Prologue

I'm new and I just want to see if there is any point in continuing writing this.

 

The End Of The Beginning

 

                     The battlefield was littered with bodies, their blood staining the grass red, if any grass could still live here. A once lush and beautiful landscape, but now it now reeked of death and violence, all trees and plants destroyed, for beauty had no place here now. No race had been spared the carnage, the corpses of Elves and Drekens, bitter enemies in life, lay together in peace, their fallen standards transformed into grave markers for the hundreds of thousands who would never return home. Women lay together, killed near the end, as they had tried to protect the children with nothing more than bread knifes and small bows, their faces unrecognisable as there own, while the children who had survived stood and stared at them, faces white with fear and horror from what they had seen. Dust swirled across the field, giving the whole a landscape a ghostly look, masking the violence for an instant, as if the very earth was trying to erase what had happened. The only sound left to be heard were the cries and moans of the wounded; some in death throws, their life blood seeping into the ground making the land seem corrupt. Carrion scavenges roamed the field, the black creatures rumoured to the agent of the Night Lord, attracted to the scent of death, gorging themselves on a free meal, with no distinction on whether their prey was alive or dead, but there was too few people left alive to stop them, too few to save the badly wounded from being eaten alive. Vultures circling the sky alerted others of their kind to the presence of a meal, while meat eating worms, over six meters long, surfaced, pulling up mountains of soil with them burying those bodies closest to them, and began feeding on anything and everything it their path, even their own wounded, drawn by the smell of blood.

      In an odd contrast to the ragged and blooded people surrounding him, the Night Lord stood clothed in deep black silk shirt and trousers, black knee length boots and a dark green richly embroidered woollen cloak, with no visible weapons, the violence did not seem to have touched him, he didn’t look like he belonged on the battlefield. But he did have a weapon, and the only creatures that had got close enough to use their metal stick were dead. From his vantage on a nearby hillside the Night Lord smiled, showing a row of sharp, white, teeth in a dark, almost black, inhuman face. He felt a fierce joy, for even in defeat he could relish the pain and suffering of others, pain that he had caused, to get revenge, to take away from them what he had had take away from him, and to try out his plans for his final attack on this world. For this was not the final battle, as the people living on this pathetic lump of rock were calling it, nor was it the first, this was just a skirmish, a test in strength, their strength, and he had found them wanting. They had defeated him true, but he had accomplish all that he had wanted to do this time, he had killed two of the Three’s Spirit partners, and destroying the one place that every living creature thought of as a place of peace and tranquillity, showing them that nothing was safe, nothing was sacred. Now when the battle for Nathunia commenced in earnest, they would be afraid of losing everything, they would try and save something, but he would be stronger and more powerful than they expected and so take everything. He had not even participated in the battle beyond using the Power to destroy those who had dared to try and attack him,  and all those who had been on the hilltop them had been engulfed in flame, not caring who was for and who was against him. He had left the battle in the charge of his underlings, to see how they planned the attack, to see how the others countered it, and so that the inhabitants of this world would not find out his plan until the end. For this was just the storm before the end, that would happen so soon, so very soon. And then he would see who would defeat who. He would take away everything they loved and he would gain dominance over Nathunia, and all would beg for mercy before him.

       A crunch of bones beneath heavy boots called him out of his reserve, and he turned to see the Three walking up the hillside with only a single Spirit partner walking by their side, the partner of the young Elf girl, walking across the unrecognisable charred remains that surrounded him, with no ability to tell who was friend and who was foe, only knowing that both had been present when all hell had been let loose on the hill and it had been turned into a fiery inferno, with all on the hilltop had been slaughtered in the blaze. His face twisted into a snarl as he remembered their defiance, their refusal to acknowledge him as the greater. One tenth of his knowledge could destroy everything they held to be true, could make their pathetic cultures civilised, and maybe it could bring back the back what these people called the Age of Light, the only Age worth living in. They would be made to pay for what they had done. Oh yes he would be made to pay.

     The Three had surprised him for they were young, even by these mortal’s standards. The two human males, although both tall could not of been older than thirty, while the young Elf girl might not even of been in her twenties, but then again she could be in her hundreds, its was difficult to tell with Elves. It was inconceivable that children had been him, then again, they would of been leading the battle, the generals would of, like that idiot Micron who had tried to charge him with only one company. He had managed to kill several of his Meslaa but he and his men had died, torn to pieces by the Drekens.

     For the first time he took a good look at the last remaining Spirit partner, an eagle creature, with brown feathers, and a golden beak and legs, but with a wingspan of over four meters. All Spirit partners   were linked to their partners mentally, if not physically, but able of such power, such strength in both mind and body. That was why he had had to kill them first, because he could let others have what he had lost. Behind the Three stood their depleted army, still hanging onto the belief that this had been the last fight, the last battle, and their precious lands were now safe. What were they but children trying to understand a man’s game. While they planed for one maybe two moves ahead, he had already planned his moves for the next hundred years, planning for every little thing that could happen, deciding what he should force to happen, and wondering what he should stop from happening. For he was immortal, only one of his own could kill him, and he made sure that any of those that followed him thought for one moment about killing him were killed quickly, but not necessarily painlessly.

      The Three’s Meslaa had surrounded the hill top, and where slowly forming a circle around him, he could feel the block being Weaved on him already, he could touch the Power feel it, but no matter how hard he tried he could not Weave anything with it. He knew what was happen, he could here the chants of the Meslaa, they where preparing to send him back to a place where time had no meaning, where the end of the world could come and he would not even know. A place where he could watch the world move on, and wait for a time when all here dead, when all shred of this battle had been forgotten, when all on Nathunia were defenceless, then he would strike. The final battle would come and he would be victorious.

     “Stop” a voice commanded, strong and proud.

    The Night Lord looked up and saw the only female of the Three step forward, fear in her eyes.

     “Why are we doing this?” she asked.

         “What are you on about Sian, we’re sending him back where he came from.” Said one of the Meslaa.

        “I know that Vianna, but why, he will just break free again, and you know it. He has done this at least once before, maybe more, we’re just dooming the next Age.”

Maybe he had underestimated this one, maybe there were some of intelligence on this rock.

       “Sian, there’s nothing more we can do, the Meslaa are going to do there best to try and figure out how he got out and prevent that from happening, but you know the prophecy, only one like him can kill him. Are you like him Sian, do you want to be a Night Lord?” asked the Three’s leader.

     “No Brendyar but”

So they knew about the prophecy as well did they, but they had worded it differently. Did it matter? They were translating the words from the ancient language, he had actually been there when the old crone had said those words, and he was sure it was “one of his own” and not “one like him”, wasn’t he? This primitive Age was most annoying at throwing up surprising, just when he thought he understood them, they did something that demonstrated how little he really knew.

      “Mister Brendyar you need to make decision now, we cannot keep this up for much longer.” Vianna shouted over.

  Brendyar looked over at his two companions.

    “Do it mate, what other choice is there?” Said the last of the Three, the first one to of lost his Spirit partner.

Brendyar smiled and nodded, and the Night Lord released the breath he had been holding. The Meslaa chanting began again, louder this time. The Weave around him got stronger, suffocating him and he started to think it was a trap. It had not been like this the first time he was sent to the Pit, why now, what was happening?

   The pressure relaxed suddenly, one of the Meslaa had collapsed from exhaustion, the Block had weakened. He would not have a better chance. He broke though the Block and pulled on every last ounce of Power he could and Weaver it into a huge fireball. Chanting in the ancient languages of old he created a huge fire hurricane and sent it out towards the Three and the army. The Meslaa could either stop the hurricane and release him, or Block him again and leave the fire to kill hundreds if not thousands of people. Either way he would win. He threw back his head and laughed.

 “Remember, every age I grow stronger, wiser, quicker, how many more until I defeat you. What will happen, do you really think you can defend yourselves forever, for I will have victory over all”

   The screams had started now. The Meslaa were working as quick as they could to send him back, but no matter how fast they were people would still be killed by what he had unleashed. He felt the now familiar feeling of weightlessness that happened in the Pit and smiled. He would live to fight another day, while many on the field would not have even another hour. He combed the chanting Meslaa and found what he was looking for. Brendyar was still there on the hilltop watching him. Meeting his eyes the Night Lord smiled.

 “You have won but a battle, the war still continues”

The Meslaa Weave took hold and the Night Lord vanished, and so ended the Fifth Age of Nathunia, and the beginning of the end arrived.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“In every age there dawn a day when lives and futures change.

A day in which the Spirits come and the Three become complete.

A day for new beginnings, for finding things unlost.

The day on which the fate is rested, of all Nathunia”

Author's Note

Any help will be gratefull apriciated.
I have dyslexia so I understand it may be difficult to read when I go off on one.
Any advice on how to make this read better, dialogue, story outline or even if i should stop altogether, I'd really appriciated.
thank you

Reviews

[Mark Hensley]

You have done an excellent job of story telling so far. I was hooked frrom the first paragraph. I can't wait to see what happens next. Keep it up.