December88
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- Nov 17, 2008
- Messages
- 68
Yet another draft of my prologue.
Awkward grammar aside, i really want to know if this is a 'decent' prologue. ie: did it hook you guys and would you want to read on?
I'm a little worried that my writing becomes clumsy toward the end. Are my suscpicions True/False?
Thanks!
PROLOGUE
I have killed enough to know that the real enemy is not the one at the end of my sword but the one whole told me to kill. May my life be the only one you take before you realize the same.
The words cracked, then crushed and crashed as the parchment they were scrawled upon crumpled within a trembling grasp. Long, cold fingers slowly unfurled and the parchment was seized by howling winter wind and borne away into the empty, starless night.
“Simariel!” cried a voice.
Ten steps to the tent, brisk, exact and forcefully determined, Simariel paused on the ninth as if unsure – as if overcome. Here, on the threshold of no return, she waited alone; drowning in a sea of saline sorrow, struggling and gasping for air whenever she could.
“Enter.”
She wiped at her face but was far too hasty; the meandering trails of tears were many upon her cheeks, which now glistened slippery silver in the pale moonlight.
“Enter!” the irritation in the voice was blatant.
Simariel started at the tone, her back tensed and her jaws clenched. In urgent desperation, she forced herself to suffocate and stifle the sobs that still squeezed themselves from her lungs. She could no longer tarry, the time was at hand. She took a deep breathe and entered.
“Closer.” ordered the voice. It's owner, Terinis, knelt upon the murky floor, leering over someone.
Simariel obeyed her master, walking forward until the inadequate glow of a single, pitiful brazier illuminated the form of Karrad Ebonlocke – the general. He was in the same position she had left him in the previous night – shackled by the waist to a large iron trunk against which his back was propped up. The tangle of makeshift woolen bandages around his forearm was a sickly shade of rusty red. He had inflicted that upon himself the previous night when she had told him that there was no ink to go along with his request for a quill and a single strip of parchment.
“I trust that Simariel has been looking after you well general?” smiled Terinis.
The general swore in response.
“I apologize if that isn't the case. See, she isn't meant to look after prisoners, she is...”
“I know what she is!” thundered the general. His chest heaved up and down in angry, sporadic jerks while his face flushed red. “I know what you've twisted her into."
Terinis' eyebrows raised bemusedly. “Of course you do. But do you know that I'm going to send her to Boughshire after she is done here? To kill your sons and retrieve the letter you stole from my king?”
The general's brow furrowed, heavy with distress. Shaking his head helplessly as the color drained from his face, he pleaded in a coarse whisper, “Not my sons.” He tried to catch Simariel's eye but she looked away. “Not my boys!”
“She won't look at you general,” chuckled Terinis, getting to his feet and casually strolling over to a cabinet. “which is a shame because she is young and pretty.” Opening a draw, he began rummaging for something and when he found and secured it, drew up beside Simariel. “See,” he continued, “she has been taught to never look into the eyes of someone she is about to kill.” He pressed the cold steel hilt of a dagger into Simariel's palm.
“To look into the victim's eyes risks the onset of emotion, a weakness.” recited Simariel to a dark corner.
“Very good Simariel, very good. You have prepared for your first kill well then?”
“Yes.”
“Do not lie to me!” snarled Terinis all of a sudden, violently grabbing Simariel's chin and tilting it upward into the light of the brazier which, as if on cue, flared and roared brightly. “Do you think I couldn't hear your pathetic sniveling outside? You're a nervous wreck and I should have you done away with!”
Simariel's muscles tensed, panic coursed through her veins but she remained still.
Gradually, Terinis relaxed his grip and turning to the general, he sighed. “But her martial prowess is second to none. Oh even your most hardened and famed veterans would have little chance against her general. Fast and deadly like no other but alas! Emotionally weak.”
“I'm not... weak.”
“No? Then prove it.” Terinis swooped down beside the general and eyed Simariel. “Look into the his eyes when you kill him! Promise him that you will do the same to his children!”
“Sixteen years you have trained me, I am ready I swear!”
“Then do as I say!”
“There is no need for...”
“Look!”
And Simariel looked and in that moment, the empty void inside of her threatened to cave in upon itself and cease to exist. She saw his grizzled cheeks, his long drawn out face, his broken nose and his red watering eyes.
The warmth came, it was just like she had thought it would feel; quaint and piercing, gracing her heart with something it had been secretly longing for her whole life – compassion. She closed her eyes and let it smother her and leave her breathless and wanting more.
“Fight it!” cried Terinis. “Fight the folly of man. All it will ever cause you is pain and misery a thousand fold for every scrap of false happiness it tempts you with. Fight it, be true to yourself and what you really are!”
A killer. A strained expression splayed itself across her face and as the air rushed out of her lungs, she nodded weakly. She nodded because she knew that she could never trust her fickle heart; it pained too much. Maybe Terinis was right; maybe she wasn't meant to laugh or cry or to have a family or children. Perhaps there was no changing what she had been taught and trained to do since childhood – to kill.
Even as she began to hate and curse herself, even as the general forgave her for his own life but pleaded for his sons, Simariel stepped forth and knelt down. “I'll make it as quick as possible. Painless.”
“Quick? Painless?” snapped Terinis. “I want you to make it as painful as possible! Do not think about it and there will be no guilt!”
Slowly Simariel lifted the dagger, upward and over head head where it lingered, delaying the inevitable.
“Do not prolong! Finish him!”
“I will!” snarled Simariel, glaring murderously at Terinis, her eyes flashing in the firelight. “I will.” she said again, this time much more softly. She took several deep breathes but they were to no avail; blood began to pound within her head and thunder in her ears.
“Please, not my sons.”
Simariel heard it. A soundless whisper, a plea for mercy, uttered in helplessness by a man who had killed hundreds, commanded thousands and feared none. It called to something deep and raced, screaming across the immense emptiness of her soul to strike as the single greatest force she had ever felt. She felt the sudden urge to help the general, to hold him and assure him that she would never harm him or his sons.
But she knew that she couldn't. His was the life that she had to take before she could move forward – either down the dark path set for her by Terinis, or of realization like the words on the parchment said, which would only be filled with regret and constant running.
Unless. For the smallest fraction of a second, Terinis' wicked face flashed through Simariel's mind and she contemplated the impossible, the unforgivable.
“No!” She cried, turning away with a sense of urgency and grasping the hilt of the dagger harder than ever. She trembled, then rasped, “Let it be done with!” For a second, the dagger wavered in her hand, possibly because of how hardly it was being or held or possibly because it was unsure of its target. Then it plummeted downward with frightening speed.
A full minute later, Simariel opened her eyes. “You were right Terinis, I feel no guilt.”
Awkward grammar aside, i really want to know if this is a 'decent' prologue. ie: did it hook you guys and would you want to read on?
I'm a little worried that my writing becomes clumsy toward the end. Are my suscpicions True/False?
Thanks!
PROLOGUE
I have killed enough to know that the real enemy is not the one at the end of my sword but the one whole told me to kill. May my life be the only one you take before you realize the same.
The words cracked, then crushed and crashed as the parchment they were scrawled upon crumpled within a trembling grasp. Long, cold fingers slowly unfurled and the parchment was seized by howling winter wind and borne away into the empty, starless night.
“Simariel!” cried a voice.
Ten steps to the tent, brisk, exact and forcefully determined, Simariel paused on the ninth as if unsure – as if overcome. Here, on the threshold of no return, she waited alone; drowning in a sea of saline sorrow, struggling and gasping for air whenever she could.
“Enter.”
She wiped at her face but was far too hasty; the meandering trails of tears were many upon her cheeks, which now glistened slippery silver in the pale moonlight.
“Enter!” the irritation in the voice was blatant.
Simariel started at the tone, her back tensed and her jaws clenched. In urgent desperation, she forced herself to suffocate and stifle the sobs that still squeezed themselves from her lungs. She could no longer tarry, the time was at hand. She took a deep breathe and entered.
“Closer.” ordered the voice. It's owner, Terinis, knelt upon the murky floor, leering over someone.
Simariel obeyed her master, walking forward until the inadequate glow of a single, pitiful brazier illuminated the form of Karrad Ebonlocke – the general. He was in the same position she had left him in the previous night – shackled by the waist to a large iron trunk against which his back was propped up. The tangle of makeshift woolen bandages around his forearm was a sickly shade of rusty red. He had inflicted that upon himself the previous night when she had told him that there was no ink to go along with his request for a quill and a single strip of parchment.
“I trust that Simariel has been looking after you well general?” smiled Terinis.
The general swore in response.
“I apologize if that isn't the case. See, she isn't meant to look after prisoners, she is...”
“I know what she is!” thundered the general. His chest heaved up and down in angry, sporadic jerks while his face flushed red. “I know what you've twisted her into."
Terinis' eyebrows raised bemusedly. “Of course you do. But do you know that I'm going to send her to Boughshire after she is done here? To kill your sons and retrieve the letter you stole from my king?”
The general's brow furrowed, heavy with distress. Shaking his head helplessly as the color drained from his face, he pleaded in a coarse whisper, “Not my sons.” He tried to catch Simariel's eye but she looked away. “Not my boys!”
“She won't look at you general,” chuckled Terinis, getting to his feet and casually strolling over to a cabinet. “which is a shame because she is young and pretty.” Opening a draw, he began rummaging for something and when he found and secured it, drew up beside Simariel. “See,” he continued, “she has been taught to never look into the eyes of someone she is about to kill.” He pressed the cold steel hilt of a dagger into Simariel's palm.
“To look into the victim's eyes risks the onset of emotion, a weakness.” recited Simariel to a dark corner.
“Very good Simariel, very good. You have prepared for your first kill well then?”
“Yes.”
“Do not lie to me!” snarled Terinis all of a sudden, violently grabbing Simariel's chin and tilting it upward into the light of the brazier which, as if on cue, flared and roared brightly. “Do you think I couldn't hear your pathetic sniveling outside? You're a nervous wreck and I should have you done away with!”
Simariel's muscles tensed, panic coursed through her veins but she remained still.
Gradually, Terinis relaxed his grip and turning to the general, he sighed. “But her martial prowess is second to none. Oh even your most hardened and famed veterans would have little chance against her general. Fast and deadly like no other but alas! Emotionally weak.”
“I'm not... weak.”
“No? Then prove it.” Terinis swooped down beside the general and eyed Simariel. “Look into the his eyes when you kill him! Promise him that you will do the same to his children!”
“Sixteen years you have trained me, I am ready I swear!”
“Then do as I say!”
“There is no need for...”
“Look!”
And Simariel looked and in that moment, the empty void inside of her threatened to cave in upon itself and cease to exist. She saw his grizzled cheeks, his long drawn out face, his broken nose and his red watering eyes.
The warmth came, it was just like she had thought it would feel; quaint and piercing, gracing her heart with something it had been secretly longing for her whole life – compassion. She closed her eyes and let it smother her and leave her breathless and wanting more.
“Fight it!” cried Terinis. “Fight the folly of man. All it will ever cause you is pain and misery a thousand fold for every scrap of false happiness it tempts you with. Fight it, be true to yourself and what you really are!”
A killer. A strained expression splayed itself across her face and as the air rushed out of her lungs, she nodded weakly. She nodded because she knew that she could never trust her fickle heart; it pained too much. Maybe Terinis was right; maybe she wasn't meant to laugh or cry or to have a family or children. Perhaps there was no changing what she had been taught and trained to do since childhood – to kill.
Even as she began to hate and curse herself, even as the general forgave her for his own life but pleaded for his sons, Simariel stepped forth and knelt down. “I'll make it as quick as possible. Painless.”
“Quick? Painless?” snapped Terinis. “I want you to make it as painful as possible! Do not think about it and there will be no guilt!”
Slowly Simariel lifted the dagger, upward and over head head where it lingered, delaying the inevitable.
“Do not prolong! Finish him!”
“I will!” snarled Simariel, glaring murderously at Terinis, her eyes flashing in the firelight. “I will.” she said again, this time much more softly. She took several deep breathes but they were to no avail; blood began to pound within her head and thunder in her ears.
“Please, not my sons.”
Simariel heard it. A soundless whisper, a plea for mercy, uttered in helplessness by a man who had killed hundreds, commanded thousands and feared none. It called to something deep and raced, screaming across the immense emptiness of her soul to strike as the single greatest force she had ever felt. She felt the sudden urge to help the general, to hold him and assure him that she would never harm him or his sons.
But she knew that she couldn't. His was the life that she had to take before she could move forward – either down the dark path set for her by Terinis, or of realization like the words on the parchment said, which would only be filled with regret and constant running.
Unless. For the smallest fraction of a second, Terinis' wicked face flashed through Simariel's mind and she contemplated the impossible, the unforgivable.
“No!” She cried, turning away with a sense of urgency and grasping the hilt of the dagger harder than ever. She trembled, then rasped, “Let it be done with!” For a second, the dagger wavered in her hand, possibly because of how hardly it was being or held or possibly because it was unsure of its target. Then it plummeted downward with frightening speed.
A full minute later, Simariel opened her eyes. “You were right Terinis, I feel no guilt.”
age not found error 
