anthorn
Well-Known Member
Excerpt from the first half of my prologue to my second book. I have a description complex. I never think I write good descriptions and more often than not my minor descriptions end up giving me a minor wordcount.
I also fear that they never sound good enough either. So I am hoping to get people's opinions on them. Not fussed about the , ., :; thingys at the moment.
This is a one of two posts.
So thoughts please.
The Tangled Web
Now then who walks my dreams?
205 years since the arrival of the End-Lords
1205 15th day of Marid Early Spring
The storm had raged for days, had battered the eastern coast of Mazure Island with its fury; boats that had been moored tightly to the docks shook side to side, spray from the waves and rain soaking their deck. Above the island, clouds of cream and black hovered, rain and thunder bursting through their swollen bellies. This was not a natural storm. Calm fell, the noise from the rain, waves and thunder stopped so suddenly that those near by thought they had gone deaf. The clouds parted and the sun revealed itself and icy cold wind blew in from the north.
A moment passed and those who were brave enough ventured out into the mist, peered out into the ocean though they saw little. Mist hung to every street corner and through the icy wind there came a feeling of prickly heat, suffocating for its intensity; only the shutters banging in the wind made a sound around the docks of Acarine. Another moment of uneasy silence passed, then there came a sound of crashing waves as something large parted the sea before it. Through the mist upon the sea, a terrifying visage revealed itself, an iron ship with huge linking chains rattling down its side. The End-Lords had come to Mazure Island.
Those now crowded around the docks watched as a ramp was lowered cracking blue stone under its weight. Murmurs spread as the first figure, surrounded by four slaves, appeared at the top of the ramp. Though no one of recent memory had seen him before, somehow, they knew him to be Rael, he like the others was taller than most men and slightly androgynous in appearance; long black hair was tied at the nape of his neck and there was a firm set to his mouth. He stood there for a moment splendid in his silk shirt, leather trousers and viewed the docks with unhidden disgust.
Beside him appeared a woman, heavily pregnant and surrounded by her own routine of slaves and she viewed the docks and those on them with disinterest. Standing with Rael, she ignored the ministrations of her slaves as they wiped the perspiration from her coppery gold skin; still she pulled the fur cloak further over her shoulders, pressed out the creases from her silver blouse.
“How are you feeling?” Rael asked, with a slight incline of his head the only sign that he acknowledged her appearance.
“Pregnant,” Silendra replied, lovingly running a hand across her belly.
“He will be a strong boy!” he said smiling. To the End-Lords there was nothing more important than family and the bonds that tied them and despite any differences they might have, Rael knew he would fight tooth and claw to protect this child.
“Yes, he will be,” she said, a strange look in her eyes. “But he will never know his father.”
“No,” he replied and looked away. This now brought them to the reason they had come here. Their brother, Kandera was dead and Anwyn had called them to Lancifer for an emergency conclave. Such a sorry state of affairs this was, that one of them should now be dead; the four of them had come here to escape a threat known of the Maeloin and now only three remained. This was not how Rael had hoped things would occur; he had not expected such a fierce resistance from these old humans.
The crowd that had gathered parted quickly as a large horse drawn carriage lumbered toward them; upon its doors was Anwyn’s insignia, a black fist on white. Silendra gave a satisfied grunt. “At least she does not expect us to walk,” she said, once again running a hand across her belly.
#####################################################
1 year since the fall of the Great Arkaim Empire
On the morning of the day the world was changed there was no warning and no clue to the true significance of the event for the dead are blind to all things.
Wind made momentary blizzards across the frozen landscape, whirling patterns that seemed to dance complicated movements before settling again. The ruins of men were black marks upon an otherwise snow-white land; their bloated forms poked out from underneath their cover, weapons, and shields discarded where they’d fallen. It was inevitable that the death of an Empire resulted in the death of men.
This was only the beginning.
The changes were subtle at first, a change to the taste of the air; had anyone been alive to taste it they would have said it tasted metallic. Though there was no wind the snow began to move, twirling round in a circle as if led by a string, growing larger until it encompassed two miles. The snow started to fall upwards, began twisting into a rotating helix and then with a flash of light and a dull boom it thundered back into the ground and sent waves of snow in all directions. There was a shudder and the ground seemed to sigh.
The rent when it opened punched a hole like fingers through paper into the sky and was the colour of new blood, a colour that bled into the sky like ink in water. Heat burst through the gap and melted snow and flesh as flames fell like shooting stars. With an ear piercing shriek fragments of white hot metal came through the rent kicking up mud and stone, forcing the ground apart and creating craters and gouges where they fell.
I also fear that they never sound good enough either. So I am hoping to get people's opinions on them. Not fussed about the , ., :; thingys at the moment.
This is a one of two posts.
So thoughts please.
The Tangled Web
Now then who walks my dreams?
Who else but conscience.
Imran Isald.
1205 15th day of Marid Early Spring
The storm had raged for days, had battered the eastern coast of Mazure Island with its fury; boats that had been moored tightly to the docks shook side to side, spray from the waves and rain soaking their deck. Above the island, clouds of cream and black hovered, rain and thunder bursting through their swollen bellies. This was not a natural storm. Calm fell, the noise from the rain, waves and thunder stopped so suddenly that those near by thought they had gone deaf. The clouds parted and the sun revealed itself and icy cold wind blew in from the north.
A moment passed and those who were brave enough ventured out into the mist, peered out into the ocean though they saw little. Mist hung to every street corner and through the icy wind there came a feeling of prickly heat, suffocating for its intensity; only the shutters banging in the wind made a sound around the docks of Acarine. Another moment of uneasy silence passed, then there came a sound of crashing waves as something large parted the sea before it. Through the mist upon the sea, a terrifying visage revealed itself, an iron ship with huge linking chains rattling down its side. The End-Lords had come to Mazure Island.
Those now crowded around the docks watched as a ramp was lowered cracking blue stone under its weight. Murmurs spread as the first figure, surrounded by four slaves, appeared at the top of the ramp. Though no one of recent memory had seen him before, somehow, they knew him to be Rael, he like the others was taller than most men and slightly androgynous in appearance; long black hair was tied at the nape of his neck and there was a firm set to his mouth. He stood there for a moment splendid in his silk shirt, leather trousers and viewed the docks with unhidden disgust.
Beside him appeared a woman, heavily pregnant and surrounded by her own routine of slaves and she viewed the docks and those on them with disinterest. Standing with Rael, she ignored the ministrations of her slaves as they wiped the perspiration from her coppery gold skin; still she pulled the fur cloak further over her shoulders, pressed out the creases from her silver blouse.
“How are you feeling?” Rael asked, with a slight incline of his head the only sign that he acknowledged her appearance.
“Pregnant,” Silendra replied, lovingly running a hand across her belly.
“He will be a strong boy!” he said smiling. To the End-Lords there was nothing more important than family and the bonds that tied them and despite any differences they might have, Rael knew he would fight tooth and claw to protect this child.
“Yes, he will be,” she said, a strange look in her eyes. “But he will never know his father.”
“No,” he replied and looked away. This now brought them to the reason they had come here. Their brother, Kandera was dead and Anwyn had called them to Lancifer for an emergency conclave. Such a sorry state of affairs this was, that one of them should now be dead; the four of them had come here to escape a threat known of the Maeloin and now only three remained. This was not how Rael had hoped things would occur; he had not expected such a fierce resistance from these old humans.
The crowd that had gathered parted quickly as a large horse drawn carriage lumbered toward them; upon its doors was Anwyn’s insignia, a black fist on white. Silendra gave a satisfied grunt. “At least she does not expect us to walk,” she said, once again running a hand across her belly.
#####################################################
1 year since the fall of the Great Arkaim Empire
On the morning of the day the world was changed there was no warning and no clue to the true significance of the event for the dead are blind to all things.
Wind made momentary blizzards across the frozen landscape, whirling patterns that seemed to dance complicated movements before settling again. The ruins of men were black marks upon an otherwise snow-white land; their bloated forms poked out from underneath their cover, weapons, and shields discarded where they’d fallen. It was inevitable that the death of an Empire resulted in the death of men.
This was only the beginning.
The changes were subtle at first, a change to the taste of the air; had anyone been alive to taste it they would have said it tasted metallic. Though there was no wind the snow began to move, twirling round in a circle as if led by a string, growing larger until it encompassed two miles. The snow started to fall upwards, began twisting into a rotating helix and then with a flash of light and a dull boom it thundered back into the ground and sent waves of snow in all directions. There was a shudder and the ground seemed to sigh.
The rent when it opened punched a hole like fingers through paper into the sky and was the colour of new blood, a colour that bled into the sky like ink in water. Heat burst through the gap and melted snow and flesh as flames fell like shooting stars. With an ear piercing shriek fragments of white hot metal came through the rent kicking up mud and stone, forcing the ground apart and creating craters and gouges where they fell.
