FINISHED Shielded Land Prologue (Don't clcik unless you really like my last one, and really want to read the minor alterations I have made) (441 hits)
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Submitted by Registered_S_O (View user info) at 2008-04-02 00:35:11 EDT
There are minor alterations I have made to this prologue. My creative writing teacher gav e me a good amount of input on this prologue, so I made changes according to what I agreed with from her.
Read only if you are a fan of the first prologue I wrote, and a biog fan at that since this is nine and a half pages.
Prologue
Portis stood on a large balcony near the top of the kingdom of Rahdenia's stronghold, high above the city. He leaned over slightly, his large hands tightly grasping the freezing balustrade. The frigid night air sent gusts of wind that made his shoulder-length black hair flow out behind him. He stared at the horizon, finding the breathtaking sight of the sky at dusk quite pleasing. His gaze swept across the countryside, his eyes running over the familiar features of his homeland. Portis wanted to drink in this particular view, to burn every image into his mind. He knew that today would be his last night in the land of the living, so he wanted to make every precious moment count.
A strong gust of wind came and enveloped him in a swirl of the newly fallen snow. Portis clutched his cloak tighter to himself, not wanting to break the quiet, solitary moment he was having. His black, woolen cloak had a fringe of fur around its collar that only partially blocked the chill. He stamped his black leather boots, trying to warm his feet. Rahdenia was cold, especially now in the depths of winter.
When the breeze finally subsided and the flurry of snow settled around him, Portis released the hold he had on his cloak. His dark wool shirt and matching tunic were covered with flakes of the soft snow. With a last look around at the land for which he had spilled so much blood, Portis turned his back and entered the doorway to the castle.
Light from huge fire pits positioned symmetrically around a central dais cast flickering shadows around the throne room. Portis paused at the doorway, surveying the important room before him in which he had spent countless nights. He placed his hands on the doors iron frame, leaning forward as his eyes roamed the length of the solitary chamber.
The dais held an ornately made throne of twisted gold. Chairs that were smaller, though nearly as important symbolically, flanked each side of the throne. Portis' eyes lingered a moment on his chair which was immediately to the right of the throne. For better or for worse, Portis was the second in command of Rahdenia, below only the Steward himself. Portis entered the room and made his way next to one of the blazing fire pits for warmth. He began reflecting on his life as second in command of Rahdenia, on the path that inevitably led him to this most momentous of nights.
When Portis had first accepted the position his newly instated Steward had offered him, Rahdenia had been a very different kingdom. At first, Portis had refused the position. It was only after constant badgering from his long time commander and mentor, now turned Steward that Portis had finally acquiesced. Rahdenia had been the second largest kingdom in all of Brista at the time, and was in a state of constant war. The Stewards predecessor, in addition to many of Rahdenia's top officials, had been killed in an ambush disguised as a peace meeting with several of the other kingdoms. Portis' mentor had quickly gained control of a then leaderless and deteriorating Rahdenia. That was the first, though not most important step towards the country Rahdenia eventually became. Portis gave a rueful smile at that thought as he lowered his hands from the fire.
In between each crenellated window of the throne room hung the standards of all the kingdoms Rahdenia had conquered. Thirteen tapestries in all were displayed. Portis made his way to the huge, brass double doors that stood directly across from the throne. To the right of the doors hung the tapestry of the most influential land in Portis' mind. Emotions of fierce love and devotion mingling with terrible hate coursed through him as he stared at the flag.
After the very face of the world had changed, most of the kingdoms were left alone to fight amongst themselves. Countless years of war, tragedy, and betrayal had begun to take its toll on the kingdom Portis had fought so hard for, rotting the souls of the people who lived there. The Steward's heart, in addition to the hearts of many of the people he ruled over, slowly became twisted; their goodness bubbling over into evil. No longer was Rahdenia a kingdom fighting for its own survival. Instead, the people of Rahdenia, from the Steward down to the new recruits, fought to control the lives of people in the other kingdoms. Left to its own devices because of the power vacuum that was formed when the Old Kingdom departed this world, Rahdenia had started to efficiently and mercilessly bring the other kingdoms to heel. Portis was standing before the standard of Pisulcher, the first land taken over on Rahdenia's dark path of bloodshed and domination.
Portis grimly recalled his time leading elite soldiers on the first of many attacks against Pisulcher. Being so close to the Steward had made both Portis and his entire family targets for assassination. Portis vividly recalled being chained and under heavy guard in Pisulchers' city square, hanging onto life only by a thread after having endured unimaginable torture. He was forced to watch as his loved ones were torn apart by a frenzied mob of citizens. He had stood numb as the eldest of his three sisters was decapitated before his eyes by a farmer wielding a vicious sickle. He could still remember the coppery taste of her blood as it sprayed across his face. Portis couldn't quite recall how such enmity between Rahdenia and Pisulcher started, but he could recall how his heart had turned blacker than midnight the day he watched his family murdered. Portis would have met the same fate as them were it not for the gruesome rescue made by the very man he had pledged his loyalty to, as well as the efforts by soldiers he would soon lead. Many members of that mob met a bloody death in order to finally free Portis and spirit him away to safety.
It was one week later that Portis was able to lead soldiers against Pisulcher. As a personal favor, Portis had asked his mentor to hold off the attack until he was well enough to join in. Warped by the atrocity that had befallen him, Portis wanted to lead the attack on the land that took nearly everything from him. Fully in tune with Portis' feelings, the teacher granted his pupil that indulgence. After all, the Steward's family had been murdered in a most horrific way. He understood what it was Portis wanted.
Portis still saw the faces of those townsfolk he had cut down during his first foray into Pisulcher. It had been a bitterly cold morning, with a blanket of snow covering the city. At the time, with each person Portis encountered, he only saw the faces of those that had killed his family. Despite the fact that most of his would be executioners had been killed during his rescue, Portis' lust for vengeance could never be sated. As he cut his way deeper and deeper into the enemies' ranks, the thirst to kill as many as he could overrode all other senses. Portis had transformed into that same executioner he so hated. The kingdom of Pisulcher would pay dearly for the brutal death of Portis' family. How the snow turned a bloody mess by the time Portis and his men were through with their first battle.
It was through his bloodlust that Portis understood how most of his countrymen had become so corrupt and hateful. Before his family had been killed, Portis couldn't understand how his kingdom could degenerate so much. It took the greatest tragedy of his life for Portis to finally understand what had happened to his fellow countrymen. As deranged as it sounded in his mind, Portis understood that solace for the broken of spirit had been discovered in evil.
This transformation in both Portis and Rahdenia took place during the beginning of an extremely long and dark journey. The entire world had been affected by events started by the Old Kingdom. To top it off, the Old Kingdom had never been made to answer for what they set in motion.
Fortunately for Portis, and arguably the rest of Brista, she came into his life towards the end of Pisulchers' destruction.
Rahdenia and Pisulcher had been engaged in open warfare for nearly a year. While the Steward was busy leading Rahdenia's forces against several other kingdoms, Portis had been left to deal with Pisulcher. On what became the last day Pisulcher stood as a free land, Portis had amassed all the forces he had under his command. This war with Pisulcher had driven him insane with hate. On that final day, Portis, with an army over one hundred thousand strong would finally take the castle. The royal family would be captured and killed, and Pisulcher, what was left of it, would finally be secured under the Rahdenian Empire.
Once he had breached the castle, Portis had begun slaughtering everyone who lived there. Thoughts of capturing the royal family had flown out of his head once Portis actually had them in his sights. Scores of men and women had been killed in a short amount of time. The once tranquil, white marble castle that served as the seat of power of all Pisulcher now served as the tomb for all who once lived there.
While most of the force storming the castle took care of any remaining pockets of resistance, Portis, accompanied by two of his most loyal bodyguards, searched for anyone hiding out deeper in the castle. It was there, in the castle's Healer Tower, that Portis met the woman who would redirect the course of his life.
Portis had come to a locked door at the top of the tower. He could hear a woman's silken voice urging several hysterical children to be silent. It was this room that the king and queen of Pisulcher had sent their young. With their castle surrounded and their army devastated, the Healer's Tower would be the last place touched by violence.
Portis stared straight up at the standard of an incredibly muscular farmer holding a sickle. This tapestry always reminded Portis of the man who had killed his sister. Portis pushed that thought into the back of his mind as he relived that meeting.
The bolted, wooden door burst into splinters as Portis rammed his shoulder into it. He drew his sword, the screams of frightened children drowned out by the pounding blood in his ears. He strode into the room, ready to do to these children what had been done to his own nieces and nephews. Before him, blocking his path to the heirs of Pisulcher stood the most regal woman he had ever seen.
Locks of golden hair, flowing like a waterfall that let forth liquid gold, cascaded down shoulders that were stiff with determination. She was dressed in expertly crafted, if unadorned, brown leather armor. From her short, brown leather boots, to the empty baldric that sat on her hip, Portis knew that before him stood a vision of loveliness that he could not bring himself to harm.
He was dimly aware of one of his bodyguards pushing past him to get at the helpless children before them. Portis had instinctively flicked his arm out, driving his sword into the belly of his bodyguard. The man had registered shock on his face for but a moment as the mask of death took shape. He crumpled to the floor, dead before making his hard landing. Portis shouted a harsh order to his remaining bodyguard to leave at once. So devoted were these men to Portis that his bodyguard simply bowed and left, never giving his fallen comrade a second glance.
What had captivated Portis about that strange woman were her chestnut colored, almond-shaped eyes. In them, Portis could clearly see the folly of what he was doing, the evil of annihilating an entire country because of the crime the few had committed against him. In her eyes, Portis saw a deeply etched sorrow, as if the light of life had been irrevocably snatched from her. With great shame, it dawned on Portis that he was the cause of her distress. He briefly wondered how many other innocent people he had left devastated in the wake of his insurmountable blood lust.
Portis had thought he would find some measure of comfort in the destruction of the people who had killed his family. He thought vengeance would fill the void that had taken residence in his heart. As he gazed upon this woman, understanding came to him. He felt empty, despite the fact that most of the people of Pisulcher had been butchered. Perhaps because of the mass murder that had taken place, he felt empty.
Portis fell to his knees before her, tears streaming down his face. Not since his family had been murdered had Portis shed a single tear about anything, yet there he knelt before this complete stranger, weeping like a child who had lost his favorite toy. Always, before anyone he encountered, Portis maintained a steel visage. He would commit atrocities as if they were nothing more than everyday chores. Now, all of his defenses were gone as he trembled on the hard, wooden floor beneath him. The sorrow of what he had done over the past year was threatening to crush him under its tremendous weight.
The woman approached, and rested her naked blade on the side of Portis' neck. He stared up at her, sadness in his eyes as he laid his hands in his lap. He fully expected death, feeling that he deserved no less.
"Kill me." He had whispered, knowing that was the only justice Pisulcher could ever get from him.
In that moment that he hovered on the precipice of death, baring himself before this woman who had every right to hate him, Portis realized that his death would impact the course of Rahdenia's history. It would signify a major blow against the Steward. While Portis loved his leader, his sins, and the punishment those sins earned him, far outweighed anything that he owed to his long time mentor. He wanted death.
The woman came closer, dropping to her knees in front of Portis. She was breathing hard, doing everything she could do to restrain her wrath.
"The lightless path you now travel is one familiar to me." The woman said barely above a whisper,
her eyes brimming with tears.
She grasped Portis' shoulder with her free hand, her entire body beginning to tremble. With both that gesture and look in her eyes, Portis had sensed an echo of what he himself was going through. The look the two shared formed a deep connection between them. Without any foreknowledge about her, Portis knew that she had once been in the place he was in now. For the first time since his heart had blackened, Portis felt a glimmer of hope for the future. Those beautiful brown eyes caught a glimmer of the waning sunlight, and in the briefest of moments, Portis could see that this creature before him knew. She knew this feeling of terrible anger and hopelessness that Portis had been courting for the past year. There was a hint of something else, a hint of wisdom in her eyes that gave this woman an aura of being much more than what Portis had perceived of her at the time.
In this woman Portis came to know as Lyren, he seemed to have found his soul's twin. Her tears over the devastation Portis had meted out against her land flowed down her light colored cheeks, yet she stayed his execution. Portis had expected death, at that moment in the top room of the Healer's Tower, even yearning for it. In his mind, he deserved to die. Lyren, whose hands he had placed his fate into, chose to spare his life.
On that significant day in Portis' life, he gained control of the Pisulcher empire at a cost he was still paying for today. He had been ready to atone for his sins. Instead, he had found salvation through Lyren.
Portis turned away from the tapestry, pushing memories of the past into the back of his mind. He brushed a single tear from his cheek as he considered the present. Portis turned the ring on his left hand, the platinum gently catching the torchlight in the chamber. He had eventually married Lyren. In her, he managed to discover many fundamental truths about life. No longer was he a slave to the darkness that had nearly consumed him. Portis had been at the cleft of a yawning chasm, its bottom representing the murder of innocent heirs to a throne. With what started as a look from her that touched Portis' soul, Lyren had then proceeded to show him another future, a road that deviated from oblivion.
From the day he met her, Portis began to lead a life devoid of the previous evil that had served as a close companion. He continued to support Rahdenia's leader, yet not in the same capacity. Portis did all he could to calm the Steward from violence during the ensuing years. When the Steward would demand complete destruction for a kingdom, Portis would convince him to show mercy. Where the Steward ordered a slow and painful execution for someone, Portis would grant a swift death. Lyren was the woman, the pure spirit who encouraged these changes in Portis. If not for her, and her positive effect on Portis, the Steward of Rahdenia would have been left unchecked to run rampant upon the world. If only the Steward wasn't such a powerful person, Portis would have killed him long ago he thought sadly to himself.
Portis ran his eyes along the marble steps of the dais. He followed a spiral green vein as it wove a path along the steps. His eyes trailed up the steps, above the golden throne to the flag of Furylin that was stationed above. Furylin had taken the largest toll on Rahdenia. It had been the last kingdom to fall, as well as one of the toughest to take. The boiling point for the Steward had been during the campaigns against Furylin. While he had succeeded in that endeavor, the Steward's soul had in the process been damaged beyond all hope of repair. He had ordered such disgusting punishments against the people of that land that any hope of redemption for him had been snuffed out. Portis still recalled the chilling screams of children slowly put to death; children guilty only of being born in Furylin.
That was a whole other lifetime. Now that all the lands of Brista were cut off from each other, all that remained of that time were horrid memories and a few flags. The Steward had nearly gone mad with rage once he found himself trapped within his own kingdom. That first decade of confinement had been brutal not only for the Steward, but on his own people whom he vented his anger on.
Portis' thoughts were interrupted by the faint echo of boots striking the stone floor. The fact that Portis could just make out the sound in the throne room indicted that whoever was approaching was practically crushing the floor beneath their feet with each step.
Portis unclasped his cloak, letting it fall behind him. He unbuckled his weapons belt, the metallic clang of knives striking the stone going unnoticed. Such tangible weapons would do Portis little good against the man he was about to face. The echoing sound of footfalls stopped just outside the throne room's brass double doors. Portis absently twisted the platinum ring on his finger as he heard the light swishing of hinges being turned. A resounding crash washed through the chamber as the door was slammed shut. Soon all was quiet except for the heavy breathing of the man standing behind Portis. Portis took several steadying breaths in a vain attempt to calm his nerves. He knew that by betraying the Steward, he would inevitably find himself in the predicament he was now in. Portis turned around, finally mustering the courage to face his mentor.
Portis' blood turned to ice as he gazed upon the man standing before him. Both tall and muscular, the Steward cut an imposing figure. He was dressed in well made robes as white as the soft snow outside. The only thing soft about this man was his clothing. It was the Stewards eyes, or rather what they held, that had caused Portis' blood to run cold.
Unimaginable hatred coupled with madness stood out like a beacon of light in the darkness within the Steward's eyes. Portis thought he may have seen a tinge of sadness, but if so, it was quickly buried. That look usually preceded violence the likes of which would make even Portis blanch. That the Steward was directing such a stare at Portis was one of the most frightening things he had ever seen.
All of the preparations, the safety measures Portis had hastily constructed for when this confrontation came to pass suddenly seemed as if it wouldn't be nearly enough. Portis' mentor, who had once inspired him to greatness, now only inspired fear. Let Lyren be safe once this night was ended.
Portis had devised a way to protect Lyren from the Steward once he discovered Portis was the cause of such treachery within his kingdom. He had done all he could to prevent anyone from harming her once he was dead. He almost hadn't carried out his plan for fear of the repercussions against her should she be found. But she would have none of that. Lyren knew the cost to the entire world should the Steward be allowed to see his machinations through. Regardless of the fate she would meet should Portis fail to have her hidden away, she had insisted that he carry on. The woman he considered more important than eternity itself gave him the willpower to trudge through with his betrayal. How Portis' gut twisted with worry at the thought of harm coming to Lyren as he watched his mentor.
"Lo'cren..." Portis stammered, unable to say another word through the tightness in his throat.
"Hello old friend." Lo'cren said softly, those eyes betraying the gentle sound of his voice.
Lo'cren strode past Portis as he came to the steps of the dais. The very evil that had taken control of Lo'cren's soul was so palpable that Portis broke out into a cold sweat when the man had walked past. That all of Brista would be saved from Lo'cren was small consolation as Portis stood waiting for his ill fate to befall him.
In the back of his mind, Portis wondered how history might judge him. Would he be remembered as the man who protected the world from evil, or the evil man who slaughtered Pisulcher? He supposed what history thought didn't really matter. Lyren knew the truth of it. She understood how heartbreaking it was for him to commit the deed that ultimately halted Lo'cren's plans. Only her understanding and compassion were able to sustain Portis through this difficult time.
Lo'cren shrugged his heavy robe off, letting it fall to the floor beside Portis' black one. Lo'cren had on a loose fitting white cotton shirt with matching pants. He tilted his head back slightly, the light from the fire pits casting his shadow all about. Portis turned, wanting to keep the Steward in his sights.
"I'd never imagine you to be the one to hurt me so." Lo'cren began in a whisper, his voice turning sharper than a sword's edge as he continued on. "We couldn't have been closer if we'd been birthed by the same parents. Why would you make me regret the time I saved you from that mob?"
Lo'cren turned to face Portis, a single tear running along the scar on his cheek.
"That was ages ago when you and I were like brothers. You know why I had to do it." Portis replied solemnly, his gaze unwavering as he stared into those terrible eyes.
"I suppose you're right. You did stop being like me some time ago." Lo'cren said with malice.
He was squinting at Portis as if he was looking at some grotesque bug that required squashing. Portis looked away, his vision returning to Pisulchers' flag. He didn't realize that he was moving until he hit the stone wall twenty feet behind him. So hard was the impact that part of the wall shattered. Shards of the partly destroyed wall flew in all directions, shredding through the nearby tapestries on either side of Portis. Portis collapsed among the stone rubble, unable to draw a breath.
Despite how much he had readied himself for his impending death, he found that no amount of preparation could truly prepare him for this. Now that the grim specter of death was approaching, he was terrified. Even though he had long before accepted that he would meet a grisly end, he was still scared. He took solace in the fact that Lyren would be safe. She had to be.
He was in the Lonely Meadow with Lyren, on the outskirts of Rahdenia proper. The sun felt luxurious on his body as he gazed lovingly at her. A cloudless blue sky with the sun at its zenith hung high above. The soft gurgle of a nearby brook was soothing to Portis. He had just proposed to her, and she had accepted. He lie there in the bright afternoon, the woman he cherished more than anything in the world nuzzled against his chest, and felt perfectly content. If he never left that spot, well, that would be perfectly fine with him.
The memory faded away as he returned to his execution. Lo'cren was sitting on Portis' stomach, one hand holding him up by his collar. Portis thought it amusing in an odd way that tears of sadness were streaming from eyes filled with madness. If Lo'cren was weeping because of what he was doing to his pupil, or because of what his pupil had done to him, Portis wasn't quite sure. He thought that maybe it was a little of both.
Agonizing pain pulsed through every fiber of Portis' body. The impact against that hateful wall had been devastating. Portis was particularly bothered by a small shard of stone that was poking his lower back. He again found a small amount of amusement that with his body broken and death only moments away, he would notice such a trivial thing. Lo'cren raised his heavy fist, the gold ring on his pinky finger glittering in the light of the fire pits.
"I love you my brother, my friend." Lo'cren whispered, sympathy and hatred peppered in his voice.
He brought his fist down hard, splattering his second in command's nose across his face. Again he lifted Portis by his collar and struck him. With each impact of Portis' head against the stone floor, a small amount of blood sprayed out. Portis had to find what little strength he had left to stop from crying out. Any loud indication of pain would only give pleasure to the twisted leader of Rahdenia.
The moon stood out in the starry sky, dimly illuminating Portis' bedchamber. The smell of rose petals and scented candles permeated the room. Portis stood at the foot of his bed, his skin tingling with passion. Glimmers of the moon's light struck the gilded mirror to his left, revealing parts of the maroon blankets of his bed. That light traced its way up the coverlet, revealing a form beneath the covers. Brought to light by the moon's gentle glow lay one of the loveliest sights that Portis had ever beheld.
Lyren was lying against several goose feathered pillows. Her gorgeous hair was spread out across her chest, barely concealing her supple breasts. She had love, passion, lust, and a primal, animal-like quality swirling invitingly in her eyes. It was their wedding night. Portis was trembling with his urge for his new wife. He slowly clenched and unclenched his fists, a fine sheen of perspiration covering his naked body.
"Come to me my love. I need you in me." Lyren huskily whispered into the loud silence.
Portis was momentarily shocked. He had never heard her speak in such a provocative way. Her statement ignited his blood.
Portis looked up to see Lo'cren's dark eyes staring into him, unblinking. He was panting, apparently tired from beating Portis. Portis turned his head from side to side, ever so slowly lest the pain overtake his senses, and saw that a pool of blood had formed around his head. His head felt like what the metal ball in the bell tower must feel like when it was rung. He heard the quiet hiss of a knife being pulled from its sheath as he tried to clear his disorientation. Portis looked up again, this time to the point of a dagger. Lo'cren was speaking, but Portis couldn't hear him.
Portis was sitting at a tiny round table in the back room of The Lovely Maid Inn. Lyren was sitting across from him, tightly grasping his hand. She was convincing him not to back out of his plans to stop Lo'cren. No life, not mine or yours, is worth the price Brista will pay if the Steward succeeds she had said to him with more conviction than he himself could ever muster. Portis certainly wouldn't put his life above anyone else's, but the Fates help him, he would let humanity be damned if it would keep Lyren safe.
He knew she would never want to live in a world where people had been allowed to suffer in order to keep her safe. If Lo'cren succeeded in his plans, than he would be able to wreak havoc upon the world yet again. Lyren would let herself be killed before ever allowing that tragedy to happen. For her to continue to live safely because other civilizations had been left to fend for themselves was unthinkable. Without even having to think about it, she had put the lives of people she had never met above her own. Portis loved her all the more for that. He had never felt closer to her as he allowed himself to be convinced by her speech. Only the cold rain outside, with its gentle tapping on the window panes of the room, was present to pay homage to the woman who saved the world.
Portis was dimly aware that at any moment, his life was going to be ended. Here he sat within his memories with the most important person in his life. He ached to hold her one more time. He had made the best of the time he had had with her. Now, if he was going to be killed, he just wanted to die while he fell in love with Lyren all over again as he listened to her musical voice.
Suddenly, Lyren began to shimmer. She became a pulsating ball of white energy. The room faded out of existence until Portis was alone in darkness with that white light. Portis thought that he should be panicked, yet somehow, he felt nothing but comfort in the presence of that energy. Without seeming to move, the white light enveloped him in its warm touch.
Complete understanding poured into Portis' mind. He was one with this strange power that was foreign, yet as familiar to him as the perfect contours of Lyren's face. Portis was now one with the very power that was his birthright. Always before, when he would call upon his ability, he felt like he was touching something that could only be seen out of the corner of his eye. Now he could clearly see that something. He was that something. Knowledge came to him. Thoughts and ideas so profound and ambiguous that they had once only tickled at the edge of consciousness emerged into the forefront. It was like he had been in a dark field at midnight, with no stars or moon in the sky to light his way, and then the sun suddenly appeared, revealing the path he was meant to take.
Before his injuries could completely immobilize him, Portis sat up, wrapping his arms around a very surprised Lo'cren. White light began to emanate from Portis, slipping directly into Lo'cren. Portis' birthright flowed into his leader like smoke shooting up a chimney. He heard his former teacher let out a terrible scream. It was done. The Fates save him, it was done. Lo'cren was about to die. Lyren would be safe.
As the last vestiges of life began to leave Lo'cren, Portis released his hold. Lo'cren swayed from side to side, his eyes already looking upon Bakineas' kingdom.
"If I go, you go." he said, blood oozing down his chin.
Light similar to what Portis had formed, except the color of the horizon at sunset, erupted from Lo'cren. Portis let out a painful scream as his mentor's limp body hit the floor. Portis fell back, terrible pain forming in the core of his being. He had come into this confrontation knowing he would die, yet thought he would now live because of the new power he had discovered within himself. That Lo'cren would discover that same type of power within him and manage to snatch away Portis' life at the end was more ironic then Portis cared to admit. He accepted it though. Brista, and most importantly Lyren, would be forever safe from the threat of Lo'cren.
With the pain of his insides melting beginning to render Portis unconscious, his final thoughts were of Lyren, and her intoxicating smile. As the world exploded into darkness, Portis died with a light heart and a smile on his face.
User Reviews
Submitted by Registered_S_O (user info) at 2008-04-06 01:06:36 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Also, I think you are confusing made-up names with unrealistic names. Minska is realistic - Parsnig is not. If you could place him anywhere in literature, Parsnig would be one of the giants from Norse mythology.
Read Terry Goodkind and Robert Jordan.
Submitted by Ltap (user info) at 2008-04-05 10:20:17 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Ahh well. Actually, it just really depends on your taste. You could read me a Stephen King book, and I would say "meh". Believe me I've read some.
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Don't insult Stephen King, I'll murder you.
Also, I think you are confusing made-up names with unrealistic names. Minska is realistic - Parsnig is not. If you could place him anywhere in literature, Parsnig would be one of the giants from Norse mythology.
Submitted by Registered_S_O (user info) at 2008-04-04 23:25:26 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
And made up names is a staple of fantasy writing. I know enough names off the top of my head that are real names to use for every character I will ever make, but continuing with fantasy tradition, I make them up.
Submitted by Registered_S_O (user info) at 2008-04-04 23:24:23 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Indeed, your weak story is better than most of what is posted on uber. However, that doesn't mean it's great. I personally don't like your style of writing because it's the same as every bit-part fantasy writer around. I've seen it tons of times, they have weak and predictable characters, a distinct lack of (or a very strange) plot, and names that seem to have been patched together from random syllables. You're a pretty good writer but you need a lot of work, and just because you think that a bunch of internet people like your writing doesn't mean other people will.
I like an honest answer.
I'd first like to say, what is weak and predictable about it? I mean seriously, these 60 pages or so I have written so far have allowed me to hint at a ridiculous amount of back history. Lands that are shielded from each other? A kingdom within a kingdom? That's bad ass.
Ok my last part was just blowing smoke. I know I need a lot of work. There are tons of fine tunings I can use. But I disagree about my characters being predictable. I don't even think there is enough story written to predict what they will do. I have serious plans for Minska. There will be rape in my story I promise.
Ahh well. Actually, it just really depends on your taste. You could read me a Stephen King book, and I would say "meh". Believe me I've read some.
I think with a lot of work, this does have a shot of selling enough so I could live off of being a writer. I like Ubersite and posting my weak story here because even the rude and negative comments, not to mention the nice ones and indifferent ones give me a look across the spectrum on what I should change or should keep.
Ty Ltap.
Submitted by Ltap (user info) at 2008-04-04 10:22:02 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Registered_S_O (user info) at 2008-04-04 00:31:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
And I must say Ltap, you are a much shittier user than I am. I am attempting to write an epic story that will span many novels. It's something that I do on my spare time, and based on what I see out there, I have a real opportunity to possibly cash in on it. I know my series needs a lot of work, but I have also put more work into The Shielded Land then most people do on a lot of things. Seriously, fuck off.
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Indeed, your weak story is better than most of what is posted on uber. However, that doesn't mean it's great. I personally don't like your style of writing because it's the same as every bit-part fantasy writer around. I've seen it tons of times, they have weak and predictable characters, a distinct lack of (or a very strange) plot, and names that seem to have been patched together from random syllables. You're a pretty good writer but you need a lot of work, and just because you think that a bunch of internet people like your writing doesn't mean other people will.
Submitted by Registered_S_O (user info) at 2008-04-04 00:31:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
And I must say Ltap, you are a much shittier user than I am. I am attempting to write an epic story that will span many novels. It's something that I do on my spare time, and based on what I see out there, I have a real opportunity to possibly cash in on it. I know my series needs a lot of work, but I have also put more work into The Shielded Land then most people do on a lot of things. Seriously, fuck off.
Submitted by Registered_S_O (user info) at 2008-04-04 00:29:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Ltap (user info) at 2008-04-03 15:03:39 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Registered_S_O (user info) at 2008-04-02 12:32:22 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
And seriously Ltap, the ( ) in the topic of this post was meant for people like you who don't like these. Tool.
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So you're saying that the only people who should rate + review are people who love your story, so that way you feel that everyone loves you?
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No dickcheese, I'm saying if you consistently think I suck, stop clicking on my posts. It's very easy. The next time you are on Ubersite and you see a post by registered_s_o, do not click the link. Either go to the post above mine or below it. Why would you continuously bother with someone you obviously don't like? It boggles my mind. Tool.
Submitted by Ltap (user info) at 2008-04-03 15:03:39 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Registered_S_O (user info) at 2008-04-02 12:32:22 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
And seriously Ltap, the ( ) in the topic of this post was meant for people like you who don't like these. Tool.
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So you're saying that the only people who should rate + review are people who love your story, so that way you feel that everyone loves you?
Submitted by Registered_S_O (user info) at 2008-04-02 23:06:03 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
second one what apollo?
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2008-04-02 22:14:53 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
the second one
Submitted by Registered_S_O (user info) at 2008-04-02 20:56:20 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Orphelia: I am a guy.
164 times. Holy shit. 164 represents the number of times I said Portis in my prologue. At nine pagegs thats like 18 times a page. Is that bad? Glad I haven't sent this out yet.
Finished my ass.
That's a good idea Caulfield, except the term irony will play a huge part in this series, particularly the section you are mentioning. It fits with the overall scheme of things.
On a side note, it kind of sucks I have to do this prologue the way it is. While I myself absolutely love it, I can see where there are some detractions. But overall what I said written here works really well with the rest of the world I intend to develop. I am gonna do some fine tuning tonight on chapter 6 and post it after midnight. Thanks for all the reviews guys.
Submitted by iddqd (user info) at 2008-04-02 20:21:39 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2008-04-02 11:27:51 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
don't do creative writing courses or you'll end up like iddqd.
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why, whatever could you mean, jamie? surely you arent passing judgment upon my ability or success from the dearth of posts ive made on a near defunct website?
or are you just bored in your stile and looking for some diversion?
Submitted by haikumikoo (user info) at 2008-04-02 16:30:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I'm not going to read this because the 100+Portis thing will bother me, but it looks like you put forth lots of effort and you also appear to care, so...
Submitted by Caulfield (user info) at 2008-04-02 14:30:51 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Poor Portis.
"He had come into this confrontation knowing he would die, yet thought he would now live because of the new power he had discovered within himself. That Lo'cren would discover that same type of power within him and manage to snatch away Portis' life at the end was more ironic then Portis cared to admit. He accepted it though. Brista, and most importantly Lyren, would be forever safe from the threat of Lo'cren. "
You could probably lose all of this. If he is in terrible pain he won't have a chance to deliberate on ironies, or even feel satisfied that his death served a purpose. A humbler death, filled only with a few sensory elements and some screams, would be more effective because it would leave the reader to think on it longer after he finished.
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2008-04-02 14:25:29 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
This post was not long enough to keep my interest.
Submitted by orphelia (user info) at 2008-04-02 13:42:19 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Are you a girl?
Submitted by EmissionImpossible (user info) at 2008-04-02 13:36:19 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
no episode of family guy is poor, dickweed.
Submitted by Registered_S_O (user info) at 2008-04-02 12:32:22 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
And seriously Ltap, the ( ) in the topic of this post was meant for people like you who don't like these. Tool.
Submitted by Registered_S_O (user info) at 2008-04-02 12:31:42 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Actually, repeating the name too often is something I really have to fine tune. Forgot about that. SO much for a completely finished prologue *sighs*
Submitted by Ltap (user info) at 2008-04-02 11:29:41 EDT (#)
Ranking: -1
Still don't like these. And what is with your unnatural names? Portis? What kind of name is that?
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I came up with the name Portis as a derivate of the word Portigy (slang term for a Portuguese person). Apparently, Clinton Portis is an NFL player. Wtf. *Sighs* again.
Submitted by Ltap (user info) at 2008-04-02 11:29:41 EDT (#)
Ranking: -1
Still don't like these. And what is with your unnatural names? Portis? What kind of name is that?
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2008-04-02 11:27:51 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
don't do creative writing courses or you'll end up like iddqd
Submitted by HurtByTheSun (user info) at 2008-04-02 11:19:22 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Idiot below.
Submitted by Adamdidit2u (user info) at 2008-04-02 11:09:43 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
The thing that really bothered me is that you kept using the proper names, almost without exception. Portis this Portis that, Pisulcher this Rhadenai.....
I started counting the word Portis and gave up when it crossed 100 and I was only 2/3rds through. Do you really need to mention who we're talking about that much?
Submitted by HurtByTheSun (user info) at 2008-04-02 11:02:17 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Registered_S_O (user info) at 2008-04-02 15:59:49 BST (#)
Ranking: 0
emissionimpossible always makes me think of a hard to have orgasm for some reason.
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It's the title of a (relatively poor) Family Guy episode.
Submitted by Registered_S_O (user info) at 2008-04-02 10:59:49 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
emissionimpossible always makes me think of a hard to have orgasm for some reason. I'm not kidding. I know thats probably what you weren't intending with your choice of nick, but, well, and, kudos.
Submitted by EmissionImpossible (user info) at 2008-04-02 10:52:17 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
You are a fan of my posts?? Ok my reviews are gold but my posts?? Oh well my LAST post was good but ummm actually you are right, im brill.
Submitted by Registered_S_O (user info) at 2008-04-02 10:34:58 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Thanks orph.
Submitted by Registered_S_O (user info) at 2008-04-02 10:34:20 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by EmissionImpossible (user info) at 2008-04-02 05:26:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
oh
No need to be hurt. I'm actually a fa of your posts and reviews. And btw, I would read the penis land.
Submitted by woolfe (user info) at 2008-04-02 08:08:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by orph (user info) at 2008-04-02 06:54:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Very good.
Submitted by EmissionImpossible (user info) at 2008-04-02 05:26:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
oh
Submitted by Registered_S_O (user info) at 2008-04-02 04:06:44 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
I was thinking the same thing hurty. I will get over 30 reviews by tomorrow night.
I'm not a hit whore I just crush like one.
I haven't posted in a while and my last post was kicked off the front page cause I posted this one at midnight. I'll repost my last one on the 3rd.
Submitted by HurtByTheSun (user info) at 2008-04-02 03:51:35 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Registered_S_O (user info) at 2008-04-02 08:42:37 BST (#)
Ranking: 0
What if I named one of my stories 'the penis land'. Would you read it??
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He probably would.
And it's kind of lame that what is essentially a re-post (albeit a good one) has gained more attention than the rest of the series.
Submitted by Registered_S_O (user info) at 2008-04-02 03:42:37 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
What if I named one of my stories 'the penis land'. Would you read it??
Submitted by EmissionImpossible (user info) at 2008-04-02 03:38:31 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
sorry but ive never read any of your stories because they have such dull titles but maybe just matbe when i have run out of things to do and iron , I will.
not
Submitted by Registered_S_O (user info) at 2008-04-02 02:41:57 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Thank you very much rob berg.
That is actually one of several lines in my prologue that I kow by heart that I am very proud to have created.
Submitted by rob_berg (user info) at 2008-04-02 01:46:18 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Ok.
I did.
And it was really fucking good.
"As deranged as it sounded in his mind, Portis understood that solace for the broken of spirit had been discovered in evil."
Great line.
Nice work.
Submitted by Registered_S_O (user info) at 2008-04-02 01:34:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
I see. It pains me but it is ok. The knowledge you have provided me makes up for that :)
Submitted by experima (user info) at 2008-04-02 01:27:51 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
see? since i accidentally just gave you a zero, my ratio of rating you will now not be a perfect 2 all around anymore. :(
Submitted by rob_berg (user info) at 2008-04-02 01:26:42 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I'm not reading all of that.
I mean, WTF?
Submitted by Caulfield (user info) at 2008-04-02 01:26:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I'm a little too tired to read this. I'll drop a 2 for the effort and try to get to it tomorrow.
Submitted by experima (user info) at 2008-04-02 01:23:36 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
score of 29 points on 21 times rated.
like, a perfect 2 score from someone would be, say, 200 (100 +2s) on 100 (times they rated) = 2.0
Submitted by Registered_S_O (user info) at 2008-04-02 01:11:46 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
experima, what does 29 on 21 for example mean?
Submitted by Registered_S_O (user info) at 2008-04-02 01:00:37 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
That is cool. I have no other words to describe that.
Submitted by experima (user info) at 2008-04-02 00:50:05 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
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Submitted by Registered_S_O (user info) at 2008-04-01 20:39:23 PDT (#)
Ranking: 0
I so wish I had made the cut. Plus two for sheer effort alone.
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Submitted by experima (user info) at 2008-04-01 20:57:38 PDT (#)
Ranking: 0
there's no effort involved, it's a c/p of user ratings page
http://www.ubersite.com/cgi-bin/moreinfo.cgi?uber=Registered_S_O&cutoff=1
for example, this will link you to a list of how you have rated people and how people have rated you, if you/they have rated at least one time. You can change the cutoff to any number, 9 in FALLEN's case here.
Submitted by Registered_S_O (user info) at 2008-04-02 00:47:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by experima (user info) at 2008-04-02 00:40:41 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Oh, and I provided you a fascinating link in the name-drop post that will simply rock your world.
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Sorry, what are you referring to?
Submitted by experima (user info) at 2008-04-02 00:40:41 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Oh, and I provided you a fascinating link in the name-drop post that will simply rock your world.
Submitted by Registered_S_O (user info) at 2008-04-02 00:40:36 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Aren't we a sweetheart? :)
Submitted by Registered_S_O (user info) at 2008-04-02 00:38:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
I'm drunk, sorry about typos.
Submitted by experima (user info) at 2008-04-02 00:37:42 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
fey's made more than one post.
LOL
Submitted by Registered_S_O (user info) at 2008-04-02 00:35:42 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
This is my first post of april second 2008. No one complain about '1 post per fay' because I followed that.