Prologue (Revised) Ghosts of Varav Pt. 1

the revised Prologue of ghosts of Varav. more geared towards being a short story in itself as the prologue is set 250 years before the rest of the book and is used to set up plot.

Erlian Records: Ghosts of Varav

Prologue Pt.1

The man stepped upon the stage he stood with a heroic aura as his shoulder length black hair laid still, save for the small amount of wind that was generated by the speed by which he walked.  The man surveyed the crowd of 20000 that had gathered, it was nearly all the population of Fort Varav that remained.

“Kinsmen, for 90 years we have been holding our ground! But we are losing this war! We are surrounded by a foe who seeks our heads to place on spikes! They show no mercy for young, or old.

If we hold onto the so called safety of our defences we will perish, just as the ancient kind.” The man said. The reference to ‘the ancient kind created a low murmur among the crowd. To them ‘the ancient kind was only real in myths and stories, a people who could travel the stars, who ruled the night sky.

“The hope in our walls has faded. Yet as it faded another source of hope grew brighter, the hope that lies beyond the walls! The walls of Ft. Varav have become the walls of our tomb!” his voice grew stronger as he continued, the purpose that he had was becoming clear to all in attendance. He wanted to make a last ditch effort to escape Ft. Varav.

“We must risk it all… just for a chance. What I ask of you is not easy, nor can I tell you that it will work, but I can tell you that if we stay…” he trailed off. Everyone knew what he was going to say, that they would all die horrible deaths, most begging for death by the end of it. The newly called ‘Wil-fol’ or wild folk were former subjects of the Zalvakan Empire but now they were savages.

“I have seen what happens when the Wil-fol invade, I survived the eastern fall. Few made it out, I Farim was one of them. I risked everything to save me and my son. Now we all must risk everything we hold dear to us to make it out alive. Together we can overcome any obstacle!” he cried out challenging the racism between the species that had existed for all time.

“In a few moments the Dwalik clock will strike 12 and the year 1555 will begin. May 1555 Be our Year!”

He cried tone changing from a low yell to a voice used only for placing a rage into ones heart.

 “TWELVE THOUSAND MEN! (In Ponvurn) FIFTEEN HUNDRED PONVURN! (In Dwalik) SEVEN THOUSAND DWALIK!” he cried calling upon the three predominate races living in Ft. Varav.

“TWENTY THOUSAND FIVE HUNDRED VARAVANS!” he called out, the first to ever group any of the races together in recorded history.

“We are all Varavan!” he said in the common tongue.

He then repeated himself first in Ponvurn and then in Dwalik.

Farim glanced at the clock, 1 minute till mid night, ‘time to show them a taste of the ancients who gave birth to all intelligent life on Erla’ he thought.

He then unsheathed his sword and then pressed some sort of button.

The blade began to glow as small bolts of lightning danced all over the blade.

“I have been to the homes of the ancients. They were advanced beyond our wildest dreams, they came from the stars and were cast low, until they died out and became us. They called themselves human, and their technology makes this sword a conduit of electricity. Their ships sailed not on water but on air and nothing. They called themselves a ‘space-faring’ race. Long ago, during the construction of the battlements, workers stumbled onto a cave, it was long and winding, it lead to the ancient and forgotten metropolis of Sarvo. Now empty and desolate save for their machines. Shall our spirits join theirs wandering empty halls?!?” he asked. What he had just told them didn’t make sense to them. However Farim knew that it didn’t have to make sense to them, just boost their spirits or set a fire behind them to make them give their all. 

The Dwalik Grand Clock directly behind Farim struck 12. Just like that 1554 turned into 1555

It rang out twelve times and yet once it chimed for the twelfth time silence fell over the crowd. 20500 souls in a room and not one of them made a sound. For five minutes.

Finally Farim spoke, shattering the silence that had covered the crowed like a layer of fog.

“VARAVANS ARE YOU WITH ME!?!” Farim asked screaming as loud as he could.

The crowd responded with a single powerful cheer.

“We go now to gather as much of what we need as we can carry. Those who are not going to be fighting. Well I must implore that you take as much food as you can carry. As for those who can fight, well gather arrows and bring gold. Do not take the whicker bills of the fort for once out we must hide and that will alert the Wil-Fol” Farim said his voice calmer but still bellowing. Bellowing in fact from all sides of the cavernous room.

Yet at the very back of the crowd a group of robed figures had Sliped into the shadows hidden from the rest of the crowd. Silently the slid out of the hall and moved into a hidden room that opened as they aproached. 

Later on, after about three hours the people of Varav were gathered behind Farim at the great doors. The doors were said to use Sarvoan technology to open and close as when it opened the massive door broke into 7 strips of pure steel that mesured 50 meters by 50 meters. Looking out onto the crowd gathered from a gate guard tower he listened to the low murmer that was resonating from the crowd. reaching back into the tower he grabed a strange peice of head attier that had a black branch like thing curving around his head and stopping in front of his mouth. 

“People of Varav. My kin, we go now unto the breach. I tell you no lies in that we go now into a great grass fire. Yet even though we walk towards it we leave a burning house before it comes crashing down upon us.” Farim said allowed his voice seeming to come from all around the crowed. 

“I fear that not all of us will make it out alive and in such I shall lead the charge!” he continued. 

“We are all of us to try and make it out alive!” Farim said hiding his growing fear. It was not of his death that was staring him in the eye, but rather that of his sons.

Now Farim sword and shield in hand. His amulet dangling from his neck began to glow with a light blue colour. The colour that the tapestries that showed the legendary ‘First world’ skys colour. The man was tricking the crowd of course, he knew exactly what he was doing with the head attire and the amulet. He was forging in their minds the idea that they were not following a man, but a Divine being.

As soon as he finished he vaulted over the saftey rail on the guard tower. Dropping fifteen feet he landed upright. Yet another one of his tricks to elevate himself to a divine being. He full well knew that his legs were badly wounded by the drop but ancient Sarvoan injections he had taken prior to leaving his house for the gate allowed him to continue moving as if nothing had happened. Yet to this end once they wore off all the damage caused to his body would suface and without a way to know how bad off he was it was likly that his body would instantly shut down once they did ware off.

In a loud whirring of gears the doors droped open in seconds. By using a failsafe built into the gates opening mechanism Farim had caused them to open in seconds instead of taking a hour. They however would never be able to close again unless somehow repaired.

On the other side of the great gates was only a small force of Wil-Fol as they had figured that as long as they appeared to mantain a large force at these gates the Varavans would think there was more of them than there actually was. The fact that they were called the ‘Wil-Fol’ an abriviation of wild men cause the Varavans to presume that they had no stratiegic capabilities. Yet he whom is desperate will become unpredictable. The shock allowed the Varavans a chance to cut down the first quarter of the Wil-Fol force before they could even respond. Yet despite the early victory served as a jumping board for the Wil-Fol. They had only one way to retreat and that was the same way as the Varavans and given the hour most of them were still very groggy with sleep. They would not make it very far before the Varavan caught up with them and most of them knew this.

“Push forward! Don’t stop for anything!” Farim screamed over the roar of battle. As the crowd of people surged forth, the Wil-Fol began to crumble. Beneath the feet of the Varavan crowd fell any Wil-Fol that stood in their way, be they man, woman or child.

The exodus had become a full scale battle as the Wil-Fol were not giving any ground up without a fight. until eventually only one small group was left. By this time most of the Varavans had made it out and nearly all the soldiers had as well. Farim, despite starting out at the front had throught the push gone wherever the fighting was heaviest. His goal was to die in the push after he had been subjected to Mutilations that would kill even the strongest of the Dwal’. His death as he had planned was supposed to imortalize him in a way that made him a idol to look up to. to emulate his courage and strive to be as noble as he had made himself to be. 

Yet the plan was quickly falling apart in the sense that he had not died, he had in fact barely been touched. His only wound had been a arrow that had skimmed his left arm.

“Keep going Varavans I will hold the Wil-Fol off so you may escape!” Farim shouted. His amulate began to shine red, drawing the attention of the Wil-Fol. Using sword and Shield he slew the Wil-Fol and blocked their attacks.