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#1  The Damned I'm working on a new story called "The Damned". I'll post up the prologue here to see what people think of it, and I’ll try to keep the updates regular. Walking calmly, yet with purpose, a cloaked man approached the walls enclosing the city of Ekthal. His approach was halted as the night guard thrust his spear out warily and asked, "Who are you, an' wot's yer bisness?" It was easy to tell that this man was a rookie, newly recruited by the way his voice quivered as he spoke, as if unsure whether he was saying the right thing. Receiving no answer, he asked again, "I can't let you in until-" The cloaked man began walking towards him. "Stop! Halt, or I'll-" The watchman's threat was cut short as the man's eyes flashed and the guard slumped to the ground, unmoving while the cloaked man broke down the wooden door with another such action, merely motioning towards it as an explosion ripped the massive gate from it’s hinges. When he made his somewhat dramatic entrance, the blast from the door falling awoke many of the inhabitants nearest the gate, and they quickly woke up and grabbed whatever arms they could find before rushing out to see what had happened, confused and angry at being woken up in the middle of the night, and in no mood to hear explanations for the loss of their gate. The cloaked man simply laughed as he saw the motley group of merchants and farmers coming at him haphazardly, and drew a long, slender blade from within the folds of his cloak. Leaping into action, he had closed the distance between him and his opponent and thrust his sword into the neck of one of the townsfolk, and before they knew what was happening, he had them all engaged in combat, even attacks that should have been lethal were glancing off of his skin, and his speed was felling many of the combatants. The look of fear in their eyes was as pleasing to him as a king's feast. His blade danced around their crude weapons, batting aside pitchforks and old, rusted longswords with ease before going into the throat, lungs, or heart of the stunned militiamen, and killing them. Seeing that they were overmatched, they turned and fled, screaming that he was a monster. He decided not to pursue, having more important business at hand. Some of the men who awoke didn't charge headlong into battle, but instead went to sound the alarm in other sections of the city, and managed to awake most of the women and children and begin evacuating them, trying to sneak out of the city undetected. This process was sped up greatly as the men who were formerly in the midst of combat against him ran past, trying to get out. Sensing that his quarry was escaping, the man began speaking words of power in a fell tongue long-forgotten and pointed at a series of buildings, flames slowly coming up from his ankles to cloak him in a far grander manner. As he finished, blasts of fire poured from the sky, setting the town ablaze, and demonic creatures, somewhat resembling men, though their flesh was rotten and red, and their features were repulsive, grotesque parodies of the human race’s norm. These monsters overran the townspeople, killing them with a cruel gleam in their eyes, reveling in the combat and death which was their sustenance. They easily overtook the fleeing humans, and viciously attacked them, their hands sporting claws, and their teeth unnaturally sharp. Flames shot out from their mouth when they roared with glee at their newest kills. The cloaked man began casting another spell, his words telling of death, destruction and flame, and at this, the city became alight with an evil red glow as it spontaneously burst into a massive fire. The cloaked man took off his cloak and reveled in his work, believing that he had circumvented the prophecy of his defeat, and in the glow, he looked uncannily like the demons which he had summoned. In his glee, he didn’t see the young boy, hiding in the burnt shell of one of the houses, not daring to move… |
08-08-2007, 12:04 AM
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