The Chronicles of Oblivion - Prologue
The cold, windless night was eerily quiet. Even in the barren, lifeless desert there was less sound than was natural. The only source of light in the dark wasteland came from a tiny sliver on moon peeking out from behind a blanket of clouds.
A bare, jet black ledge protruded from the side of the great, jagged mountain overlooking the desert. The moon came into sight again, casting long shadows across the ledge. A tall figure clad in dark robes emerged from the shadows of the mountains and strode to the edge of the cliff. Pure evil emanated from him, and the air around him was thick with the strong stench of sulfur. He stood at the edge of the cliff and surveyed the desert below him with distain.
Raising a gloved hand, he began to chant softly. The air began to reverberate with noiseless activity. It thrummed with vibrations from an unseen force, growing heavier and more solid with each passing second. A tiny circle of light grew from the center of the dark figure’s palm. It sparked and crackled with electricity, illuminating the bare, rocky ledge below with ghostly hues of white laced with black and red. The figure chanted louder and faster, causing the light to spin rapidly, rising from his hand as it did so. It glided to the very edge of the cliff, directly in front of him. It spun faster and faster, and began to spread, growing taller and wider until it was the size of a doorway. As it spread, it grew thinner and more transparent, revealing a dim outline of a walled stone pathway beyond it.
The portal opened, and two men stepped out. At least, they looked somewhat like men. They stood over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and lean but well-muscled builds. Though that was where the similarities ended. Their eyes were completely white, with no pupils or irises to speak of. Tiny, black noses rested at the ends of long, pointed snouts. Thin, pale lips were twisted into savage snarls. Pale skin seemed to glow with a sickly green hue. They were clad in worn, dirty leather armor, stained with dried blood. Curved, rusty swords were clutched in their hands.
The men bowed to their master so low that their snouts touched the ground. The figure did not respond or return the greeting.
“You summoned us, master?” growled one of the men. His voice was deep and guttural, like that of a wild beast. He kept his gaze downward, not daring to look his master in the eye.
“Yes.” The figure replied. His voice was little more than a hoarse whisper, yet it was terrifying all the same. “How many have come?”
“Ten thousand, my lord.” said the man.
The figure took a step toward the men. “Is that all?” he hissed. Venom crept into his voice.
“But more will come.” he added quickly, sounding terrified.
“I was promised an army of twenty thousand, and ten is all you have to show me!”
“B-but my lord, it takes time to ready our men. There will be twenty thousand, we just need more time.” The second man stammered.
“More time?” The figure was shouting now. “Our enemy is gathering strength! We have precious little time now!”
“Just a few more weeks, my lord.” The man begged, his eyes wide with terror. “A few weeks are all we need, then you will have your army.”
Their master howled in rage. He raised his hand again, and shouted something inaudible. A red ball of light appeared above his palm, spinning rapidly. Tendrils of flame snaked up his arm. The men cast terrified glances at the light, and backed up to the portal, hoping to escape. Before their chance came, their master thrust his palm forward and, with a cry of fury, released the magic. An explosion of light blinded the men. A bolt of red light laced with black exploded from their master’s palm and hit the first man square in the chest. The man screamed in agony and fell to the ground motionless. The second man stared in horror at his companion’s grotesque, charred body, frozen in place.
The cloaked figure’s hood had partially fallen back to reveal the lower half of his face. The remaining man looked at his master and gasped. Sallow, yellowed skin stretched taunt over a thin jawbone. Black, needle-like fangs curled over thin, pale lips. His face and neck were covered with deep gouges that oozed sickly green slime. He sneered at the man and raised his glowing hand.
The man dropped to the ground and bowed before his master, pleading his mercy. Disgusted, his master dragged him to his feet by his shirt. He drew the man close enough to him to smell the sulfur on his breath. The man whimpered and fought the urge to gag.
“If I don’t have my army in three weeks,” He snarled. “You will wish I had just killed you now.”
With that, he threw the man back through the portal, and closed it. Cursing loudly, he strode back across the ledge and into the shadows.
How goes it? Asked a voice from behind a rock face. The cloaked man turned the corner and faced the source of the voice. The beast that stood before him was utterly terrifying.
It would have seemed to be a giant loin, if not for the great eagle wings that sprouted from between its shoulder blades. Its tail was coated with scales rather than fur, with foot long spikes running down its length. The manticore bowed before her master.
“Due to those bumbling imbecile’s utter incompetence,” He growled, “Our army shall not be ready for three weeks!”
We have time, my lord. The manticore replied, we may be late, but we shall destroy them none the less.
The cloaked man didn’t reply. He strode over to where the manticore sat and climbed onto the saddle positioned just below her wings. “Fly.” He commanded. “We have much work to do.”
Well, that's it. I'd love to hear what i've done wrong and/or right, and what I can improve on. Keep in mind that this is a prologue to a story I am working on, so not much is supposed to be explained yet. Be brutal.
It is well written, just needs to be tweaked a little. 
Writergril. 
