Before I take you into a world that I have created from my own imagination and the inspiring ideas of Canadian author R. Scott Bakker I wish to clarify a few points with you, my reader. If any of you have read The Prince of Nothing Trilogy then when reading this you will, no doubt, see a great deal of that influencing what I write here. I would have you know this is not plagerism (for those of you who may be mistaken). I am not copying Mr. Bakker's ideas for my own I am merely using some of his ideas for a starting ground for my own creations. This can be seen in any fantasy novel ever written. I would also like to tell you that I have worked on the mere outline for this story for almost an entire year meticuloysly creating a history, time line, and hand drawn (if not well drawn) map, along with several pages of side notes and annotations for characters within what you will read. I began the idea for this trilogy five years ago at the age of 14. My main character's name you will find is Kellus, just as in Bakker's world. I find an irony in this because I hadn't read any of his work at that point. And before you begin jumping at me, while Bakker prefers Kellhus to remain behind the scenes and pulling the strings my character is by no means a puppet master and is as human as I possibly can create him to be, but as any writer knows characters sometimes have a mind of their own. This story is not going to spoonfeed you. I abhor treating my readers like idiots, so I refuse to spoonfeed, and I refuse to mitigate any part of my imagination in order to make things simpler. To give you all fair warning if you do not like being dropped face first into a story where the history is alluded to, action happens often and sometimes without known cause then you will not enjoy how I write. This isn't meant to be pretty, this isn't meant to hold your hand and point out every single detail so that you understand it perfectly. This is for you to question motives, to wonder why things happened the way they did, and for you to enjoy. You don't need to understand it fully to enjoy it. If, however, you feel like reading a twenty page timeline that I have saved to my desk top by all means send me a message and your email and I will gladly send it to you. Which brings me to my last point, please DO NOT post critiques, comments or questions on this thread. If you have comments, critiques and questions message me. I wish for this story to flow without the interuption of ten responses pushing the story pages back. This is my first shot at writing this, so please do message comments, but I hope you enjoy this because this will eventually be my life's work.
In the shadow of the predawn the city stands on a hill. Slowly the clouds gather, darkening the already smoke filled air while the alarm bells of the city cry out in vain. It has taken almost two thousand years to reach this point. To reach this epitome of defeat. And for man, their greatest hope, and greatest failure has arrived on the wings of a storm. And still the bells cry out, and yet not answer comes, no answer except inhuman cries from the fields that stretch out beyond the city. The fields that now twist and writher with masses of Kregs, Gremli and Trolls. And still the bells cry only to be slowly silenced as the approach is felt. The approach of God that has been long dead. The men of the Holy City gather along the bloodstained walls. For years they have been besieged by their unholy enemy. The priests have yammered at them about sin and the unholiness within themselves, yet the priests have long lain silent in their own blood, killed by their fellow, fear maddened, citizens. And now, after years of a running battle that began in the far away Northern Wastes, to the walls of Kathlon and Harthane, to ancient Sareot, through the Werelite Mountains and Forest, on the edges of Roit and driven into the heart of Kildum, until only the Holy City remained. Tywane, Jewel of the World. And still the cries ring out. The screeches and babblings of the devils that surround the city, now painted crimson and brown from the fresh and old blood that stains it. The men of Tywane gather for their final stand, and in their midst is their White King. A king spoken of in legends and myths of the past, yet now he stands with his white sword, Destinine, which glitters with White Magic. Destinine, forged in centuries past, imbued with ancient spells, and now their last hope. The hope of men, and the world in which the live. Silence. The men strain to hear the slightest sound from their foe. But all is silence. This, they know, is the coming of the God. The God that died ages out of reckoning, a God driven mad from it's own death and torment. A God raised to live and die simotaneously. A God to devour the world. The men see the God, it looks nothing more than a man. It walks toward the gate of Tywane and stops a few hundred paces away, raising both hands it speaks, "Men of Tywane. Men of Kildum, of Roit, of Ansurim, of Ferlenda, of Redina, of Kaelit, hear me!" and the men listen, "You shall not stand this day, the world of men is at an end! And you are the last of them!" The voice has no true sound. It is spoken to each mind in a voice of fear that each man creates. And when the last word is spoken, the gate is sundered, shattered beyond all repair. And the enemy on the field rises like a terrible flood of death. And so, all hope is lost. But, the White King and his guard drive into the enemy, drive the maddened beast to their graves and eternal slumbers. They drive to the Dead God. The hack, slash and sacrifice themselves until only the White King remains face to face with the Dead God. Destinine glitters in the clouded predawn. A predawn that reminds the world of night, of despair, of death and darkness. Still, the White Blade glitters as it arcs gracefully toward the "heart" of the Dead God...
Anurite Kellus awoke with a start trying to shake of the nightmare that had haunted his mind of late. And as with every awakening from this mightmare he thought, My blood has survived. The thought was tantalizing to him, but, it had the ring of truth, so he never questioned it further. Rising from his low pallet he crossed to the window and gazed out at the endless forest that encircled the Ring Mountains and his home, the fortress of Heil; Sanctuary in some long lost tongue of his ancestors.
wow. this really does sound like the beginning of a saga!
This, they know, is the coming of the God. The God that died ages out of reckoning, a God driven mad from it's own death and torment. A God raised to live and die simotaneously. A God to devour the world.
Oh wow Wolf, your writing is beautiful. I can feel the emotion you put into it, and everything goes so well together. You really are a fantastic writer, and I am sure that this will end up on book shelves someday.
After contacting Strop I have realized that posting on AG is highly inconvenient in the fact that I will not be able to post without interuption from other users. That being said this work WILL continue, but I have now created a blog where I will be posting all updates along with a pronunciation guide. I apologize for this, but if you wish to follow me I would greatly appreciate all feed back and comments. You can find the link to my blog and continued work the link will be on my profile.
Well folks (any of those interested) I have updated my first chapter and I hope you enjoy it. If you wish to leave comments please do so on this thread or on my profile. The link can be accessed below or on my profile. That is all.
