lord_nor Posted May 28, 2004 Report Share Posted May 28, 2004 I'm still kinda new here, but I've decided to set myself a long term project that I can work on and try to improve my skills. I guess if this ever goes anywhere, this would be a prolouge of sorts. I'm asking for maybe level 2, 2.5 feedback. Feel free to PM me if you want to. ~Thanks! The rain poured down as Marc slowly climbed the stairs to his bedroom. It had been a long day of practicing his art, and he could feel the fatigue in his limbs and his mind. He reached the landing and as he turned, his eye caught on the portrait of King Andrew, hanging over to his left. Andrew was a tall man, with dark brown hair, penetrating eyes of clear blue, like the sea, and a firm, square face. You always could see the king in him, even as a child. If you only casually glanced, you might think he was wearing a set of common leather armor, but this was his heirloom dragon skin armor, which opened at the edges just enough to show the elven worked mail underneath. His sword was at his side, as always, and his left hand rested on the hilt. He wore gloves of the same make as the armor, and a crimson cloak covered his broad shoulders, fastened at the throat with a large ruby, the stone of the Sun. "Andrew, I just don't know what to do," sighed Marc. "Wacian is growing in power, and even now I could do little against him. People seem to want to give in to him, when once they spoke so strongly against him. If this keeps up, we won't be able to hold out much longer, and all lands will become his." Marc brushed his long gray hair out of his eyes and continued, "If only you had lived, we might have stood a chance, but now I fear…." Marc's face froze in a surprised stare, and his breath left him. His body froze in place. Suddenly, he flew back down the stairs he had just climbed, as if a giant hammer had struck him squarely on the chest, and landed in a pile on the stone floor. When Marc woke, he was sore and his mind was cloudy. He couldn't remember how he had landed here, but he could feel that his leg was broken. However, there was no one for miles, and no one would come help the crazy old man anyway. Straining up onto one elbow, he surveyed the damage. It wasn't too bad; he could set it anyway. "Lucky for me that I landed where I did," Marc grunted, as he reached up to the cabinet and pulled down a large glass bottle, half full of amber liquid. Marc took a long pull from the bottle and bit down hard as he steeled himself for what he was about to do. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Marc had set and splinted his leg with a poker from the fireplace, and he crawled onto the couch to sleep. He slid, face down, onto the couch, but when his chest felt the pressure from the cushions below, a new, searing pain shot across his breast, from his shoulders to his waist. Looking down, he noticed that some blood had worked through his shirt. "Must've cut myself on the floor," he thought as he turned over onto his back and slowly unbuttoned his shirt to clean off the new wound. He looked down to see how bad this new injury was. "That's odd, " he thought. These didn't look like random cuts. As a matter of fact, it looked as if there was some pattern to them. Marc lifted himself up and half walked, half hobbled over to the mirror behind him, leaning on the furniture as he went. When he looked at his chest, his face looked almost as scared and surprised as it had on the stairs. Carved into his chest was the following message: When darkness reigns, and evil prowls, Seizing minds with intentions foul. When dark the Sun circles overhead, And one and all's lives are filled with dread. A hero will rise to repair all. And make the mighty fall. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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