I do not yet have a title for this, but this is the opening part of the prologue. I have only used the ms word spell checker so please do point out any spelling errors you might see.
“Betrayal is an action, most intimate. For such an action requires that love was once known in the heart. Now known no more and filled with naught.”
These words fell from the pale lips of the ailing King as he sat a strewn with the soaked bandages of battles past. Now little more than a pale shadow of the grandeur that was the man who had fought for decades against the rebellion. Sounds of silence tore through the void in the absence of the King’s voice. There upon the mountainous throne of mahogany sat a living tomb of leather, cloth, and jewels.
And there, held within the confines of those wizened hands was the sword Acheron. Its silvered edge shimmered with a reflective hue of gold, lit by the ethereal embers of the struggling recessed torches. Moods rested ominous from those within the hallowed chamber. Whose painted features once stood stark with pride towards the doors of the hall, now sat with furrowed brows and grim expressions. No sound was made to offend this moment, no breath was brought forth for fear of death's cold grip for the offense.
“It is within these moments of truth that the water is made clear.” This came as if a whisper from the throne, and King Dahvid Ahourn turned his head like aged steel to stare with fading eyes upon the youngest of his defenders in query. “Would not you agree young one?”
Hesitation played upon the young man's dark toned features. The human who had seen less winters in his short life than the green toned armor he sported. The honesty of youth played upon his lips as he spoke, “I don’t understand what you mean my liege.”
As if dried parchment tried to twist so was the effort of the aged King to smile in earnest prior to speaking, “You are the last of your line are you not young one?”
A singular nod was given in return to this question that fell upon the boy’s chest. Uncalloused hands gripped the oak of his halberd emblazoned with the four stark ravens upon a white shield. “Yes sir, my father and brother died two days past.”
Sharp rasping breath wheezed through the King’s lungs and sadness filled his eyes. “I am sorry young one, what of your mother?”
“Lost some years ago sire, she fell ill and no healer was found in time to save her.”
The King’s face dropped ever so slightly before he turned to look at the door with a raised brow. “You know I have a son as well.”
Leathered greaves shifted on the stone flooring before the young soldier responded. “Yes sire.”
Dark amber eyes rolled towards the boy. “You do not like my son?”
“I don’t know your son very well my liege.”
“You are honest young one, I appreciate this.” Blood slipped slowly from the lips of the King with these words. A wince shuddered through his body and the charcoal robes he wore bunch about the golden sash with the contortion of his body against the pain.
Three more guards stared at the King, uncertain now that they should resist should the intruders in truth make so far into the defenses. Of four defenders merely the youngest dropped his halberd and stepped forward to lay hands upon the King. It was then that the eyes of the past met the eyes of the future that the King seemed to once more gain his strength. For naught much worth as in this same instance came down upon the oaken doors of the chamber the fall of massive hammers and shouts of unquenched vengeance from without.
A lager of thick ochre shot from the corner of the King's mouth as he spat into the open air. “Listen to me now boy and heed me well.” Effort did not show in those graying tendons as the King found now the strength to stand upon the dias of his ancestors. “Would you hope to defend my family? Would you defend them with your very life should this be asked of you?” There then did Acheron fly free from the confines of its ebony scabbard.
Without hesitation came the youth's reply. “Till the end of time so shall I defend them my liege.”
Acheron began to hum, a slow resonating force causing pebbles to vibrate upon the floor of the chamber. Outside the creaking doors began to give way to the shouts of triumph and rage boiled into madness. Light began to flow in waves upon waves of ivory and sapphire amongst those of the inner chamber. Gems shattered in the confines of the ornate throne. Torches once seeking respite amongst oblivion itself sprang instantly to life in a golden hue as the doors of the chamber blew open from within and the young man could feel his very blood run cold as an arrow shot into his chest.
The uber archaic style of this really put me off. It just made me think too much of Eragon, which tries to be archaic.
It is noteth goodeth to writeeth archaiceth styleth. It tendeth to puteth people offeth.
Plus, it can be confusing. Due to the oh-so flowery language you use, I found it difficult to follow what was happening. Sorry if that's just me being thick, but I'd advise writing in less archaic tones.
I really liked the ending a lot. The only real "errors" I found were grammatical. I've left an edited version (edits in bold) on your desktop for you to read!
The youth was always one of my favorite characters. The ambiance of the scene is breathtaking and I liked the familiar formal tone they take with each other.
The language you use is a little on the archaic side, but it suits the tone of the scene. I couldn't really find any mistakes but the ones I pointed out in your critique on the desktop. I tried to provide examples of what I think would work best, like some sentences were combined with commas, semi-colons, colons. Some were split.
'Lo Stillgrave,
There's something peaceful about the narrative here, bordering archaic in tone and atmosphere, beginning quietly. Honestly, it's neatly done on almost all points. Noting that it is the prologue, it's hardly necessary to drag depths of character and plot through the wringer, so to speak. ^_^
A few things I would keep in mind, were I you -
Language and Diction -
Ah, well, you are writing in a heroic tradition, in your choice of style and your apparent subject. ^_^
The difficulty in this always falls in passing it off deftly rather than stumbling it up with the overly archaic and flowery or ill-placed, badly understood words. On the whole, you keep the narrative flowing within its style and avoid the awkward over-compensating. ^_^
Guard against the dramatic - when it drops to melodrama or confusion -
Sounds of silence tore through the void in the absence of the King’s voice.
And there, held within the confines of those wizened hands was the sword Acheron. Its silvered edge shimmered with a reflective hue of gold, lit by the ethereal embers of the struggling recessed torches. Moods rested ominous from those within the hallowed chamber. Whose painted features once stood stark with pride towards the doors of the hall, now sat with furrowed brows and grim expressions. No sound was made to offend this moment, no breath was brought forth for fear of death's cold grip for the offense.
And there, held within the confines of those wizened hands was the sword Acheron. Its silvered edge shimmered with a reflective hue of gold, lit by the [ethereal ethereal perhaps overkill?] embers of the struggling recessed torches. Moods [s]rested[/s] shifted ominously [s]from[/s] in those within the hallowed chamber [s]W[/s] whose painted features once [s]stood[/s] standing stark with pride towards the doors of the hall, now sat with furrowed brows and grim expressions. No sound was made to offend this moment, no breath was brought forth for fear of death's cold grip for the offense.
For naught much worth as in this same instance came down upon the oaken doors of the chamber the fall of massive hammers and shouts of unquenched vengeance from without.
Very nice introduction. I did see a few minor spelling errors, but nothing too serious:
No sound was made to offend this moment, no breath was brought forth for fear of death's cold grip for the offense.
Hesitation played upon the young man's dark toned features.
A wince shuddered through his body and the charcoal robes he wore bunch about the golden sash with the contortion of his body against the pain.
A lager of thick ochre shot from the corner of the King's mouth as he spat into the open air.
Without hesitation came the youth's reply.
120,443 Literary Works • 649,849 Reviews
Fixed those then, spelling has never been my forte.
Points: 1979
Reviews: 1176
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