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- Scrolls of Leviatar - My book. Sample Chapters
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| Scrolls of Leviatar - My book. Sample Chapters; Currently being edited | |
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| Topic Started: Jan 27 2009, 04:17 AM (96 Views) | |
| Bronnen | Jan 27 2009, 04:17 AM Post #1 |
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Like the description says. I've recently found an editor and it's undergoing heavy editing so changed will occur quite often. I'll be posting some chapters in here for your pleasure. Be away however, it's quite dark and is most likely not for most readers. Here is the introduction and first chapter for your pleasure. Let me know if some things confuse you, the fonts and things like that might not all transfer over. Some things will be in italics and bolded and I can't catch them all so let me know if things should be. The Scrolls of Leviatar Prologue His name was Death, and yet I called him “Lord”. It was by his command that I wrote these annals. It is in his honour that I tell humanity just how its fall happened. Even in his madness he never lost hope in humanity. My lord always believed that they would do what was right, that they would be the ones to stop the onrushing tide of darkness; alas he did not survive long enough to see his beliefs shattered. I suppose it is a good thing that he died before his hopes were extinguished, a good thing that the noble creature I called Lord died before his hope turned to anger, yet I still feel sorrow, for if he had survived perhaps he could have changed a few things. He was shackled by the gods, cursed, and his mind broken. He was corrupted, tortured and even given false hopes, yet he never stopped believing that what he did was right. He never stopped giving his love and advice to those who would listen. Those that would stop and listen rarely saw past his madness, and those that did see past the madness never took him seriously, never believed he just wanted to help them. Such is always the folly of humankind. It does make me glad I am not human, that I am one of the Draegar; we are free of such folly. My people do not have contempt or greed, something that is the human failure, but I realize I have wandered off my chosen course. What you will read in these annals is not what I have seen, or even heard of; it is what my Lord had told me. What he dictated to me. Some of the facts may be wrong, but when he told me these histories he was his most lucid in decades. Before I begin to tell you the story, I feel I must explain what has been happening for the past two centuries before the events that I will explain to you. Ever since the rise of the one we now call “Berdehul” (Berdehul means “The Harbinger” in the language of my people) the world has crumbled and fallen into a state of corruption. Cities and villages have been burned, entire kingdoms erased from the continent, and even the great bulwark against evil, the sentient creature commonly named “Fendelar” or “Safety” has begun to fall. Fendelar had stood strong, holding the evil at bay for thousands of years before it began to collapse. Berdehul was simply too strong for it, too powerful for it to hold at bay. The great bulwark had begun to recede in itself, to better survive the darkness that had come, and it began to take with it the connection to the gods. We cannot call upon the power that gods give us without Fendelar, it was their creation, and it was created for that purpose. Thousands of beings began to panic as they lost their arts, and yet no one knew what was causing it, not until Berdehul finally struck and revealed himself. He arrived with armies, armies not of this world, not of any world, but summoned. The great dark lord called them from a rift in the fabric of our reality. No one knows if these creatures exist before we call them from the rift, but it does not matter. When Berdehul struck, he came with thousands, hundreds of thousands, perhaps even millions. These creatures could not die and they existed only to kill. The kingdoms of our land had no defence, no way to fight the hordes of beings that Berdehul had called forth, and so they fell. Those that surrendered were taken and transformed into gruesome beasts to serve him; those that fought were simply erased. Nothing remained of the great cities, the majestic citadels or even the remote villages; they were all destroyed, no matter the outcome of their kingdoms, so much the pity. Humans, for all their failings, make the most beautiful cities and citadels imaginable. The Dwarves, Elves, Trokla, Giants and even the winged beings we call Aerlar cannot match the majesty of human building. They create buildings that stretch hundreds of meters high, almost like they are trying to reach the sky, to reach the gods and speak to them. These towering monuments to humanity were not the greatest example of their ingenuity, but they were the easiest to see. There were smaller examples, less subtle examples of their excellence in building, but I digress once again. I fear it is a symbol of my advanced age; my mind is easily distracted and wanders into itself from time to time, regardless of the occasion. The kingdoms fell, and a new empire rose from the bloodied ashes. A kingdom of darkness and evil. For two hundred years now, Berdehul has ruled with an animosity surpassing even those of the Great Evils. The Great Evils were those that invaded thousands of years ago, little is known about them other than artefacts that have been left behind when their civilisation collapsed. It is thought they were an advanced race not of this world that came to enslave us, but I am being distracted by my thoughts once again. Since his empire rose, humans have been hunted down, and those that have not been killed have been transformed into his gruesome creatures, to serve him with a fanatical devotion. Where there were once millions of humans living in thousands of cities, there are hundreds of thousands now, living in the wilderness, trying to survive, hiding from the hordes that Berdehul sends after them. There was much speculation as to why he was killing the humans, and the other races were more or less being ignored, and my Lord had given me the reason. The Weavers, a family of humans that have managed to save humanity time and time again. The last time was when the Great Evils ruled. The world has forgotten this fact, and my Lord was the only one with the knowledge of this. They saved humanity. Destiny seemed to adore them and lead them in a path where they were revered for centuries, until the evil they vanquished was forgotten. The Weavers, unremarkable in every way but for their eyes. Eyes so black it seemed they are more evil than those they vanquish. The gods played a cruel trick on these men and women when they created them. I apologize once again for my distractions. Before I do the same once again, I will begin to write the annals, to tell the story of these Weavers. My name is Learal Der'Nagoth and this is year 594 of the Dark Empire. Chapter One: The Invasion And so they came from the Darkness Thousands of them, and blood followed them. Cities crumbled and fell, most without a fight Berdehul has risen and we tremble. Athelor the Historian, First year of the Dark Empire “Jar, I smell smoke.” The voice came out from the trees, followed shortly by his brother. Grant was such a disappointment in Jar’s eyes. Though his brother was seven years older, he never took responsibility for his life. At the age of twenty five, Jar had been working as a farmer and a tree-cutter for over seven years now. Grant had never worked a day in his life, and never would. As Jar looked upon his brother, his lips curled in a sneer. You pathetic worm, he thought as his brother approached nervously, his hands shaking at the slightest sound, how did our parents ever give birth to someone as weak and pathetic as you? His brother had always confused him. Grant had been given every opportunity in life. He had been educated by scholars, taught music by the few minstrels that came to their village, and he had even been taught strategy by the rebel generals that used their village as a staging area. Yet he did nothing. Grant spent his days reading the few books he could, cloistered inside their home and rarely wandering outside. It had taken four days of constant nagging and urging for Jar to convince his brother to accompany him into the forest. Jar had told him he wanted his opinion on a new tree he had seen, but in reality all he wanted was to end the miserable existence he called “Grant”. Jar hefted his well used axe as his brother came closer to the fire, waiting for the perfect moment. “Of course you smell smoke, this is a fire and the wind is blowing towards you.” Jar stood up and added another log to the smouldering charcoals, and stoked the fire into blazing once again. Grant shook his head, though it was hard to tell if it was by will or just a nervous reaction. “No, it’s not from here. It smells faint, like it’s coming from the village.” Jar laughed, but looked towards the village anyway. His brother was taller was him, but even he could notice flickering lights in the distance. “You’re right, it looks like there’s a fire, but where are the alarms? If a house was on fire the alarms would be ringing. Maybe we should head back to town.” As he finished, he looked back towards his brother who seemed as if he would burst into tears at any moment. His black eyes were already watering, and not from the smoke. Grant began to shake even more at the suggestion. “What if it’s an invasion? What if Berdehul has finally come to get us?” Jar burst out into a loud chuckling at the expense of his brother. When the rolling laughter subsided, he looked at his brother. “Grant if the Dark Lord was going to attack us, he would have done it before we were born. His borders have extended past our land for decades now. There’s no way he just decided, “Lets wipe out Willow brook today.” Be a man and think for once. Besides, there would be alarms ringing right now if the village was being invaded. Chances are it’s just the bell tower burning down. They’re gonna help though to put out the fire, so let’s go.” Hitching the axe to his shoulder, he started walking to the village, not even looking back to see if his brother was following. Half way to the village, he heard the crunching sounds of his brother following him, and sure enough when he looked back, there was Grant, the front of his pants already wet from his fear. Jar looked away in disgust and swore when he realized he missed his perfect chance to finally kill his brother and end his miserable existence. Next time, he promised himself. Next time I’ll take his life the first chance I get. As they continued walking, he became increasingly aware of heat making him sweat. He wiped his forehead with a loose sleeve, and noticed something interesting. There was no sound, not of birds, not of his brother behind him, and there was no crackle of heat. Thinking he had gone deaf, he began to speak out loud, and was surprised to hear his voice, and his brother’s reply. He took the axe in both hands, and hit it against a tree, but yet there was no resounding crack of the axe splitting wood. Jar was confused, and his confusion only grew as the trees broke and he could see the bell tower. The bronze bell was reflecting the fire of the town below, and even though it swayed back and forth, Jar could see the townspeople running around on the ground. His mouth opened wide, and a small croak escaped. He could not yet see the town, but a cold chill descended over his body as he watched the flames reflect off the bronze bell. It was at that moment that he realized the alarm bell was ringing, but no sound was escaping. The army pledged to protect the town of Willow Brook was five thousand strong, and was positioned in a camp around half a mile away. As Jar thought of that he came to a realization. “It’s an invasion; the army won’t come to help the town because they can’t hear the alarm. It’s magic. Terlor has changed the air so sound cannot pass through, but that’s impossible. Fendelar is supposed to be on the other side of the continent, Terlor isn’t supposed to be able to even touch anything outside the radius of the tower. It’s just not possible.” Realizing that he was speaking to himself, and could not hear his brother whimpering, he looked back to see Grant lying on the ground, the smell of his fear rich in the air. Jar ignored his brother and began to run towards the town, the sickly smell of charred flesh making him retch with each step. As he crested the wall of dirt that surrounded the town, it finally dawned on him. They’ve come. The only way that Terlor has been used is if Berdehul or one of his lieutenants is here. It doesn’t matter if the army comes. We have no hope. I need to run, run and escape. And yet, despite his thoughts, Jar kept on running towards the town, his chest heaving and his axe held tightly in both hands. He was roughly 40 yards from the town when it happened. A wave of creatures headed towards him. There were a dozen of them, and he knew his life was over. He would be captured and turned into one of them, devoid of thought and will, a mindless slave subject to the whims and orders of Berdehul or his lieutenants. Determined to avoid that fate, he flung his axe on the ground, and threw himself down after. As he fell, he saw the reflected glint of the fire on the axe head, and the dark shapes of the creatures approaching him. His body hit the ground at the same moment that his neck hit the axe, yet strangely he felt no pain. Jar tried to reach up and found that his limbs no longer listened to him, and he smiled. You aren’t going to get me Dark Lord. I’m safe. His eyesight began to grow dim as a vaguely human shape approached him, its hands glowing a bright blue. |
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| Nubi | Jan 27 2009, 10:40 PM Post #2 |
 
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What a cold brother.
That sentence just confused the heck outta me. It is as if you are saying that Grant, a 7 year old, is taller than Jar, whom is apparently 25. It also has 'was' repeated in a hard to understand manner. Otherwise I enjoyed it, although Laeral sure digressed a lot XD . Your choice words had be going from start to finish. It was enriched with a broad vocabulary that I could learn from. I had to force myself not to mentally point out the European spelling on some words as incorrect. And congratz on getting an editor. |
"I'm sure that there is no meaning in this world... But isn't that great? That means you can find your own." - Felicia (Sora no Woto)
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| Bronnen | Jan 28 2009, 03:33 AM Post #3 |
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If you'll read it again, it's seven years older, not seven years old. Learal is supposed to be an aging historian with nothing left in life but that history, so she's kind of senile. Edited by Bronnen, Jan 28 2009, 03:55 AM.
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| Bronnen | Feb 2 2009, 11:45 PM Post #4 |
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Well, apparently Twilight is better than this, and yet all but PW that have read it have disagreed. So it gets bumped. |
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