Prologue: Sting of the Aftermath

Prologue
Sting of the Aftermath

As the two moons sank behind the horizon to the east, the celestial yellow ball began its slow illuminating ascension from the west.  Beneath this spectacle, a thick fog stretched across a vast grassy meadow. To the far north and south, it touched, to the far east and west it touched, concealing beneath its dense mass a catastrophe of proportions gone untold until now.
Blood stained this once cherished land from those who fought and died on it. Their carcasses lay scattered about, some with faces peering off into nothing, fear or pain still etched into their dead glazed eyes. Smoke rose from giant black, armor-machines manned by…something. A person perhaps? No.  Something that should not be nor should have been, an abomination of life itself. Vultures and ravens feasted upon this morbid banquet until their bellies became fat with flesh and entrails.
Kneeling at the center of death was a man clad in tarnished blue chest armor and navy-blue trousers tattered from waste to mud smeared boots. Water dripped from a face that held within its hardened appearance a bittersweet pain. Moistened red hair matted his head. A cloth with torn edges that at one time resembled a chief officer's cape draped from his shoulders down his back. Tears welled up in his dark green eyes. To some this would be considered a victory a time for celebration but not to him. His pain ran deep. Too many had died yesterday.  Far too many. His heart bore the wound of loss. Friends, close friend who fought at his side fell at his side. It was those he mourned for.  Those who gave of their lives for the greater good, to protect the world and keep it safe. "You may have died my friends," he said as he wiped the flood of tears from his face, "but you died with honor." He let out a heavy sigh that dulled some of the pain, though, wishing that breath took it all.  That would be far too easy, he thought.
"Cyrus!" yelled a voice from within the fog, "Lord Cyrus!" Cyrus rose to his feet and drew his sword from the ground as a figure emerged from within the fog.  A middle-aged man from the looks. He squinted to see more. One of his legs appeared stiff and wrapped, thus was the cause for his slight limp. In his left hand, he carried a longbow with a quiver strapped to his back and a sword at his hip. His clothes appeared torn and muddied along with his dark blue chest armor. Hope sparked inside Cyrus, which pushed away some of the sorrow. Some. Someone lived perhaps more survived. Cyrus ran to meet him with the spark of hope now fanned into a flame when two more appeared behind him. "Cyrus, you live," the man said, with a touch of glee in his voice, as they joined. The two following were also donned with blue armor and a large, disc shaped hat sat atop their heads. The black coats they wore over their armor was muddied and torn in places, signs of battle, which Cyrus was not surprised.  Strapped to their backs were two sheathed swords with leather bound hilts.
"I see you have evaded death once more, Victore," said Cyrus as they clasped forearms.
"It will take more than a Dark Knight to bring me down," he replied as he combed his fingers through his moistened black hair.
"Be careful, Vic, this is beginning to become a habit," Cyrus said with a chuckle.
"Well it's one habit you will not get me to break."
"Getting you to break any habit is like trying to get eggs from a dead capon," he chuckled.  "Martojmus, Temlek, it's good to see you two again."
"Likewise," nodded Temlek.
"After a day of searching for survivors I was beginning to loose hope," said Martojmus (mar-toe-mus).
"Your battle, did you meet with success," Cyrus inquired.
"It started out well. Everything was going as planned until…." Victore paused for a moment. Rage sprouted on his face then was gone before anyone could noticed. "We had them on the run, we were winning but something changed.”
“What was it?”
Something none of us expected. Amid the war appeared a man, out of nowhere. He fought us and struck down one comrade after another. The way he moved, flowing from one stroke to the next as if he knew the sword from birth. Cyrus, he fought like Zaipheth! But...but it wasn't him.  It was Tophet.”
“Tophet lives again," Cyrus said to himself.  “But attacking small forces is not his way.  This whole war is bizarre indeed.
"It took all we had to win,” Temlek put in.
“If you could call it a win," Martojmus grunted.  "More like a slaughter, if you ask me."
Cyrus scratched his thick red beard as he listened and thought. Things were not making any sense to him.  The war.  Tophet.  None of it. "That is strange," he finally said. "So how did you win?"
"We didn't," Vincent replied. "They just left.”  suddenly, the rage returned and evident in his face.  “Just before they departed, he called us insignificant and laughed. Laughed! Can you believe it? He laughed at us! And then he simply walked away.  Him and his army."
"If only I had been here sooner instead of looking for Zaipheth, events could have veered in a different direction," said Cyrus with some irritation.  “If only Zaipheth was here.”
"I don't think so," said Victore. "This one was powerful. And Cyrus, he looked like Zaipheth, perhaps a bit paler than him but he did look like him.”  Cyrus grimaced as Victore continued, “That was part of the reason why he killed just about all my squad, because we, at first sight, thought it was him. Loren, Romahza (ruh-moz-a) and his brother Reva (rea-vah), Zain, just to name a few.  I buried them last night."
"This is all very strange. Zaipheth disappears and now this. To tell you the truth, I as well felt this to be a vain victory at best," said Cyrus. "More of us died than them before they retreated. We lost some good men yesterday, even the Knights of Holy had received a devastating blow.  Every last one of them slain." Martojmus snorted and the rest remained silent. The Knights of Holy, the police the Emperor issued to protect the people.  They had accumulated over the years a bad reputation. Yes, they were not known as men of honor or valor due to their high-minded egos. When news of their demise reaches the people perhaps a few may shed a single tear over those now dead.  Perhaps.
"The rest of the Paladins (pal-a-din), what has become of them?" Victore inquired Cyrus.
"She lives. I have her scouting the land for any survivors with the rest of who’s left of my squad."
Victore let out a sigh of relief.  "And Zaipheth?  I take it you haven’t found him yet?"
"No," replied Cyrus reluctantly, "we haven't. Have you found any trace of him by chance?"
"The last time I saw him he was babbling on about something to do with Kolben. If I had known he was going to disappear I would have inquired further."
What rested in Cyrus that quelled the pain was now gone. He suddenly felt cold inside, as if the flame of hope became ice. Despair; he knew what Zaipheth had gone to do and he also knew the consequences of failure. Nargonah (nar-go-nah) may suffer another spell of war and chaos for a time or eternity. Now all hope of Nargonah's future rested on his daughter, Zaipheth‘s daughter. If she cannot stop, what has been unleashed into the world then all will be lost. But what cut him deeper than all of it was the lost of a good man, no, a good friend. He wanted to scream he wanted to beat the ground, he wanted to wale at the heavens but all he could do was stare at his hands, his bruised and soiled hands.
Silence lingered amongst them until Victore finally asked, “Cyrus, are you…?”
Cyrus was about to answer him until a screeching sound of a horn sounded off in the distance. "I thought this was over," said Temlek in irritation.
"It's not over," said Cyrus as he squeezed his hands into a fist. The others quickly unsheathed their swords.
Again, a horn sounded off in the distance yet it was much closer.  “They’re moving fast,” Cyrus said under his breath as voices emerged from the fog.  Six men and two women clad in blue body armor and dark blue trousers were running to meet them. All were muddied and battle hardened. All except Naral. Despite all the battles and conflicts she had experienced she still managed to keep her womanhood beauty framed by a head of dark red hair.  Each wore a sword on their backs and a large disc shaped hat on their heads, the other Paladins.
"Arm yourself!" she yelled. "The Dah'ja'von are approaching fast and are being lead by the Thaumaturge.  I think they have three Dark Knights with them."
"Dark Knights? Naral, are you certain?" asked Cyrus with some urgency.
"Yes, I'm sure of it.  And Cyrus, the White Knights are with them."  She combed her fingers through her dark red hair to get the few strands out of his face. Her and Victore locked eye contact.  A small grin bloomed on their faces.  "They found us while searching for survivors," she said, with some irritability, still looking into Victore’s eyes. "We killed most of them but two got away."
"How much time do we have?"
"They should be coming over that hill at any moment." She pointed to a hill off in the distance, barely visible amid the fog.
"Why? Why now? Why here?" Cyrus said to himself in frustration. He did not know whether to stay and fight or retreat. Lahmar and Vita, Zaipheth’s family, needed him but so did Nargonah. Faces passed through his mind, faces of people he once knew faces of people who still lived. What of my son, he though, and my wife? If I run, the enemy will follow and keep following until they kill every last one of us. Yes, this has to end here.
The fog had now thinned. Off in the distance he could just make out a plume of black smoke rising from behind one of the hills, which meant more than one of these giant, man powered, robots, Dark Knights they were called. Creatures that looked like men without mouths and with skin as black as oil rose from behind the hill. Fifty he counted maybe more, a small number compared to what they had fought the day before. When their pale eyes fell upon the Paladins, they began to beat the ground. The rumble of their beating was felt beneath the Paladin’s feet.  Then they charged down the hill picking up speed as they ran.  More followed.  Men tall and thin riding white horses were now in sight. Their white eyes took on a lifeless appearance. A white cloth masked their nose and mouth. Their long black hair fluttered little in the breeze that brushed past their drawn hoods to their pale faces. White radiant armor donned their bodies from neck to foot. With one hand, they held the mane of the horse they rode and in the other a weapon of their choice, from bows and quivers to spears or lances, from swords and shields to double bladed battle-axes. Their full name, White Knights of Tophet‘s Shadow, deem them as knights of an unholy kind.  Forty men and women, no, creatures who resembled men and women with red skin, long dark hair and eyes as black as charred wood were dressed in black garbs followed. The Thaumaturge (thaw-mah-churj).  A vicious kind of an abomination to life. Their bodies pulsed with electric currents as they glided along the ground like the wind driven mist. Behind them followed three giant man powered black robots spewing blackened smoke from protruding pipe, Dark Knights.
"Fall into rank!" yelled Cyrus. Each Paladin fell in beside the next. The small band of Knights stood ready with their swords drawn, all except Victore who raised his bow and pulled the notched arrow to his ear, ready to let it fly. Then Cyrus stood before them and spoke. "This battle maybe our last, as is any. Fight with honor and pride, for you are not fighting for yourselves or me but for the world and those who died to protect it. Give this your best and we may go down in the pages of history. Let the purity of peace reign as the eternal king of Nargonah!" The small band thrust their swords towards the heavens as they cheered an ardent cry. "For Nargonah!" Cyrus wailed as he charged the army head on.
"For Nargonah!" cried the rest, as they charged the onslaught.
Three of the White Knights raised their bows. Four arrows hummed passed Cyrus's ears piercing four them through the chest before they could let loose one. Seven White Knights fell from their horses from Victore's bow. But not all his arrows hit their mark.  Some knights blocked or deflected arrows with their shield or battle-ax.
Within moments the two forces clashed, meshing into one fierce battle echoing the ringing sounds of metal striking metal. Cyrus swung his sword with power and elegance as it were an extension of his arm. Every move was a fatal stroke that cut down one foe after another. The other Paladins were just as deadly and each moved with a grace all their own. Blackened creatures wailed has they fell. Thaumaturge threw balls of lightning some Paladins hurling through the air to land on their backs. Some White Knights fought on horseback and some did not but neither seemed to hold an advantage.
One by one the Thaumaturge along with Knights received the same fate as their comrades the Dah'ja'von, death by lethal blows but they did not go as easily. Some White Knights took an arrow to the throat from Victore's bow falling to the ground and attempted to rise only to receive two more to the chest. Three with swords moved to strike him down. Within the time it took lightning to strike, he drew his sword and confronted the foes. With the bow in one hand and his sword in the other, he danced the Dance of Death among the three. His sword proved to be just as lethal as his arrows. None could stand against his swift and smooth strokes. He sheathed his sword and continued firing arrows all in one quick flow before the three enemies touched the ground.
One of the Dark Knights was pierced through its center, where the one powering it was placed, from Naral’s sword then toppled forward crushing two White Knights and a black garbed Thaumaturge.  The second Dark Knight stepped over it to get to Cyrus. Victore again drew his sword. Before the one inside knew it, Victore had climbed its back. Sparks flew as he drove his sword through. Everyone near dispersed as it fell to the ground with a rumbling. Leaving the sword, he lunged at a nearby Thaumaturge. As he hurtled through the air a metamorphosis accord. His mouth and nose stretched into a muzzle that bore razor sharp teeth. He grew to be twice the size of the tallest man with a thin coat of black fur, a thick mane and a long tale. His hands and feet grew sharp black claws. Swinging and slashing he tore through the mass of Thaumaturge and Dah'ja'von.
Cyrus drove his sword into the ground causing the soil beneath his foes to heave. Before long, only a few Dah'ja'von and single White Knight fought. The rest remained corpses scattered about. In a matter of moments, none were standing aside from the Paladins. Some had been wounded, others dead.
Cyrus scanned the aftermath. More good men were lost. This was a victory but only a bittersweet one at best. Six Paladins remained, including himself.  Six! "I swear this," he muttered as the others gathered around him, "I will not allow another person to die at Tophet's whim, even if it means my life for theirs." He then peered off into the distant northwest as he sheathed his sword. Zaipheth, he thought, was there no other way?  Was it truly necessary for you to go…to leave?  Was it necessary to leave the world in chaos before it was ready?  But only Zaipheth could answer that and the answer was never revealed to the world until long after the events of this day long expired.
 

Author's Note

There will be grammatical errors since it isn't finished yet.

Reviews

[IO]

Hey man I'm readin' yo stuff now. It's good, and I have a few critiques:
1. In the second paragraph, the last sentence. What were the carrion birds feeding on? The creature in the machine or the dead bodies.
2. Also, the narrator does not ask questions, only characters. Narrators are omniscient. The reader, and the characters ask questions.
3. Officers don't run. If Lord Cyrus is a battle hardened warrior he should wait and have the person come to him. However, if he is a young lord, he may run, but even then lords who are born into royalty still don't. Plus a fatigued lord would never run. It adds to their air of superiority.
4. Hmmm... as I read on I see that the Narrator might be a character also.
5. Another thing, the Narrator always writes in the past tense because when they write about something, it always happens before it document, paragraph, etc. is written. Unless, of course, if they are writing about the future.
6. One thing I noticed about prologues is that they ask a question that the rest of the story answers. It seems that this prologue is bombarding me with information, not questions. Just like you helped me figure out that my first attempt at a prologue seemed like a first chapter, I think that this prologue could do to lose some of the information. As I've noticed, good books never reveal too much information too soon. They let tidbits go here and there, and keep they Reader biting until the Reader has too much invested in the story to ever give it up. I guess you could equate it to a crack dealer giving the first hit for free and the rest for a climbing rate. However, all writers write differently, so this info is just food for thought.

It's good writing though. Better than I can do at this point, so regard, or disregard what I wrote. Ooh, I get points for writing stuff. 13 points. Beat that Sucka!!!

[Rain]

This beginning is filled with so much potential. You have set it up beautifully. I'm interested in where you want to take us. Great write. Rain..

[LRoneous]

whoa... you're really going to take the reader somewhere with this. I'm ready. forget about the grammar shtuff for now. this start seems to be premise for a great story. cant wait to read the rest...

[Dezaraye]

You're very descriptive in your writing. That really brings it to life.

[Dark Daughters]

A WONDERFUL write with stunning images and I felt like I was truly in your world that you described, excellent job!
~Darkness~

[Ani Ashford]

I am intrigued and drawn in already. Your descriptions create vivid pictures in my mind. The prologue leads me on.

[Steffi]

Very descriptive. Though in the beginning it seemed forced. And overdramatisized a little.
Good Write

[Daly]

Good hook at the beginning. The first sentence made me feel like I was truly in another world without the words spoiling the setting for me. The descriptions are very vivid. I can't wait to read the rest of your book! :-)

[Vannah]

that was great very, very descriptive....