Good morning my avid readers. In advance, I am going to apologize for not posting in my blog for so long. However, after a late night of writing last night, I have decided to post the opening paragraphs of my novel. My prologue is about 7,200 words and is split into three parts. The whole first chapter is history, something made just to introduce the reader into the world of Ursadona. My main character is in the first chapter, but in a way you wouldn't expect. However, without further ado, here is part one of the prologue of Heir.
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Like a stream of ice, the frigid north winds, carrying the scent of fiery sulfur, blew across the Bregoa Ausa like a whisper in the night. They carried the scent of smoldering Aridia. That land, depending on who was speaking, had many names, A Light in a Dark World, the Deceiver’s Spine, or Slopeside Utopia. Nonetheless, through all the lies and eloquent names, the Rebellion did not believe a tinge of the Deceiver’s mendacity. No matter what the world told them, they knew shadow lay there, budding in influence and potency, soon threatening to take the last bit of remaining Light. Thousands of years had come and gone. Nothing in the entire history of Ursadona had ever seen this bleak. “How had it come to this?” was the question on many lips.
The frigid north winds caused elf-kind Linaea Chosen to shiver. Her spine stung with a cold sensation, the sensation of the Lifestream coursing through her veins. She was aware that her consciousness had been dreaming.
As her head rose from its slumber, dreams—visions—memories from the night passed filled her newly refreshed and waking mind. She examined the surrounding landscape of murky oil stained water, evil and withering river plants covered in dark green sludge, and a massive black volcano smoking off in the distance like a factory of deceit.
“How could anyone believe such a palpable lie?” Linaea wondered.
Just a decade ago, after being constantly questioned on why he would dwell on an evil volcano, the Deceiver, Esis Ra’bok, the enemy of the Rebellion, said in a speech, “Power is the Black Mountain! The Black Mountain is power! Thus, we dwell on, around, and with power!” His lies were applauded with insane clapping. The people listening actually believed his words. Furthermore, they believed him.
But even through the lies, the wind blew by, carrying the muffled song of nature perverted by the sounds of metal adorned whips, wooden-handled hammers of twisted iron, demonically reverberating goblic growls, and, worst of all, the aberrant, wraithlike moaning of living corpses. Adding to the mood generated by the evil noises, the sun was blocked out by the ever-writhing clouds of smoke from the Black Mount, causing eternal twilight to fall on the fjord of the Bregoa Ausa and beyond, spreading into the provinces of Draugr, North Illusion, and the elven province named the Aezwain.
Discarding the feelings of her surrounding environment and trembling with racking excitement, Linaea located a long, dry piece of parchment from her trusty patchwork sack. Spreading the tan paper onto the hard, rock-strewn ground, she quickly scratched these words in the ornate, squiggly runes of the Tree Elves,
With his mighty hand, we will rise again,
With his mighty hand, we will destroy the Deceiver,
With his mighty hand, we will deliver,
As the heir rises again,
On the back of a beast he will emerge,
With the power of Aphiel he will conquer,
Shields will be shattered, swords will be bent,
As the heir rises again,
From the bloodline of gold, he will rule,
From the bloodline of gold, the Deceiver will scatter,
From the bloodline of gold, we will rescue,
As the heir rises again,
Linaea’s pen fell suddenly. It had been written.
With those strong and powerful words scribbled, she sighed with a beautiful contentment. Tranquility, like a blanket of divine warmth, fell upon her essence. Now she knew that, someday in the future, the shrouding darkness of Aridia would be eternally dispelled and Light would once again brightly shine for all races to see. She knew that the thousands—maybe millions of deceived elves, men, dwarves, nemose, and goblins, would all be delivered from the clever, wicked lies of the Deceiver. With the contentment shrouding Linaea’s mind, she laid back down smiling and fell back into her trance, not to awaken for another week. Prophecies would play over her eyes for days with her pale face covered in eternal twilight.
