Report, edit, etc...Posted by Felagund on 2005-10-03 at 11:42:54
QUOTE
Pain had scarred him, cast him aside, and broken him. There was nothing left for him but the inescapable thought that pursued him forevermore and twisted his emotions to sorrow. Smoke drifted lazily over the horizon of charred trees, mocking him and obscuring the sun so it was little more than a silty glow through the haze. Was it the pain that had broken him, or his sorrow? Grimacing, he looked upon the desolate remains of his people, gathered before him. In the end, did it matter what had broken him? Ragged and broken every bit as much as he, every last one had a vengeful gleam in their eyes that lusted for justice.
He was hardly one to deny them their justice. After all, it had been his fault that all of this had happened to begin with. Even the crows kept their distance from the mounds of blackened flesh that polluted the air with the repulsive stench of death. Even the air seemed to mourn the fallen and remained still, stifling in the heat of midday. It was as fitting a setting as ever conceived for the end of a reign of prosperity.
Were it not for the simple fact that all blame could be laid simply and solely at his feet, he might even now be helping to rebuild their lives. If they wanted to feel a grim sense of satisfaction, he would not deny them that feeling, those that he had served his entire life. A tear slipped down his face, causing a streak of dirt to be washed away. It was not fear for his life that filled him, but sadness at his own failure. He had vowed with every ounce of his body and spirit to be their guardian, their mentor, their leader. Failure met him in every chance encounter, and perhaps this was not justice after all. Perhaps it had become a defense so that he would be rendered unable to incur more damage upon them. What mattered most were the ends, not the means, and for all the good intent he had fate slew his grandeur with that now too common sword of betrayal.
A woman ran up, cradling her lifeless child in her arms. She screamed at him, screamed to bring her child back, screamed that he pay for her child. His hands bound tight against each other, near the small of his back, clenched as a sob overtook him. Below the wooden stage stood onlookers, and many produced sickening smiles at his pain. They thought he cried for his life, and in a way he did. If this was justice he wanted it, but above all he cried for all of the people below he had once called his.
He was hardly one to deny them their justice. After all, it had been his fault that all of this had happened to begin with. Even the crows kept their distance from the mounds of blackened flesh that polluted the air with the repulsive stench of death. Even the air seemed to mourn the fallen and remained still, stifling in the heat of midday. It was as fitting a setting as ever conceived for the end of a reign of prosperity.
Were it not for the simple fact that all blame could be laid simply and solely at his feet, he might even now be helping to rebuild their lives. If they wanted to feel a grim sense of satisfaction, he would not deny them that feeling, those that he had served his entire life. A tear slipped down his face, causing a streak of dirt to be washed away. It was not fear for his life that filled him, but sadness at his own failure. He had vowed with every ounce of his body and spirit to be their guardian, their mentor, their leader. Failure met him in every chance encounter, and perhaps this was not justice after all. Perhaps it had become a defense so that he would be rendered unable to incur more damage upon them. What mattered most were the ends, not the means, and for all the good intent he had fate slew his grandeur with that now too common sword of betrayal.
A woman ran up, cradling her lifeless child in her arms. She screamed at him, screamed to bring her child back, screamed that he pay for her child. His hands bound tight against each other, near the small of his back, clenched as a sob overtook him. Below the wooden stage stood onlookers, and many produced sickening smiles at his pain. They thought he cried for his life, and in a way he did. If this was justice he wanted it, but above all he cried for all of the people below he had once called his.
--The Faithless Chronicles: Resilience
I believe this will be the finalized plot (not draft) of the prologue.
It's not anywhere near the entire prologue. It's the first three-fourths page out of like fourteen.
I just reread and realized that there were some crappy mistakes on my part, but I typed it up in about a fifteen minute window in second period.
Report, edit, etc...Posted by Voyager7456(MM) on 2005-10-08 at 18:19:27
Felagund, you are a very talented writer. I'm not too sure how the grammar/spelling is (I'm horrible at those things 
), but it looks fine to me. The plot itself, however is what intrests me, and I have to say this looks brilliant.
Post more, post more!
), but it looks fine to me. The plot itself, however is what intrests me, and I have to say this looks brilliant.Post more, post more!
Report, edit, etc...Posted by Felagund on 2005-10-08 at 22:38:42
It will come as some surprise then that the plot is barely developed.