Stwory twime :3

Right, I'm about to post the prolouge of the book I just happen to be writing.

Because it's the only bit I am happy with!

It does contain some bad language, but apart from that is totally okay!

READ IT!

Prologue: The Choosing

When all is lost, why turn to violence?

10 years ago

It was calm that night, despite of everything. In the city of Argonsol, the last of the rowdy teenagers were herded out of shopping centres and out into the streets and many lights in windows went out, nearly simultaneously.
In the countryside, it was calmer than usual. Many of the livestock were asleep and silent, though one particularly stubborn cow just wouldn’t settle. Its lowing echoed through the night, an eerie sound though the silence. But in the Retreat however, it was far from silent, though you couldn’t tell from outside the forest. They were gathering, and there was nothing the humans could do about it.
…
Four men stood in a room. Their expressions were serious and they all had an air of superiority and arrogance about them. The furnishings of the room were royal but drab; faded tapestries lined the walls, blood red curtains hung loosely over the windows. Every now and again they moved forward and back again, like there was a hidden giant behind them and its deep breaths were blowing the curtains back and forth. But it wasn’t a giant, of course, it was the north wind blowing through the open window filling the room with an eerie chill. An odd thing as it turned out, since one of the men was bed ridden and dying: The King.

‘We all know we are at hard times,’ stated King Mencol as he lay on his bed, glassy eyes staring at his three closest relatives, ‘The creatures of the retreat are gathering in swaths for some unknown reason, and I fear they may be close to rebellion…’

‘Then why the blazes do we insist on cutting down their forests?’ said a short, stout man with a head of golden hair. ‘You know how they treasure them, especially the elves…god could you imagine what would happen if they were to rebel, we would be dead for sure. I wonder how they would kill us, with magic. Blimey that would be scary wouldn’t it? I bet I, and any other sane man would stab themselves before they even got-’ Lord Waltwick stopped abruptly when he met the king’s cruel eyes (and when Nickolas Manree, who was standing behind him, kicked him violently on his behind). ‘Sorry…I was babbling again wasn’t I?’ Nickolas shot him a withering look and said

‘One: You always babble, why ask? And Two: We cut down the forest to stop them invading our land, I think you may remember the last time we went soft on them. Well I say we…’ he glanced sideways at Lord Waltwick ‘but I refer to Lord Isador here. He was lucky my army was marching nearby.’

‘Psshh…your army is pathetic, I had it under control.’

‘Yeah under control, right’

‘Are you calling me a liar?’

‘Yes, if you warmed up your brain you might actually understand what the blazes we’re all talking about!’

‘Geez, who poured powdered stress into your cup this morning?’

The king ran a hand down his face with impatience. Nick glared at Isador, but said nothing more. He looked to the man still standing by his bed. The look said it all.

‘Can’t you see the king is growing tiresome of this?’ the man said.

‘Thank you Jacob!’ shouted the king.

Nickolas and Isador, who had been having a “princely quarrel” in the corner, jumped and rushed hurriedly to the bedside. The king, even despite his terminal illness still looked regal and majestic. His snow white beard was trimmed and pristine, radiant in the candle light. His red tunic and hunting trousers displayed his love of slaughter and his ruthlessness was all to clear when you looked into his dark, green eyes.

‘We need a male heir for the throne and you three’ he gestured at each of them ‘are my choices. Unfortunately you all have equal rights for the throne and I don’t know who to pick…’ he gazed thoughtfully at the three of them. The candidates glanced at each other briefly, and then broke out into shouting and swearing. The king but up with this bedside brawl for a few minutes then shouted, ‘ENOUGH’

The kings-to-be froze in mid battle, Isador’s teeth clamped down firmly on Nickolas’ left forearm, Nickolas’ right arm round Jacob’s neck, Jacob turning purple and clawing at the tapestries on the wall. Isador stopped biting Nickolas, smoothing down his hair with all the dignity he could muster, and said,

‘You couldn’t pick anyone but me,’ said Isador pointedly ‘I’m smart, funny, handsome…

‘Totally full of yourself?’ piped up Nicolas Manree as he released Jacob who clasped gasping on the floor. No one paid him any attention.

‘And you closest relative…’ finished Isador

‘Don’t forget pompous, arrogant and have a head so big you could barely fit it through the door’ argued Nicolas in a voice scarily similar to Isador’s high trill. Isador did his best to ignore Nick, and almost succeeded (I say almost, as while no one was looking he aimed a kick at Nickolas’s crotch, missed, and fell flat on his face) The king surveyed Isador thoughtfully.

‘He dresses well, I suppose, but he could hardly ride out to war in his state.’ He thought as he watched Isador slowly regain his breath after a 2 minute fight.

‘True,’ said the King ‘But you need a big ego to run the country.’ Isador looked smugly at Nicolas. ‘Damm,’ thought Nicolas ‘by trying to destroy his argument I’m making it stronger!’ then out loud he said ‘you must realise I’m older therefore wiser. You simply have to pick me!’

‘What about me?’ asked Jacob Distry ‘I’m older, wiser, handsome-er funnier and bigger headed than you two put together!’

‘Of course, which is why you didn’t get picked as Best Prince in “56”?’

‘I could do without the sarcasm!’

‘Can we talk about something else like, I don’t know me?’

‘Shut up you big headed bastard’

‘Now now, mind your language, and nice alteration’

‘Mind my language? What are you my mother?’

The three to-be-kings began to argue at the top of their voices. The King just about heard the words idiot, loser and a few swearwords that I can’t list.

‘Enough!’

The three of them instantly did as the king asked. Dying he may be but he was still ruthless enough to behead them with out a second thought.

‘The three of you are acting like sissy princesses. My time has almost come and I still have one last test for you.’ The three of them were far too jittery to notice the melodrama. My time has almost come for goodness sake!

‘A test?’ The three of them said simultaneously, unrehearsed.

‘A test of guts and of course ruthlessness’ the king said slyly. The prices looked at each other, puzzled.

‘Could you give us a small clue?’ Asked Jacob, evidently coming at it the wrong way.

‘The answer is on Nickolas’ waist…’

They all glanced down to the short sword hanging from his belt.

‘Shit’ murmured Jacob and Isador.




Don't cha just love it!

Edit: You'd better not because it seriously sucks -.-