Post by Elestera on Jan 18, 2007 1:31:08 GMT -5
Okay, here's what'll probably turn into the opening section of the first chapter of my story.
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A young man with a hawkish face and piercing green eyes climbed the steps one at a time. Even with the soft leather soles of his simple boots, each individual footfall echoed loudly through the stairwell to his heightened senses, and the swish of the dark blue robes concealing his entire form, while quieter, was still noticed as well. Even the stitching of the simple garments underneath the robe itched his skin horribly in his state of nervous alert, but he pressed on. Higher and higher he climbed, and as the distance from the ground increased, the number of windows in the stone structure dropped, and the light along with it. When he reached the heavy wooden doors at the top, the last of the natural light was fading from the evening in the final barred window behind him. With a gentle push, the great doors swung inward readily. With only a single moment’s hesitation to adjust the violet sash marking him as a Consul of the Academy, he stepped through and the passage shut itself behind him.
The room was lit only by sporadically placed candles, and perhaps that was for the best. The Consul never was quite at ease taking direction from the Grand Master face to face. It was not a matter of intimidation, or even of the hierarchy of ranks. No, indeed the unsettling emotion he felt was far more primal.
Revulsion.
The number of times he’d entered the dusty, perpetually reeking room never altered the fact that standing before the Grand Master felt fundamentally wrong to the very core of his being. The darkness did little to conceal the inhuman silhouette his superior possessed. What had once been a man was now something else.
The core of his body was the only part still vaguely human, and it was withered and wilted from the drain of the rest of him. He looked aged beyond his time, a still living mummy of dry wrinkled flesh and wispy hair, even though he was barely two decades older than the young Consul. Any glance beyond the desiccated form only made matters worse. His body was positively covered in grafts, the fleshy growths and protrusions extending from every available part of his limbs and back. The details were hidden in the dim surroundings, but what he had done to himself was still clear. The Grand Master barely counted as a man, he was defined more by the creatures he’d bound himself to than his own flesh.
The Master spoke before he even had a chance to announce his entry, “Consul Soran… I am most displeased,” the monster’s haunting voice came from at once everywhere and nowhere. It seemed to reverberate through both the chamber and Soran’s own mind, even as his Master’s lips failed to move, “And I do not believe I need to state the reason for my distress.”
He didn’t, and the Consul’s response was prompt, “I cannot say how she managed to escape, milord, and I accept the fault onto my own shoulders, but some of my sect’s best trackers are already seeking her out. It should only be a matter of time be-“
“I do not care for such evasive answers, or that it will be a ‘matter of time’, Consul. I. Want. Her. Found. That is all,” the barely concealed form shifted with agitation, writhing in the darkness, “You fail to understand her importance. Alinnea must be brought back into our ranks… and without harm. She is the only one it will accept, no others. Just as I will only accept your success, and nothing else.”
Soran flinched a bit at the words and their hidden meaning, but simply nodded, “It shall be done.”
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A young man with a hawkish face and piercing green eyes climbed the steps one at a time. Even with the soft leather soles of his simple boots, each individual footfall echoed loudly through the stairwell to his heightened senses, and the swish of the dark blue robes concealing his entire form, while quieter, was still noticed as well. Even the stitching of the simple garments underneath the robe itched his skin horribly in his state of nervous alert, but he pressed on. Higher and higher he climbed, and as the distance from the ground increased, the number of windows in the stone structure dropped, and the light along with it. When he reached the heavy wooden doors at the top, the last of the natural light was fading from the evening in the final barred window behind him. With a gentle push, the great doors swung inward readily. With only a single moment’s hesitation to adjust the violet sash marking him as a Consul of the Academy, he stepped through and the passage shut itself behind him.
The room was lit only by sporadically placed candles, and perhaps that was for the best. The Consul never was quite at ease taking direction from the Grand Master face to face. It was not a matter of intimidation, or even of the hierarchy of ranks. No, indeed the unsettling emotion he felt was far more primal.
Revulsion.
The number of times he’d entered the dusty, perpetually reeking room never altered the fact that standing before the Grand Master felt fundamentally wrong to the very core of his being. The darkness did little to conceal the inhuman silhouette his superior possessed. What had once been a man was now something else.
The core of his body was the only part still vaguely human, and it was withered and wilted from the drain of the rest of him. He looked aged beyond his time, a still living mummy of dry wrinkled flesh and wispy hair, even though he was barely two decades older than the young Consul. Any glance beyond the desiccated form only made matters worse. His body was positively covered in grafts, the fleshy growths and protrusions extending from every available part of his limbs and back. The details were hidden in the dim surroundings, but what he had done to himself was still clear. The Grand Master barely counted as a man, he was defined more by the creatures he’d bound himself to than his own flesh.
The Master spoke before he even had a chance to announce his entry, “Consul Soran… I am most displeased,” the monster’s haunting voice came from at once everywhere and nowhere. It seemed to reverberate through both the chamber and Soran’s own mind, even as his Master’s lips failed to move, “And I do not believe I need to state the reason for my distress.”
He didn’t, and the Consul’s response was prompt, “I cannot say how she managed to escape, milord, and I accept the fault onto my own shoulders, but some of my sect’s best trackers are already seeking her out. It should only be a matter of time be-“
“I do not care for such evasive answers, or that it will be a ‘matter of time’, Consul. I. Want. Her. Found. That is all,” the barely concealed form shifted with agitation, writhing in the darkness, “You fail to understand her importance. Alinnea must be brought back into our ranks… and without harm. She is the only one it will accept, no others. Just as I will only accept your success, and nothing else.”
Soran flinched a bit at the words and their hidden meaning, but simply nodded, “It shall be done.”