Gial
June 15th, 2006, 04:48 PM
This is a fantasy "novel", if you will, that I'm attempting to start. I have a plot ready and a plan for the first part of the novel but the rest is a blank slate, so hopefully some of you can help me along. Here is Part 1 of the prologue; I want to get a feel for the response before I post anything else:
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The stars gave barely enough light for the old man to make out what was ahead of him as he stumbled through the undergrowth of the woodlands. His legs burned like fire and his chest was beginning to ache from the effort of running up and down the hills of the Salira Plains. The pain in his bad knee had finally subsided to a dull throbbing. He never would have imagined that he was capable of such vigorous physical stress, but adrenaline and desperation coursed through his veins. Allowing the grief to take hold now would be a grave mistake. Already he was wondering if he had chosen the wrong path.
At the pace he was going, he knew he could not be very far from the city. He was unsure which direction he was going, but southwest was his best estimate. Never before in his life had he traveled outside the walls of Shanur, and he prayed that somewhere ahead of him there was safety. That prayer, he worried, would most likely turn out to be futile. The Fenori were renowned for their determination and success. Surely they could be outwitted.
As he tore his way through bushes and branches, realization of his position finally struck. If he managed to escape the Fenori’s hunt, he would have to leave his life behind and begin a new one. But how much of his life did he even have left? The name Alanor Essea would disappear, fade into the history books as the traitor to the Vellidai bloodline, to Logoss itself. Would he ever be safe? Would he ever be able to rest his eyes for a moment without worrying that the Fenori were behind him? They had never lost their prey before.
Still, he had his own methods of survival. He had not become Bansil Vellidai’s advisor merely because of his wisdom. Neither of them had ever said it aloud, but he had doubled as Bansil’s personal guard. His power in magic was unmatched in Shanur as far as he knew, and the Fenori relied solely on their muscles and their claws. Against two or three he might have a chance, but how many would Bansil send to hunt him down? His betrayal was not one that Bansil would easily forget, if it were possible for him to forget it at all.
His thoughts were brought back to reality in one abrupt moment as his foot caught on a root jutting up from the ground. His momentum flung him onto the ground with a sickening thump. For a second, he lay in the dirt, trying to catch his breath. The root has twisted his ankle, and because he was no longer focusing on the path ahead of him, each bruise and cut and injury came flaring back in one painful instant. He shakily pushed himself up to a sitting position and leaned back against the trunk of the same tree that had brought him down. Stretching his leg out, agony flashed through his bad knee in waves, numbing the pain of his other wounds for a short time.
It seemed an eternity before he managed to push the pain of everything into the back of his mind; the pain of his injuries as well as the pain of knowing he had thrown away everything he had worked to accomplish. Anguish finally overwhelmed him, and he broke down into a fit of sobs. It had been years since he cried, and the rush of emotions was foreign to him. Had he made a mistake? A few hours before he would have told himself that what he was doing was for the good of the nation, for the good of the people.
And what if he had not acted? Well, he did not want to consider that. He was doing the right thing. There was no other option. He had to take what he had stolen and hide it somewhere Bansil would never look, perhaps bury it. He could toss it into the Sushar Waters or hide in the mines of the Corenthir Mountains, if he managed to survive that long.
Gritting his teeth again, he grasped a branch of the tree behind him and pulled himself up. Pain ignited in his knee all over again, but he bore through it and shoved it into the depths of his mind. There were more important matters at hand than pain. He began to make his way in the same direction he had been traveling, limping over stones and plants. He had made the right choice.
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The stars gave barely enough light for the old man to make out what was ahead of him as he stumbled through the undergrowth of the woodlands. His legs burned like fire and his chest was beginning to ache from the effort of running up and down the hills of the Salira Plains. The pain in his bad knee had finally subsided to a dull throbbing. He never would have imagined that he was capable of such vigorous physical stress, but adrenaline and desperation coursed through his veins. Allowing the grief to take hold now would be a grave mistake. Already he was wondering if he had chosen the wrong path.
At the pace he was going, he knew he could not be very far from the city. He was unsure which direction he was going, but southwest was his best estimate. Never before in his life had he traveled outside the walls of Shanur, and he prayed that somewhere ahead of him there was safety. That prayer, he worried, would most likely turn out to be futile. The Fenori were renowned for their determination and success. Surely they could be outwitted.
As he tore his way through bushes and branches, realization of his position finally struck. If he managed to escape the Fenori’s hunt, he would have to leave his life behind and begin a new one. But how much of his life did he even have left? The name Alanor Essea would disappear, fade into the history books as the traitor to the Vellidai bloodline, to Logoss itself. Would he ever be safe? Would he ever be able to rest his eyes for a moment without worrying that the Fenori were behind him? They had never lost their prey before.
Still, he had his own methods of survival. He had not become Bansil Vellidai’s advisor merely because of his wisdom. Neither of them had ever said it aloud, but he had doubled as Bansil’s personal guard. His power in magic was unmatched in Shanur as far as he knew, and the Fenori relied solely on their muscles and their claws. Against two or three he might have a chance, but how many would Bansil send to hunt him down? His betrayal was not one that Bansil would easily forget, if it were possible for him to forget it at all.
His thoughts were brought back to reality in one abrupt moment as his foot caught on a root jutting up from the ground. His momentum flung him onto the ground with a sickening thump. For a second, he lay in the dirt, trying to catch his breath. The root has twisted his ankle, and because he was no longer focusing on the path ahead of him, each bruise and cut and injury came flaring back in one painful instant. He shakily pushed himself up to a sitting position and leaned back against the trunk of the same tree that had brought him down. Stretching his leg out, agony flashed through his bad knee in waves, numbing the pain of his other wounds for a short time.
It seemed an eternity before he managed to push the pain of everything into the back of his mind; the pain of his injuries as well as the pain of knowing he had thrown away everything he had worked to accomplish. Anguish finally overwhelmed him, and he broke down into a fit of sobs. It had been years since he cried, and the rush of emotions was foreign to him. Had he made a mistake? A few hours before he would have told himself that what he was doing was for the good of the nation, for the good of the people.
And what if he had not acted? Well, he did not want to consider that. He was doing the right thing. There was no other option. He had to take what he had stolen and hide it somewhere Bansil would never look, perhaps bury it. He could toss it into the Sushar Waters or hide in the mines of the Corenthir Mountains, if he managed to survive that long.
Gritting his teeth again, he grasped a branch of the tree behind him and pulled himself up. Pain ignited in his knee all over again, but he bore through it and shoved it into the depths of his mind. There were more important matters at hand than pain. He began to make his way in the same direction he had been traveling, limping over stones and plants. He had made the right choice.