Post by Richard El Britannia on Dec 26, 2006 16:23:35 GMT
Name: Untitled
Type of writing: Prose
Subject: I'm not quite sure how I'd describe the subject right now
Genre: Fantasy, some horror elements
Summary: Raiyn wakes after having horrible dreams about a terrible book to find himself in a destroyed city, unknowing of his past and with an urgency to keep the that lay beside book closed and safe (I suck so much at summaries).
Status: Basically, it's being planned, but I had some fresh ideas for what could happen in the beginning, so I decided to write a prologue to it.
Prologue – The Book
Memories flickered in and out of Raiyn’s head; he couldn’t tell what any of them were, accept one. The only memory he could make out was of an old, tattered book. It’s wooden cover was beginning to mould and parts had cracked away, and it’s pages were dark and wrinkled. If any of the pages had any text on, it certainly wouldn’t be legible. The old book lay closed on the dark, cracked floor of old paving stones in dark reds and browns. Suddenly, a great wind blew open the book and it’s pages until the middle of the book lay open and then, the wind stopped abruptly. As soon as the last page fell, a bright, white light shone from the book, illuminating the dark sky above. Slowly, the area started disappearing from view and was replaced with nothing but white; In the middle of it all, the book lay. Minutes passed with the book lying in the middle of the white nothingness. Yet more minutes passed. Hours. Days; it felt like forever. And then, all of a sudden, a great crack appeared on the white where the sky should have been. A monstrous hand, burned, with hundreds of scars and huge, sharp, bloodstained nails appeared coming through the crack to grip onto the side. It then started forcing it open until another hand appeared and then … nothing. That was the end of the memory.
Raiyn slowly opened his eyes, waking from what seemed an eternity of dreams. ‘Dreams? They were nightmares.’
Raiyn wasn’t short, but he wasn’t exactly very tall, either. He was fairly skinny, too: skinnier than most, but not to the point of looking ill. He wore heavy brown trousers made of some course material and a dark green coat of the same material, buttoned up to his neck, just under a high collar that covered his chin. His face looked kind, but the tired, drawn features made him seem the opposite; his long black hair that hung to his neck, framing his face didn’t make him look any kinder either. From his face, he didn’t look much older than sixteen, barely a man.
He struggled to push himself up, feeling a hard, stony ground beneath him. He looked down to see red and brown paving stones exactly the same he had dreamed of. He quickly looked up and noticed what was very different to his dream. All around him, a destroyed city lay, bodies of men, women and children scattered throughout the rubble. He looked into the sky to see dark clouds above. Rain started to fall lightly; tears of the sky in mourning for the people that had died. Suddenly, that ancient book entered his thoughts again. He didn’t dare to look back from where he had got up. ‘But I must.’
Hesitantly, he turned around and looked down to where he had lain. The book lay on the floor, half open, pages turning slightly in the breeze. Raiyn’s heart suddenly started pounding his chest as if trying to escape. Suddenly, the wind grew stronger and the pages began to turn and as in the dream – ‘was it even a dream?’ – the book opened in the middle and the wind stopped.
Before he even knew what he was doing, Raiyn was on the floor forcing the book shut. It struggled to open again, but Raiyn held it with all of his might. “Blasted thing,” he muttered, looking around for something to bind the book. A man lay dead on the floor wearing a belt on his trousers, Raiyn noticed. “Stealing from the dead,” he muttered disgustedly, but he still walked over and with his free hand, got the belt off and bound the book. The belt was huge with a great copper buckle and brown, leather strap. ‘I hope that holds,’ he thought, warily holding the book by his side.
What had happened? He didn’t know; all he knew was an urgency to keep the book from opening. Whatever had happened in the … dream … could be deadly. Something had happened in the city he stood in and no doubt, the book had something to do with it.
He had no memories. All the memories he had were his name and the one from the dream. The one that gave him such an urgency to keep the book closed.
What could he do now? Leave? Where? Anywhere would be better than the place he stood now. He looked around and peered out to the south. A forest was visible in the distance. The sky didn’t look so grim there, and the plants and wildlife looked strong and healthy. That seemed the logical way to go and so Raiyn set out slowly, his face tired and drawn.
Type of writing: Prose
Subject: I'm not quite sure how I'd describe the subject right now
Genre: Fantasy, some horror elements
Summary: Raiyn wakes after having horrible dreams about a terrible book to find himself in a destroyed city, unknowing of his past and with an urgency to keep the that lay beside book closed and safe (I suck so much at summaries).
Status: Basically, it's being planned, but I had some fresh ideas for what could happen in the beginning, so I decided to write a prologue to it.
Prologue – The Book
Memories flickered in and out of Raiyn’s head; he couldn’t tell what any of them were, accept one. The only memory he could make out was of an old, tattered book. It’s wooden cover was beginning to mould and parts had cracked away, and it’s pages were dark and wrinkled. If any of the pages had any text on, it certainly wouldn’t be legible. The old book lay closed on the dark, cracked floor of old paving stones in dark reds and browns. Suddenly, a great wind blew open the book and it’s pages until the middle of the book lay open and then, the wind stopped abruptly. As soon as the last page fell, a bright, white light shone from the book, illuminating the dark sky above. Slowly, the area started disappearing from view and was replaced with nothing but white; In the middle of it all, the book lay. Minutes passed with the book lying in the middle of the white nothingness. Yet more minutes passed. Hours. Days; it felt like forever. And then, all of a sudden, a great crack appeared on the white where the sky should have been. A monstrous hand, burned, with hundreds of scars and huge, sharp, bloodstained nails appeared coming through the crack to grip onto the side. It then started forcing it open until another hand appeared and then … nothing. That was the end of the memory.
Raiyn slowly opened his eyes, waking from what seemed an eternity of dreams. ‘Dreams? They were nightmares.’
Raiyn wasn’t short, but he wasn’t exactly very tall, either. He was fairly skinny, too: skinnier than most, but not to the point of looking ill. He wore heavy brown trousers made of some course material and a dark green coat of the same material, buttoned up to his neck, just under a high collar that covered his chin. His face looked kind, but the tired, drawn features made him seem the opposite; his long black hair that hung to his neck, framing his face didn’t make him look any kinder either. From his face, he didn’t look much older than sixteen, barely a man.
He struggled to push himself up, feeling a hard, stony ground beneath him. He looked down to see red and brown paving stones exactly the same he had dreamed of. He quickly looked up and noticed what was very different to his dream. All around him, a destroyed city lay, bodies of men, women and children scattered throughout the rubble. He looked into the sky to see dark clouds above. Rain started to fall lightly; tears of the sky in mourning for the people that had died. Suddenly, that ancient book entered his thoughts again. He didn’t dare to look back from where he had got up. ‘But I must.’
Hesitantly, he turned around and looked down to where he had lain. The book lay on the floor, half open, pages turning slightly in the breeze. Raiyn’s heart suddenly started pounding his chest as if trying to escape. Suddenly, the wind grew stronger and the pages began to turn and as in the dream – ‘was it even a dream?’ – the book opened in the middle and the wind stopped.
Before he even knew what he was doing, Raiyn was on the floor forcing the book shut. It struggled to open again, but Raiyn held it with all of his might. “Blasted thing,” he muttered, looking around for something to bind the book. A man lay dead on the floor wearing a belt on his trousers, Raiyn noticed. “Stealing from the dead,” he muttered disgustedly, but he still walked over and with his free hand, got the belt off and bound the book. The belt was huge with a great copper buckle and brown, leather strap. ‘I hope that holds,’ he thought, warily holding the book by his side.
What had happened? He didn’t know; all he knew was an urgency to keep the book from opening. Whatever had happened in the … dream … could be deadly. Something had happened in the city he stood in and no doubt, the book had something to do with it.
He had no memories. All the memories he had were his name and the one from the dream. The one that gave him such an urgency to keep the book closed.
What could he do now? Leave? Where? Anywhere would be better than the place he stood now. He looked around and peered out to the south. A forest was visible in the distance. The sky didn’t look so grim there, and the plants and wildlife looked strong and healthy. That seemed the logical way to go and so Raiyn set out slowly, his face tired and drawn.