The Giant matte black hull of the Daemonâs Mother ship was looming ever nearer. It groaned and shrieked noiselessly in the void of space. The vile sound of thousands giant obsidian plates straining under the weight of the millions of Daemons eagerly awaiting the moment that they could land and destroy the Earth. The reason for their animosity towards Earth had never been understood, even though the greatest scholars in space had put their minds to it for eons. One thing is known though. These Daemons had been waiting a long time, thousands of years in fact, to reach the glittering blue prize. As they had passed through the black, oily reaches of space, every planet with advanced civilization had gathered its forces and flown into a catastrophic deep-space battle with the Daemons. Every planet had fallen, all striving, in vain, to keep the Daemonic forces from reaching their ultimate prize. Earth. The planet that none of the Lost Planets (as they have come to be known) had never seen, only heard about in rumors. Rumors of how this little planet in the backwash of space was to one day rise and conquer the evil filth that had come and enslaved them. They had known, even before they had gone into battle with the vile forces of the planet Devonmara that their efforts would be in vain. That they would be conquered, enslaved and almost utterly destroyed. Hundreds of Lost Planets had tried their best to make sure that Earth would have as long as possible to prepare for the inevitable onslaught by the Daemons of Devonmara. Among those planets that gave Earth the longest time was a giant of a planet with beings of unimaginable power and strength. It was formerly known as Mafancti. The Manfactians were beings of untold wealth and knowledge. They were also considered throughout the universe to be the second greatest fighting force ever conceived. So great was their military might, that the only war they ever lost was the war against the Daemons. They fought valiantly, and without fear for their own lives. This was the quality that made them powerful enough to stand against the evil forces for so long. Every man, woman and child of Manfacti gave their lives to save themselves and the planets that would fall after them. They knew, with absolute certainty, that if the Daemons were to reach Earth, than every planet that had fallen before them and every planet to inevitably fall after them would have been a terrible lose.
So this is your story, to be published... That you just wrote? Is this the beginning chapter or is this the summary of the story? I think its very captivating. You tell the audience just the right amount of information so as not to confuse and overwhelm us nor tell us too little and leave us bored. The only few petty problems I can spot are these:
It groaned and shrieked noislessly
How can something make noise noiselessly?
And then a few spelling mistakes like,
lose
Loss
than
Then
Pointing out the spelling mistakes was probably unnecessary, but oh well, I've done it now :L
This is the begining of a prologue to a book that will seem nothing like the opening prologue. Sorry for not making that clear earlier.
It groaned and shrieked noislessly
They are in space. Noise cannot be heard in space, since their is no oxygen or other conducter through which sound can travel. That is why it is noiseless and yet making noise.
The day started off like any other day for Curran Griffin. He arose form his bed, groggily flailing through the gloom of early morning. He eventually succeeding in smashing the snooze button on his high-end alarm clock that was blaring noisily next to his head, but the damage was done. He was now wide-awake and not to thrilled about the prospect. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and pried his head out of the large Egyptian cotton pillows he had been sleeping on. Pulling the thick, silken covers off of his body, he stepped down in a daze into the large slippers that the housemaid had tactfully remembered to place at the foot of his bed. Through the darkness that flowed around him like a shroud, he could hear his housemaid, Ms. McKuttchen, shuffling near the door. Then with a soft but audible click, Ms. McKuttchen flipped on the light and the darkness fled from the room. Ms. McKuttchen was a thin, Scottish, woman of average height nearing her thirty-fifth birthday. She had short, sandy hair that she wore in hanging down, barely covering her neck. The white frock, black dress combination was only covering her knees by an inch or so and was much to revealing for a women of the early 1990âs. This being said, it was the top of housemaid fashion now, since it was late in the twenty-first century and most certainly not the early 90âs âI brought ye some breakfast ye poor old thing.â She said, indicating the large ornately decorated silver platter that had a huge handle and intricate designs cut in to the sides that she was carrying with one arm on a stack of neatly folded shirts and pants that were all the same dark blue, almost black color that Curran preferred to wear. âWhere do ye want it?â âJust place it on the desk, Sarah.â replied Curran, a bit groggy and grumpy now that he had been so rudely awakened by his alarm, and then barraged with questions from his housemaid. âYou know how much I hate the mornings.â âAye, but ye donât have to act all put out ye knowâ muttered Ms. McKuttchen, mildly put out, but used to her bosses early morning surliness. She complied with his wishes, sweeping an armful of papers off of the large mahogany desk and onto the thick maroon carpet that padded the floor. Following which, she placed the armload of clothes on the floor while simultaneously depositing the large silver tray on the desk. âWill that be all sir?â she asked, as she pulled the ornate lid off of the tray to reveal a humungous pile of food. Piled on the tray in a perfectly sculpted mound lay three over-easy eggs that shone white and fine on top of the stack of four or five fluffy, golden brown pancakes dripping with natural maple syrup, flown in from all the way over in the United States specifically for Curranâs own private use. Nestled on the tray, almost looking like one of the pancakes, was a smaller pile of hash browns that looked as if they had been made from scratch (which they had) and homemade sausages and bacon that had been made fresh that morning by Curranâs personal chef, Mr. Wastings. In fact the entire meal, which included a variety of juices that had been hand squeezed that very morning, was handmade form scratch every day. Mr. Wastings was apparently trying to fatten up Curran by giving him so much food that he could not help but gain weight, but Curran didnât mind. He could do with a little extra caloric intake to help build some muscle. Curran was six foot two with a shock of dark grey hair that was always neatly smoothed back from his brow. He had very light blue eyes that were almost white, with a spark of energy and excitement buried deep within, that contradicted the grey of his hair. His dark eyebrows were generally furrowed, giving him a look of extreme concentration, and annoyance and his deeply tanned skin was the nut brown that most American teenage boys try to get on the one day a year they go to the beach.
more of the story. This is the main characther and his partners. introducing them...
