Post by Silvereel on Jan 28, 2008 17:26:42 GMT
Well, I am not going to release any more of the tale until it is done. But I have decided to polish and release the first chapter of it as a preview. Be warned, however, it has changed greatly from what it was originally going to be. New characters have been added, most of the old removed, and the story as a whole almost entirly new. But I do hope you enjoy it. Here is the prologue!
It had been some days since Jacob had started his hike along this rarely traveled trail. Alone. And, as if to rub that in, he had not seen a single soul in three days. However, on the fourth day he heard a voice.
“Hello,” it said quite cheerfully.
Jacob looked around, but saw nothing.
“Hello?” He said.
“Up here,” came the cheerful reply.
This time, it was clear it was coming from above. Jacob looked up, astonished.
“Hello, Jacob. You are twenty four years old, and from Virginia, but live in New York City, and enjoy hiking, which is why you are here. Correct?”
What Jacob saw astonished him even more. A little man with featherless, golden wings. With each flap small pieces of gold dust fell to the ground, and were already starting to form a small pile.
“Don’t look so surprised. I’m just trying to make sure our records are right… You’re the one we have been seeking, we always knew you would-”
“Is this a joke,” Jacob interrupted the little man.
“It isn’t a joke… As I was saying, destiny has chosen you to save Caran Blaid.”
“Caran what? Oh forget it,” said Jacob, turning to leave.
He was quickly put to a stop, however, when he slammed into an invisible barrier of some sort. The last words he heard were:
“Your destiny is to save Caran Blaid. Good luck, Jacob.”
Then there was a swirl of colours, and he passed out.
Jacob awoke, some time later, to find he was lying, face down, at the centre of a brawl. All around him tankards were being thrown to and fro, tables turned on their side, and men were hitting were hitting one and other with all like of improvised weapons. Tables, chairs, broken bottles, and table legs, to name just a few.
“Get up, lad, we must go!” A voice said.
Then a bearded old man in rough, woolen robes appeared above him, hovered like a vulture from above, then pulled Jacb up and started to the door. They were, however, stopped by a burly beast of a man, wielding a broken bottle in his right hand.
“Estalo!” Those were the only words that escaped from his lips, before the jabbed out with the bottle, narrowly missing the old man, apparently called Estalo.
He ducked, and being quite agile for his age, his bread being almost entirely grey, showing only small traces of black, rolled, and landed under a table. He whipped out his legs, and as fast as lightning, pulled him down. Jacob said nothing, but he feared Estalo may have killed the man, for he landed on the broken bottle. Estalo quickly rose, and out the door they went, into the cold northern night of blizzards and fog.
It had been some days since Jacob had started his hike along this rarely traveled trail. Alone. And, as if to rub that in, he had not seen a single soul in three days. However, on the fourth day he heard a voice.
“Hello,” it said quite cheerfully.
Jacob looked around, but saw nothing.
“Hello?” He said.
“Up here,” came the cheerful reply.
This time, it was clear it was coming from above. Jacob looked up, astonished.
“Hello, Jacob. You are twenty four years old, and from Virginia, but live in New York City, and enjoy hiking, which is why you are here. Correct?”
What Jacob saw astonished him even more. A little man with featherless, golden wings. With each flap small pieces of gold dust fell to the ground, and were already starting to form a small pile.
“Don’t look so surprised. I’m just trying to make sure our records are right… You’re the one we have been seeking, we always knew you would-”
“Is this a joke,” Jacob interrupted the little man.
“It isn’t a joke… As I was saying, destiny has chosen you to save Caran Blaid.”
“Caran what? Oh forget it,” said Jacob, turning to leave.
He was quickly put to a stop, however, when he slammed into an invisible barrier of some sort. The last words he heard were:
“Your destiny is to save Caran Blaid. Good luck, Jacob.”
Then there was a swirl of colours, and he passed out.
Jacob awoke, some time later, to find he was lying, face down, at the centre of a brawl. All around him tankards were being thrown to and fro, tables turned on their side, and men were hitting were hitting one and other with all like of improvised weapons. Tables, chairs, broken bottles, and table legs, to name just a few.
“Get up, lad, we must go!” A voice said.
Then a bearded old man in rough, woolen robes appeared above him, hovered like a vulture from above, then pulled Jacb up and started to the door. They were, however, stopped by a burly beast of a man, wielding a broken bottle in his right hand.
“Estalo!” Those were the only words that escaped from his lips, before the jabbed out with the bottle, narrowly missing the old man, apparently called Estalo.
He ducked, and being quite agile for his age, his bread being almost entirely grey, showing only small traces of black, rolled, and landed under a table. He whipped out his legs, and as fast as lightning, pulled him down. Jacob said nothing, but he feared Estalo may have killed the man, for he landed on the broken bottle. Estalo quickly rose, and out the door they went, into the cold northern night of blizzards and fog.
