Prologue - The Foundations For Greatness

The first chapter of Games Of Sorrow- This is the first draft, so it is still rough, and is only the foundations to lay out the introductions to the land, its history and the characters.

Chapter 1:

Asraith was a powerful and plentiful kingdom, full of prospering cities and wealthy communities scattered across the land. The cities were individually bold and beautiful, safeguarding the even more extravagantly bold and beautiful people within. Religion was strong throughout the kingdom, and practices of magic and sorcery were commonly found, and accepted. The land itself was peaceful, and had seen no darkness in all it's time.
There were several main citadels; Acruston, Mytannor, Annmaton and Altium, the Four Folds, as they were more commonly known, for they lined the lands of Asraith in exact symmetry inside the valley of the overlooking mountain peaks. The cities traded regularly with one another and the nearby towns and hamlets, and the people were free to travel and settle wherever they felt comfortable. This was the wish for the good King Darmur; a just, noble king whom severed his people above himself. He was thrust upon the throne forty years ago, after his father passed away before his 14th birthday, and had started ruling from a very young, and inexperienced age. Darmur had risen above any doubts and concerns the people had, and had overcome all obstacles and challenges with a gracious nature. He was commonly praised as the "blessed King", though the Gods were not always in his favour.
During one summer (which often lasts years in this world) the crops had failed and droughts and famine wrecked the land. Many villagers had died of diseases or from the sweltering heat, and the towns and cities became more and more enclosed. As winter swung it's cruel cloak over the kingdom, layering the ground with think snows and frosts, the people of Asraith began to sink into the icy grips of death. The cities closed their gates, to prevent further spreads of diseases and salvage what little stores of foods remained for the residents of the citadels. By the second term of the winter, many towns had been deserted, and almost all the villages were gone.
There was no sign from the gracious King for months. He had hidden away in his palace, no doubt before a crackling fire and banquette of food. Many vicious rumours started to slither amongst the people, twisting their cruel words of treason around the tongues of his wilting subjects. The King had lost his favour, as his kingdom slowly died.
As the third term reached, talk of the king was no longer of interest. The remaining few were no longer concerned with their deserting king, but more focused on fighting and squabbling like beasts in order to survive. The cities were still closed, and now no one knew what horrors waited beyond the gates.
As the third term of winter neared it's end, the palace gates opened. The few eyes near turned to see their king, frail and worn, stumbling down the steps of the palace, his sword dragging behind him through the snow. He was unbalance in his steps, as he jilted towards the temple past the square. His blubbering words were incoherent, broken by his inability to stop sobbing. As he reached the temple, now accompanied by a prowling heard of curious spectators, he began to scream - although his hoarse voice refrained him from cursing to loudly, he still created quite a racket. He threw his sword into the air, bellowing curses to the Gods in a fit of sudden rage.
"You thieving, malignant dictators!" He screeched, slashing his blade against the shrines outside the gates. He bombarded through the doors, tearing down tapestries and decorations in his path. The crowd stayed behind, wearily watching the mad man from a cautious distance.
Darmur continued to scream and screech, as he tore the temple to pieces. The priestesses were cowering the the corner, whispering sacred blessings to hope the God's pardon them from their presence of this blasphemous act. Finally, he buckled, tossing his sword aside as he buried his weathered face in his hands.
"My boy..." He groaned. "You took my boy from me...and now you'll pay."
The tears had dried against his skin as he dragged himself from the temple. A dark loom hung over the citadel that night, and a shift in the fates of men had begun.

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King Darmur had lost his son during the long winter; no one knows the cause, though most blame the lack of food and supplies. King Darmur blamed the God's entirely - firstly, for plaguing his people, and secondly, for murdering his heir. The king went mad with grief and his hatred for the God's grew. He was often seen roaming the streets, casting out blasphemous accusations about the God's and their regimes, and how men should "no longer be at the mercy of their disposal". His words stirred something within the feeble subjects whom remained. Their suffering made them question the Gods, and gradually, their doubts turned to anger, and anger melted into aggression.
As the fourth and final term of winter swung into force, Darmur had rallied his men into a meagre army of delusional misfits. He spouted words of eternal glory and overwhelming power to conjure the boys into fulfilling his desires. He intended to unseat the God's from their podiums, and bring them to justice for their crimes against the race of men.
The God's could no longer withstand Darmur's presence on their earth, so agreed to meet him in open battle. The Gods took their human forms, undistinguishable from their foes, and took up arms on the plains of Windreck, where Darmur and his men waited.
The history books and scrolls do an injustice to the events that took place that day. The bloodshed, the slaughter, was beyond recompense. Each man that confronted one of the God's fell in the most brutal of deaths, and barely a fragment of God was damaged. Darmur was lost during the middle of the attack (for it could not be classed as a fight, when the opponents barely engaed), and the men soon retreated to their cowering stances, begging the God's for forgiveness. The God's, holding no grudge over the men, whom fought with clouded reasons, forgave them and rewarded them in the following months with a plentiful harvest and blessed fertility.
The line of Darmur, however, was not unscathed. Arabus plucked the king from his throne, banishing him and his family from the kingdom. It is said that he travelled to several neighbouring realms, but no one would receive him, as he was now seen as a curse - as a demon. The records of Darmur dispersed into the wind, and he dissolved into nothing more than an old folks tale, only to be told on Darmur's Day, to remind the race of men of their debts to the God's.

A new King was soon anointed; a strapping, handsome, prosperous being, by the name of Emmune Armable. He had struck a deal with the Gods, to strengthen the commitment of men to their deities. IT was declared that ever King in the succession of Emmune must be wed to a daughter of a God. Arabus sent several daughters to earth, in an order known as the Sisters of Sasreael. Each of these sisters would remain in a mortal form until her presence on earth was no longer required, and she could return home to her kind.
The first of the Sisters to marry a human was Elrean, the Goddess of good health and fertility. Together, Emmune and Elrean enjoyed a long, peaceful reign, restoring the kingdom of Asraith to it's original glory, and wiping the bloodstained battle scars from the face of the earth.
Emmune had many children, whom all lived full and splendid lives, each in the company of one of the Sisters. His heir, Emmune II, married the Lady Arcana, the Goddess of *. He took the throne at the age of 47, and continued the legacy of his father to full extent.
King Emmune II and Queen Arcana had several children; five girls and two boys, one of whom this tale concerns. His eldest son, Elyiildyn, was the heir to the throne, and spent most of his younger years visiting the people of Asraith in the market towns, trading courts and taverns. He was quite the charmer, and had an unflawable personality, melding with any and all types of people. He was caring and compassionate, and had a great gift of vision, allowing him to find any compromises and solutions to any issue, so that everyone was satisfied. He lived in the palace in Arcunston with the rest of his immediate family; the other members of the royal family were scattered across the kingdom is flamboyant castles and strongholds, so that each major settlement had royalty in their presence.
Many other members of the royal blood line had become unsettled or lost from recognition. One member, so the story shall reveal, lived in the market district of Port Fallon, just outside the walls of Arunston. Her father was a demi-god descendant of the king's great nephew's daughter once removed*, who enjoyed the company of women so much, he often wandered out in the dead of night to the tavern in Port Fallon to seduce the easy wenches. This is how her father met her mother, and this is how she, the demi-goddess, was conceived on a barrel by the vomit-coated alley way opposite the port side. It was not much of a fairytale story, as there was no romance or delicacy involved. It was a simple slip of luck that her father grabbed her mother at the bar, for if it were any other way, she would have not been born.
The girl grew up under the roof of a merchant - a dear friend of her mothers, who took her as a babe under his wing when her mother passed away. She had no comprehension of her existence, for she had never known anything but the merchant's care and was under the assumption he was her father, and avoided the sensitive subject of her mother's whereabouts to spare the merchant's grief. Together, the two lived decent lives; the merchant travelled frequently to other towns and citadels and pocketed a fair sum in doing so, and she would tag along occasionally to experience the adventure of new places. For a common girl, she was extremely well educated and had a rare eye for the beauty of her surroundings. She had a strong love of plants and animals, more so than the average girl, and spent nearly all her time down in the woodlands at the Well of Gwen, singing sweet songs of princes and princesses to the empty hills. She was content with her life, and that was enough.

Author's Note

THIS IS ONLY THE FIRST DRAFT -- on no account is this anywhere near the final chapter, this is simply the jottings of the ideas and characters. I'd like to know people's opinions of the plot line so far, whether it's graspable, etc, how people feel about the characters. I'd also love some suggestions on how this can be improved- if theres any details you'd like me to change/include to make it more gripping, anything, I'd love to know...

Thanks for taking your time to read this! I'll be uploading the following chapter within the week.

Reviews

[Mazie]

I think you write very well.

I recently got rid of my prologue, but I feel like this genre does well with prologues. Though, I would suggest just keeping the first part. That last line "the shift of fates of men had begun" (great line) is a really good hook to get the reader in. The second half is also written very well, but I started getting to the point where I didn't want to be told anymore; instead I wanted to find out for myself through showing. I can't wait to read your next chapter :) Good job so far!