All right, so I'm working on writing a novel, and this is the Prologue. (I'm already through the first 200 pages, but I think I'm finally ready to unveil a little of it.
BE AWARE! All of the characters, settings, and the like are my property. Please respect my sharing this with you. It is not something that can be manipulated or played with or taken and turned in to something else. Thank you in advance for your cooperation.
It was a shiver of excitement.
Tonight was the night.
His face was contorted in frustration. There were shields blocking his visions tonight, and it was draining to try and pass them. A bead of sweat ran down his nose and he angrily brushed it away. As he flicked his wrist, the offending drop of moisture hissed into nothingness as it reached a purple flame. He pulled his black hood closer around his face and drew up a new reserve of strength and magic, pushing through the next shield.
And then his eyes went out of focus. He was no longer seeing the dank, musty walls around him, nor was he seeing the altar before him. The purple flames melted out of his vision like the wax dripping onto the black velvet covering his alter of worship.
Now, instead of his musty Seeing Room, his eyes saw exactly what he had been seeking. The mother screamed in the pains of childbirth. He smiled a humorless smile as her body shook with convulsions. He could hear the midwife yelling over the first-time mother's painful cries.
"You have to keep pushing, girl!"
Screams anew rent the still air in the cabin he saw. The woman was exhausted. He knew she would die. Knew, that is, if this was the true prophecy. He gazed in closer, lapping up the details, particularly hungering for the pain that passed in spasms across the young mother's face. She really was a beauty, hardly over sixteen. The man knew she was prematurely pregnant because he had raped her. Oh, how he had worked to set this prophecy in motion!
She wasn't the first he had raped. In fact, she was the seventh. The prophecy had not been specific about how many times raping a virgin would be necessary. In fact, he didn't know how much longer he would have to try. He knew, however, that he was running out of time. Now twenty-two, he knew that this may be his last time of easily securing a naïve virgin.
Minutes passed slowly. The midwife was still urging the beautiful young woman onwards. Her mother doused the girl's brow with a washcloth, attempting to soothe her. Now was the time. Sweat dripped over his face and back, but he did not retreat from the vision.
The girl screamed again, and he heard the cry of the babe. The midwife smiled and cleaned the squawking amount of pinkish flesh off with a towel. She turned to the now still girl, saying how lucky she was to have the healthy baby girl, only to realize she had slipped from this life. The girl's mother sobbed and drew the lifeless body to her breast. The midwife wiped a tear from her own cheek and wrapped the baby in a soft, yellow blanket.
The door to the man's Seeing Room burst open. Light flooded in, but the man didn't even flinch. The intruder clasped a fist to his heart in salute. "Lord Naim! The moon is blood red tonight! The prophecy!"
Lord Naim's unseeing eyes blinked, his focus sill in the room of death as opposed to the room of new light. He watched for a moment longer, satisfied. His eyes came back in to focus, and he softly whispered the prophecy.
The moon shall reflect the bloody night to which the child is born.
Her magic shall be the fury that fuels the hungry, angry storm.
Bound to the path she chooses to tread, fate shall be hers to say.
She shall be the one to choose which magic survives the day.
BE AWARE! All of the characters, settings, and the like are my property. Please respect my sharing this with you. It is not something that can be manipulated or played with or taken and turned in to something else. Thank you in advance for your cooperation.
Prologue
Darkness surrounded him. The darkness was thick and suffocating to most people, but he was breathing normally. Heat radiated around him from candles lit with deep purple flames. The room was stiflingly warm, and still the man shivered.It was a shiver of excitement.
Tonight was the night.
His face was contorted in frustration. There were shields blocking his visions tonight, and it was draining to try and pass them. A bead of sweat ran down his nose and he angrily brushed it away. As he flicked his wrist, the offending drop of moisture hissed into nothingness as it reached a purple flame. He pulled his black hood closer around his face and drew up a new reserve of strength and magic, pushing through the next shield.
And then his eyes went out of focus. He was no longer seeing the dank, musty walls around him, nor was he seeing the altar before him. The purple flames melted out of his vision like the wax dripping onto the black velvet covering his alter of worship.
Now, instead of his musty Seeing Room, his eyes saw exactly what he had been seeking. The mother screamed in the pains of childbirth. He smiled a humorless smile as her body shook with convulsions. He could hear the midwife yelling over the first-time mother's painful cries.
"You have to keep pushing, girl!"
Screams anew rent the still air in the cabin he saw. The woman was exhausted. He knew she would die. Knew, that is, if this was the true prophecy. He gazed in closer, lapping up the details, particularly hungering for the pain that passed in spasms across the young mother's face. She really was a beauty, hardly over sixteen. The man knew she was prematurely pregnant because he had raped her. Oh, how he had worked to set this prophecy in motion!
She wasn't the first he had raped. In fact, she was the seventh. The prophecy had not been specific about how many times raping a virgin would be necessary. In fact, he didn't know how much longer he would have to try. He knew, however, that he was running out of time. Now twenty-two, he knew that this may be his last time of easily securing a naïve virgin.
Minutes passed slowly. The midwife was still urging the beautiful young woman onwards. Her mother doused the girl's brow with a washcloth, attempting to soothe her. Now was the time. Sweat dripped over his face and back, but he did not retreat from the vision.
The girl screamed again, and he heard the cry of the babe. The midwife smiled and cleaned the squawking amount of pinkish flesh off with a towel. She turned to the now still girl, saying how lucky she was to have the healthy baby girl, only to realize she had slipped from this life. The girl's mother sobbed and drew the lifeless body to her breast. The midwife wiped a tear from her own cheek and wrapped the baby in a soft, yellow blanket.
The door to the man's Seeing Room burst open. Light flooded in, but the man didn't even flinch. The intruder clasped a fist to his heart in salute. "Lord Naim! The moon is blood red tonight! The prophecy!"
Lord Naim's unseeing eyes blinked, his focus sill in the room of death as opposed to the room of new light. He watched for a moment longer, satisfied. His eyes came back in to focus, and he softly whispered the prophecy.
The moon shall reflect the bloody night to which the child is born.
Her magic shall be the fury that fuels the hungry, angry storm.
Bound to the path she chooses to tread, fate shall be hers to say.
She shall be the one to choose which magic survives the day.