexon xdit!” a voice yelled and Rikkanon appeared in front of the Shade.
Mortoth hissed and drew his sword. “How do you live?”
“You said few do not know how to kill a Shade. I see you do not count as one of them.”
Mortoth drew his breath in sharply. “Then…you are the Shade of the Deliverers, spoken of in Legend?”
“It is I.” Rikkanon replied. “To pass, you must defeat me, Shade.”
“Then let us fight.” Mortoth replied. “to the death.”
That was eighteen years ago.
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