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(26) Great Elder of Namek
Join Date: Oct 2006
Location: The Black Tower.
Posts: 5,452
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Re: Writers of MFG / General Discussion
Well... since I'm not quite sure what exactly you want, I'm going to go ahead and provide two examples:
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Shadows of Light - Prologue
What do you think of when you think of a Demon? Big, hairy, snarling, fanged beasts with bad breath, bad hygiene, and bad manners, right? What about when you think of Angels? Sweet, cute, innocent, slender, pure, and beautiful young women with shimmering hair, lively eyes, and all around pleasant to be with? Yeah, that's what I thought. That's how most people see it. And, really, it's not that bad of a stereotype. There certainly are a number on each side that fit those descriptions to the letter.
But they're not what this story is about. I have played witness to a tale that unfolded right under the noses of the general population. A thing so massive it shook the foundation of the entire supernatural order. And, as always, mankind remains, on the whole, utterly clueless. Clueless about the near apocalypse that was averted with only moments to spare, just a few days ago. Mankind is always clueless, going about its existence so sure of its place in the cosmos. Not even the gods are sure of that, so how conceited it is that they should think that they know.
But that's Humanity for you. They think they know everything but they're just a bunch of clueless, bumbling, morons. They were clueless thousands of years ago when The Great Falling occurred, though they have picked up on pieces of it since. But that's the exception. They remain clueless about the true reasons thousands of them are dead. They remain clueless about how close they truly came to annihilation. Clueless about the oddity of their very existence. And clueless about the absurd situation that saved their asses from the fires of Hell.
I know what you're thinking. You don't think I do, but I do. You're thinking I don't like Humans, that I've got some sort of prejudice towards them cause of what I've said. Well, I don't hate them or dislike them. Not really. I do think they're moronic, but more often than not they prove me right. I also think they're arrogant, but that's not to say there aren't others that are worse. And I do give credit where credit is due. Humans, unlike so many of us otherworldly types, can, on occasion, admit that they were wrong about something. They can grow and change and become something more than they once were. You wont see many Angels or Demons doing something like that, I can assure you. For beings that live forever they can be an awfully stubborn lot.
But here I go, rambling on and on about things that aren't entirely important at the moment. Some of this you may already know anyway, and some will come up during my tale. Ah, yes, so it's back to that now, isn't it? The entire reason I started talking to you. You're probably wondering just how I know so much, aren't you? Granted, you don't even know what it is I know yet, but I know curiosity when I see it. The answer is simple, really. I am a Demon.
A very special and unique Demon for I have the gift of Omni-Sight. I can see and know anything that is occurring anywhere in all of reality. I can't see the future, or the past, only the present. And I see, know of, and remember everything that happens anywhere in existence. It is through me that, a little over ten thousand years ago, we all learned of the way things are. Back then I was but an Angel, one who sided with Lucifer in The Great Falling.
The classification of 'Demon' on me, and those like me, is primarily superficial. By that I mean we don't really have any Demonic blood or origins to us but because we have fallen out of favor with the 'higher ups' and now live in the Underworld we are considered the same as the Demons that have always resided here. That, of course, doesn't mean that we are still physically the same as the Angels that haven't fallen either. Being in this place changes you, fundamentally. Your form shifts to match your mind here. Most of us have lost that 'angelic glow' though a few are even brighter now. Just goes to show that you don't have to be evil to disagree with the gods, eh?
Oh, there I go again, getting off on a tangent. Sorry bout that, bad habit. So, where exactly was I? Bah, I can't remember now. I'll just start over. You see, it's like this. Just a few days ago an event that's starting to be called 'The Great Change' took place. Or rather, came to an end. It actually started thousands of years ago with The Great Falling but those details aren't entirely important. And the ones that are I can enlighten you to as needed. No, this tale's main story starts far more recently than that, just over five months ago in fact.
Well, it started about two years ago, really. But things finally started coming together into something major five months ago. And it all centers around a Human girl. It's always about a girl, isn't it? But this isn't your typical 'about a girl' kind of story, even ignoring all the super natural hoo-doo going on in it. You'll see, you'll see. Anyway, the girl of our story is Amara. Amara Jade Patterson. Eighteen years old, independent, and rather unique. And on top of that, a damn good kid, especially considering the nasty childhood she had. But that's a matter for later.
I suppose, though, that I should give you a little background on Ms. Patterson before jumping in, eh? I'll just give you the 'highlights' so to speak. She was born on April 1st, 2000 A.D., yes, that's right, April 1st. Rather fitting, in a way. Like a cosmic practical joke on everyone. I always thought the cosmos needed a sense of humor. Anyway, I'm getting sidetracked again, back to the point at hand. You see, even Amara's very existence was unpleasant. Her mother was only 14 when she was born and her father... well, he was in his mid fifties and died in prison for rape and attempted murder, among other things, crimes from Amara's 'creation', if you will.
She then spent 12 years in foster care, going from one broken family to the next. The poor kid couldn't catch a break no how. Everyone who took her in was abusive, in one fashion or another. As were many of the kids at the orphanages at which she stayed when between families. But, finally, she found some luck, landed with a good family, if a little... shall we say, bible-centric. Even got herself a brother and a sister, also adopted by the same family, and a little older than her.
Amara, though, wasn't one for religion, god, or the bible. Not with her life. And good family or not, she still stood out like a big purple ostrich at school, what with it being a Christian school. But luck came to her again and her family moved into the big city where the nearest Christian school was out of their price range and so public school it was. And that is where it begins. That is where our young Amara met Ivosa. Er, sorry, slip of the tongue. Ivosa is what I know her by here in hell. But on Earth she was known as Lilith Marry Harrison. A student at East Ashton High.
She's what we call a "Dark Angel". A fallen Angel that has undergone very few physical changes. Her hair and wings have turned black, and her eyes red, but she still maintains that 'Heavenly Glow'. She is one of our agents on Earth, one of our own working toward our salvation. Not just the salvation of Demons but of Angels as well, and even that of the gods. Salvation at the cost of Human lives. But things changed when she met Amara. Oh boy, did they ever change.
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Hush
The Prologue
The sun, which normally was at its zenith, was completely hidden behind the three moons that rotated around the solitary planet of Chrysanth. There was no light to be seen; people called the natural wonder the triple-eclipse and it was dutifully named. Just before the last moon, Kor, blocked the last ray of sunshine, the people of the planet prepared for the darkness that would follow. The land was bathed in a reddish glow that was characteristic of the final moments of prosperity and peace. Had the people of Chrysanth known that an invasion was coming at them in their ritual darkness, they might have avoided the massacre that followed the silence. The red-glow dimmed to a warm blood red as the last moon shifted to its position to consume the planet in complete darkness for the next 34 hours. Beyond the moon blockade lay a large fleet of ships, armed and ready to swathe the land in the same blood red that the sun had bathed the planet in just before it took retreat behind the multiple moons.
For a moment there was complete silence in every city, the triple-eclipse was a sacred event to those on Chrysanth. The silence was impenetrable and marked the honoring of those buried in the darkness of the earth— those that were never to speak again in the physical realm. Every head in Chrysanth was bowed, every pair of eyes closed, every mind fixated on honoring their dead.
A loud whistling noise broke the silence after a few moments, followed by an echoing explosion that was only enhanced by the holy quiet. Afterwards only chaos resided. Most could not see who was attacking them, even as their body was disintegrated by a blast so strong it took out sectors of villages and towns at a time. In smaller villages the silence resumed as most died honoring the dead, not knowing that they would soon follow the same fate. The eerie silence that followed the continuous blasts was pierced by the moans of the dying, the cries of the lost, and the screams of the ravaged.
The main cities took up arms against their dark enemies, trying to launch a counterattack as the Muin dropped their people down to finish the job by hand. Beams of light from large fixtures on tall buildings spun around slowly like a top, declaring them as safe havens as well as perfect targets. One by one those that collected in the towers to be protected by their already frantic and disorganized government were crushed under explosions of concrete, steel and sheets of glass.
There was no resisting the perfectly planned attack; there was no escaping it either. Those that did resist were cut down without a second thought, and those that tried to escape were treated just as horrifically. Years after, most people were grateful for the complete darkness during that time— the bodies that littered the ground were mangled in ways that words couldn’t describe.
That night the dead honored the dead. Those that lived through the ordeal remembered the event as the starting point of the 100 year war between the scant forces of the Chrysanthians and the ruthless Muin; and the steep slope that Chrysanth tumbled down in utter silence.
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Prologue: The Blade Reavers
“Impossible! Impossible! Impossible!” Were the only thoughts that crossed the young woman’s mind as the cold steel pushed against the skin of her neck.
“Why… how is it… there isn’t supposed to be any crime… there can’t be any crime!” Her numb mind thoroughly searched for an explanation of what was happening. Images flashed in her head, her grandmother showing her a news bulletin that was over a hundred years old now, the government announcing that ‘Finally, crime had been thoroughly and positively extinguished from society.’ And indeed, noone had even heard of a crime happen as long as she could remember… so why… how?
“Are you done spacing out, bitch?” The cold, harsh voice of her attacker broke the trail of her thoughts. With a shiver, she went back to the frightening reality – she had been walking on one of the ‘perfectly safe streets’ alone, and then a black-cloaked man about double her size had assaulted her, pointing a knife at her throat. She wanted to vomit.
“Look, just give me your damn money and I won’t hurt you!” The man said, impatience flooding his voice, which sounded almost… desperate. The dagger pressed harder against her skin, drawing a trickle of blood. But she could simply not… accept the idea of a crime happening. It was… against everything she had ever been taught to believe. She was paralyzed.
“Bah!” The man yelled, and she felt a sudden jolt of pain stabbing her from her left temple – she found herself kneeling on the floor, caressing her throbbing head. She heard something being ripped off from her left side, as the man took her purse. “I told you, I just wanted the damn money.” And with that, the man ran off, away from her limited field of vision.
The frightening sound of metal grinding against flesh pierced her ears, prompting her to look upwards. The man who had robbed her was standing still, stiff… too stiff. Behind him she could discern three other forms. It took her a few seconds to realize that the thief’s body was only held upright by one of their arms. Once the unseen person let go, it dropped on the floor, limp and with his own knife protruding from his neck.
The three figures came into sight. One was a tall female, lean but with well-toned muscles as far as she could tell. She had long blonde hair that reached almost down to her waist, and bright green eyes. She was tall, even compared to her two companions. She couldn’t be more than in her twenties, at best, but she had been the one who had killed the thief with such ease and without a sound.
The other two were men, rather plain in appearance compared to the beautiful young woman that was accompanying them, one nearly as tall as her, with dark short black hair and deep black eyes, the other shorter, with a more muscular build, and an intense blue gaze. He had shoulder-length dark brown hair. All three wore dark black cloaks that concealed almost their entire bodies from the neck to their ankles, with large hoods – even though none was wearing his now. She could not be sure, but the woman on the ground thought she could see a glistering black tatoo that resembled a giant bird on the shorter’s man wrist, as he moved his hand a little.
“Th… thank you…” Was all she managed to mutter, as the three closed in on her. “But what… who are you…? Did you know what was happening?” She said, as she managed to regain some consciousness of the situation.
The blonde-haired woman bent next to her and caught the woman’s chin in her left hand, lifting her head upwards. She had a… strange face, like she never changed that half-smiling, bright expression she was wearing now.
“Pff.” Her taller companion said. “We could at least tell her. People like to know things they shouldn’t, and it is of no importance anyway.”
“Fine.” The woman said, her voice as crystal-like as her face. “Why don’t you explain it, then?”
“We are called ‘The Blade Reavers’.” The other man said, in a monotone voice, as if he was reciting facts from a book. “We are employed by the government to destroy crime where it happens, and vanquish all evidence that it ever happened. Get it now?”
“But… but…” The woman mumbled, as the kneeling Blade Reaver’s face leaned closer to her own. “Crime… there can’t be… why…”
“You people are idiots.” The girl with the angelic voice said softly. “A world without crime… don’t make me laugh. I can’t believe anyone bought that in the first place.”
“So now, you can understand what is going to happen here…” The shorter man said, his voice rough and emotionless.
“Why…” Was the woman’s final thought, as her head was severed off her shoulders with a sickening noise.
“Let’s go.” The female Blade Reaver said, using the headless woman’s dress to wipe some blood off her cloak. All three turned around, and walked into the night.
But the boy hidden in the shadows behind a trash can did not move. He did not move even when another man arrived at the scene a few minutes later, cloaked in a delicate black suit, and used a device like an old fire extinguisher on the bodies that produced a fire-like substance, which completely evaporated all traces of the corpses. He just hid there, biting his lip, tears flowing freely from his eyes.
“Big sister…” He muttered, but his eyes were not focused on the spot where the headless woman’s body was lying.
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Revenge
In a land covered in sand, one organization ruled--in simple English, they were called “The Rulers.” It was simple and straight to the point, telling exactly what the organization did. They were the saviors, saving whomever needed to be saved; they decided the punishment for those who had to be dealt with; they hunted whichever fool thought they could get away from their crimes. No one objected if they thought it was wrong—if they did, they would be next.
A merchant was the first tester of this. When he was told of an assassination, he commented on it being “the epitome of injustice.” The Rulers were informed on the remark and hunted the man, assassinating him as well, replacing him with one of their own men in such a manner that no one had even noticed the original merchant wasn't the current.
One person noticed, a little boy at the age of twelve, the man's son, who lay awake at night in wonder for days on end. Only after a week had he realized that he was alone. He didn't cry away his days, however, like most would have done, as if he knew what exactly he was going to do, or what to do.
The next four years were harder for the boy than any other time in his life, having to find his own food and home for each night—his father's home was taken away when the boy couldn't pay the rent, even if he was a child with no parents. He picked up various skills during the time, almost like he was training for something big. In due time, of course, “it” happened.
One night, the teenage boy found himself falling asleep in a small alley, when he heard scurrying from the entrance of the alleyway. His years of solitude finally payed off, as he was able to take out the group of men who seemed to be targeting him, without killing them. The men were dressed in full black, with a red emblem on the left breast of the long cloak they wore—a weighing scale, the right side raised higher than the left. He had torn the emblem from one of the cloaks and left that night, with a new objective in mind.
Another four years, gone by like they were nothing. The boy was now a man, with his own home, though, the home he lived in was owned by others, with no money ever due for rent. Instead, the man had to pay with something else, the same thing that killed his father. Hatim, or what he was called now, had joined the Rulers. Night and day before the men attacked, he trained, honing his skills in various areas of combat. The Rulers didn't waste any time in accepting Hatim, after he hunted them down, demanded to join, and passed a series of test.
Now he believes his time has come, for his plan to be set into motion.
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Prologue - Where Jackals Lie
A tired face stared at him, reflected in the silver surface that hung on the wall. He had had no sleep. Strands of deep brown hair fell into his face, no matter how many times a damp hand pushed them back, revealing the extent of his pale flesh. There were no lines of worry that travelled his face, and no contours made by scars, yet something detracted from the otherwise young face; a simple element that not even he could place his finger on, and one that had nothing to do with the dark circles that seemed to grow larger every day, hanging beneath his yellow eyes. Yellow; a colour he had seen far too often associated with criminals and madmen, and yet was never associated with the wise...only the psychotic. Maybe he was, indeed, one too. Perhaps it was his drive to break free of the city's dark underbelly, to travel the streets freely without a gun lodged in the back pocket of his jeans that had, at last, forced him to the point of madness; his determination was not the kind of many people, who all gave up at the first signs of brooding danger, as they always had done.
He was twenty-five. He had spent twenty-five years in the city that most would say was ruled by the Devil himself - perhaps that much of it was true. Far fewer souls were liberated, and far more sent to purgatory: it was the murderers that killed one another, savage beasts, eliminating any competition that stood in their way as they battled to become the being who could slaughter at a whim. It did not matter much to him anymore. Those who did not kill, nor live in fear, simply existed, serving no purpose; strange though it was, they were both infamous, and unknown.
"And so another day in Hell begins..." His face, complete with the dark stubble that he could not be bothered to remove, turned towards the window for a second - seeing no light, though it was nearly 9.30 in the morning. Warhaven was not a light city; it was a single shade, the same monotonous grey-black. His apartment did not differ, but he had grown used to the lack of sunlight and abundance of darkness. Anyone that looked upon the male would call him somewhat slobbish, or lazy, as he dragged his body through the boxed hallway; he wore nothing on his torso, either immune to the cold, or simply too tired to care. His jeans were several sizes too large, ripped and torn in a way that told the one looking upon him that his body had met with concrete many times, held up by only a simple black leather belt. The kind of leather made in some description of sweatshop, that could be bought for a small amount of money in one retail outlet or another - in other words, not the kind of leather that came from cow hide. Those days were long gone.
He did not notice it at first, as he snatched a small packet of cigarettes from the battered table, seeming to stand on only two of its four legs. He lit one in such a fluid movement that it seemed almost as though he had not used the refillable silver lighter, usually stored in his left pocket. It was only then, as he turned towards the window, about to hang out of it in order to exhale the long drag of smoke he had just taken in, that he noticed it. The way in which he turned did not show any inkling of shock or surprise, almost as though he had expected the sight that met his eyes...he had not expected it at all. It was simply the indifference bred into him that caused him to react so peacefully to the body draped across his sofa. Nothing was written on the walls, or the pale stomach of the figure. No note could be found near any part of her anatomy - but her face was enough to tell him.
"Lydia..." He murmured softly, a single hand tracing the contours of her body, freshly shed blood covering his palm, running easily from her nude skin. He did not know the name of the culprit. He did not know whether they were male or female, nor if they were even human...he simply guessed, from the puncture marks left on her body. It was a sickening sight. The creature who had murdered her had not left its markings on her neck, or stomach, or even her legs - instead, they were trailed across her breast, and lower abdomen; obviously whatever had done this had wanted to have its fun with her, first, and apparently would take pleasure in torturing his eyes, too. He knew he must not turn away. It was the only cliche he truly knew of - never to turn his eye from something so torturous...it held far greater importance than to simply scar him.
He recalled the evening, only a week ago, when she had sat with him, and then laid; a pale and damaged-looking female, much like the body his hands were now covering, had opposed him, knowing her end would be soon. It was not as though he had paid much attention to her pleas...he had known Lydia far too well to think that she had actually been desperate for his help; very often, the female looked for sympathy, he had classed that night as the same scenario. He had tossed her aside with a little fun, in order to keep her quiet, completely ignoring the light, the energy, that had completely disappeared. He had known Lydia as an actress. He lowered his eyes for moments at a time, witnessing the gentle, if sparse, drip of blood, from her wrists and onto the pine flooring. The stain did not matter. It was the sheet extent of her injuries that took the male's attention the most. Not only were the savage bite marks and slashes across her chest and lower regions present, but also, several wounds cutting their way up her wrists; there were slashes to her neck, most just below her ears, and stretching down, to her collarbone. He noted, however, that her legs bore no injuries; they were splashed in the blood of the female, now beginning to dry, as had most elements of her figure...but they remained unharmed.
It was within a split second that he turned. He did not know how, nor why, but his half-smoked cigarette had landed upon the floor, causing the male to turn and tend to it. He glanced, almost frantically, for an open window, or some form of unseen cause for his cigarette to fly so suddenly from his mouth - there was none. With haste, he withdrew his lighter once again, this time setting light to two more of the small white sticks; in spite of his exhaustion, there had been a true call for nervousness, perhaps even panic, in the split second it had taken for the smouldering stick to find the floor. The male could even dare to say his hands shook a little, as he had hurried to retrive it.
His previous demeanour returning, halcyon amidst what otherwise seemed like chaos, the male turned on his knees...though a fragile, broken-looking body of a woman once his comrade did not meet him. Instead, the nude figure sat upright on the leather sofa, blood still running down her pale skin in places. There was no life in her now open eyes, but darkness seemed to emanate from her - it was unlike Lydia, though the male fought to remind himself that this was not Lydia. Lydia was dead. His limbs began shaking once more, eyes searching the room, perhaps; they rested, every so often, upon the cracked liquor cupboard in the corner, and a small pile of lewd magazines, then finally upon the computer which remained in a state of power after the previous night. None of these things were of any use to him right now. They were the everyday objects he utilised in either work, or play, not when confronted by the supposedly possessed body of his old accomplice.
"What is this?" He demanded, almost too clearly for someone shaking as he was. He was met with no answer. No ethereal breeze, nor hellish gales blew through the apartment, and any who walked in would regard it as another normal day...save the living corpse, situated upon the sofa. It was as his gaze travelled towards her eyes, making contact for the first time since he had found her body, that the voices began to murmur sweetly in his ear; every single one of them was familiar to him, yet none took on a face or body. They simply stirred the fragments of memories he had left within his mind, some painful, and some pleasurable, though now almost all of them caused him to pale; it was unlike him to look truly weak. Of course, he woke up tired every morning, looking slightly diminished, but something strong or uncaring always lingered. Now, all he looked was weak - fear, coupled with his otherwise calm, that had now simply been turned to a dishevelled look. It was only as he rose to his feet, ready to strike whatever it was taking on the female's form, that he felt her own bloodied arm grasp his, pulling him forward, using her other to caress his stubbled face. He sensed no life within her, and yet did not smell death upon her breath. Her hands were quite warm, in spite of the fact that blood seemed to have escaped her veins. It was the kind of macabre charm he could not help but succumb to, not caring for the patterns she traced over his face, and torso, in her own blood.
"Don't you love me, Damion?" Her voice struck no fear into him, as it spoke his name. It caused him to tense, slightly, though only as her dead hands worked over him. The sight of her broken, torn body did not cause sickness in him anymore, as if the wounds healed before his eyes...he had no idea what this was; and it was then that he remembered. Only members of W.O.L.V.E.S knew him as Damion Jackal.
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The entries in MFF - Original Prologue contest. In order: Xyex, Ranny, myself, Kei, BI (order of being posted up in the thread). You'll get to see a lot of ways to open up a prologue and a story in these.
Xyex began by asking the readers a question, which is a rather awkward way to start IMHO, more of a 'professional' way if you want, something I wouldn't consider usually. He then continues with description, then statements that knock the reader off the intended trail to move him in for a surprise, finally bringing him where he wants him. Extremely well-made IMO. It falls under none of the categories I mentioned above - like I said, not your typical way of beginning a story, but it works.
Ranny's prologue falls under the 'Important Event' description, mostly, mixing up a bit of place description. It is rather straightforward 'epic'-type prologue - one that fits a large-scale story (Lord of the Rings style, to put it simply). She started off by focusing on the 'unnatural' (3 suns etc), and moving on to describe how they relate to the event and their significance.
Mine was a flashback - I described an event, namely a robbery. Even if it seems like a 'mundane' event, by describing the emotions and reactions, I made it sound like something of special importance, which built up the interest as I bluntly threw some information around, then mixed it up with the appearance of characters. Honestly, not my best piece (even though it surprisingly won first place in that contest), but could give you some ideas on how to write up something that falls under that style.
Kei's work was pretty much straightforward - produces the setting, then moves on to characters, gives in a bit on their past in an obscure manner, and then fast-forwarded to the present by rapidly flashing through the main character's life up to the starting point. A rather basic way to start, but can work very well, especially in a short prologue like Kei's.
BI kicks her prologue off by pure character description, mixing emotion / feeling with physical description masterfully, gives off a sort of mundane / everyday feel to things, then moves in to shake the readers with a suicide, and then proceeds to even more shocking events like an animated corpse, and then finally drops in the name of an organization (apparently) and leaves us at that. To me, it was the most perfectly handled prologue of the five - her writing a mixture of emotion, description, and narration, sending the reader from one thing to another, and in the short span of a single prologue giving us the main character, a bit on his past, a bit on the place the story will take place in (somewhat), and the general feel of it.
So there, you have five different prologues, five different ways to kick a story off. I hope that helps... at all, if not, you can always contact me via PM (my MSN account seems not to exist anymore...) and tell me a few details - in case you don't want to post spoilers here - so I may be of further help. |
01-26-2008
