sonsofcorax.freeforums.org

ok, just abit of preamble, responses can be made here: Response Thread now this is also only a Prologue, since ive yet had another idea for the story




Running, breathless he ran, fear coursing through his veins faster than blood. Halls and empty, bombed out rooms flashed beside him. The bright, white evening sun filtered through the stained windows, wreaking havoc on his visual senses. He looked back over his shoulder, terrified of what may be back behind him. Slowly, implacably, his gigantic foe walked down the hall, yet he never gained any ground on it! What manner of daemon is this following him?? Turning back to the front, his shredded lungs gasped and bucked for breath. He had no idea where he was running, only that it was away from the monstrosity behind him. Suddenly, he was running through his throne room. A loose rock tripped him, sending him sprawling across the floor. He was glad of the chance to catch his breath, until he heard it behind him. He frantically rolled over, scrabbling his arms and legs for purchase, trying desperately to get away. The gargantuanly proportioned being that strode before him was shrouded in shadow. The only detail of this being was its enormous sword, carried loosely in its massive hand. Too afraid now to move, he stared up at where a face should have been, only a shadowed face, haloed in glittering evening sunlight. It didn’t speak, but he knew it was staring straight into his soul. Suddenly, a pair of massive black wings flared out from behind this being, its grip tightened around the pommel of the sword. Just as suddenly, the tip of the sword was against his throat, its metal like the coldest ice against his skin. Dew dripped from the blade where it made contact against his skin. “We offered you the chance of alliance,” was all the being said, and in a flash…


He woke up, gasping, and starting for breath, the sheets of the bed he slept on soaked completely through. The High Choral Director knew in his heart of hearts, that whatever this being was, it was surely coming for him, the Warsingers needed to be notified. Uncle Istvaan would not find him wanting. The soothing, damning melodies of the eternal choir filled his head with a dreadful calm. Let them come, he thought.