Hey everyone, this is Marshpelt. My friend (Son of God) and I are working on this story together and I finnaly got enough time to get the prologue up. We'll be alternating chapters, I wrote the prologue and he'll write the first chapter and so on. I hope you enjoy it.
In the corner of the dusty attic of the Big House, sat a girl. Or at least she used to be a girl. Before age withered her and mummified her into what she was now. Still a host for the all-seeing oracle, but no longer the healthy young spirit she used to be. Her body rarely moved and when it did, it was only to speak the prophecies that she had seen. And she would only speak when someone was there to hear and record what she had to say.
But now there was a war going on. Olympus was under attack and all but a very few demigods remained at camp. There was no one to visit her, no one to hear her words. And yet, for the first time in a very long time, the oracle moved when there was no one to see. A greenish smoke filled the room, glowing slightly, and the oracle raised her head.
The prophecy must be delivered, a dry, wispy voice seemed to say, whether it is heard or not.
There was several seconds pause then the same voice continued,
Two of half from one unknown,
To raise the gale and melt the stone,
Brought to shelter then turned away,
Before they find a home to stay.
Across the sea to a different shore,
Then the safety's lost in a second war,
Which side they choose will end it all,
At the end of time, the gods must fall.
With that ominous tidbit off her chest, the green smoke dissipated as though it had never been there, and the oracle dropped her head to rest again. A curl of smoke drifted from her and formed a folded piece of paper, which fell onto a nearby table, unnoticed by all the world.
Let us know what you think!