Note:
Beginning of the epic fantasy novel (aren't I *so* full of myself today?), which includes everything you might seek in such: betrayal between the rightful successor to the throne and the one power-hungry, shady advisor, betrayal and abuse between the friends, war tearing apart the country, one slightly psychotic hero with suicidal tendencies, granted with power he never wanted, one hero having to choose between his sworn duty, loyalty and friendship on more levels than simply one, one hero taking upon herself all the blame she has no right to, the magic returning to the realm, fate and remorse, and lots of blood and death. Yesh, I know, I don't keep my style steady.
Found on my hard disk in the depths of my 'Pisarstwo\GW\Varia\Do wykorzystania\'. Hope it's worth of reading.
The Priestess
By Lady 'Oaks (ladyoak@wp.pl)
Prologue
Priestess rose in the air, her hair and clothing flowing around her form like a smoke. A column of the dark light erupted from the ground beneath her and reached the sky.
The power, vibrating around, was unbelievable, numbing the senses of anyone, who had at least a little of talent for magic. Priestess mouth moved, but no words came.
She was the last of her kind. She was the last of the Priestesses of the God. All of her sisters were murdered by their own protectors, all of them save her, one, to whom God had smiled with his Dark Face.
No one knew what was she about to do, maybe not even the Dark Priestess herself, for she let the power lead her hands. Small army, gathered to stop her, was of no use, the lambs left for her to slaughter effortlessly.
Over the magical storm a song started to echo, the Chant of Power. One spellsong that took always the life of its caster and of those around. In the mouth of the Dark Priestess it could very well destroy the whole kingdom within the time needed to blink.
She cared not for herself nor the man at her side, that stayed true to his heritage. He was the Faithful, one of the Priestesses' elite guard who turned against their own mistresses. He sworn to protect her with his own life, heart and soul, if ever needed. He loved her. He would kill himself if she told him to do so.
Now, the Faithful was afraid, first time in his life. Not for himself or the fools, who brought the anger of the Priestess upon themselves, but for her. No, he already lost her, or she had lost herself in the pit of rage, grieving and insanity. There was no more before him than a vessel for a power that was to strike the blameworthy.
The Chant of Power destroyed the soul of the caster too, not only his body. It used it to fuel its might.
The Faithful, he loved the Priestess. He was her protector, her guard. His hands trembled when he bared his sword. In his mind it was the only way left for her. For them. For him.
Time slowed down, when the blade pierced her heart. Song was interrupted by the soft wail, as she descended to the earth, falling down gracelessly. The Priestess died by the hand of the man that loved her more than life itself. He closed his eyes and placed the tip of the bloodied sword to his abdomen. He pushed.
Not a sound escaped his lips, but his eyes cried the tears of unspoken grief.
So died the last of the Priestesses. There was no other after her, for the God refused to smile upon his children anymore.
There was no magic after her, as if everything died along with her.
Beginning of the epic fantasy novel (aren't I *so* full of myself today?), which includes everything you might seek in such: betrayal between the rightful successor to the throne and the one power-hungry, shady advisor, betrayal and abuse between the friends, war tearing apart the country, one slightly psychotic hero with suicidal tendencies, granted with power he never wanted, one hero having to choose between his sworn duty, loyalty and friendship on more levels than simply one, one hero taking upon herself all the blame she has no right to, the magic returning to the realm, fate and remorse, and lots of blood and death. Yesh, I know, I don't keep my style steady.
Found on my hard disk in the depths of my 'Pisarstwo\GW\Varia\Do wykorzystania\'. Hope it's worth of reading.
The Priestess
By Lady 'Oaks (ladyoak@wp.pl)
Prologue
Priestess rose in the air, her hair and clothing flowing around her form like a smoke. A column of the dark light erupted from the ground beneath her and reached the sky.
The power, vibrating around, was unbelievable, numbing the senses of anyone, who had at least a little of talent for magic. Priestess mouth moved, but no words came.
She was the last of her kind. She was the last of the Priestesses of the God. All of her sisters were murdered by their own protectors, all of them save her, one, to whom God had smiled with his Dark Face.
No one knew what was she about to do, maybe not even the Dark Priestess herself, for she let the power lead her hands. Small army, gathered to stop her, was of no use, the lambs left for her to slaughter effortlessly.
Over the magical storm a song started to echo, the Chant of Power. One spellsong that took always the life of its caster and of those around. In the mouth of the Dark Priestess it could very well destroy the whole kingdom within the time needed to blink.
She cared not for herself nor the man at her side, that stayed true to his heritage. He was the Faithful, one of the Priestesses' elite guard who turned against their own mistresses. He sworn to protect her with his own life, heart and soul, if ever needed. He loved her. He would kill himself if she told him to do so.
Now, the Faithful was afraid, first time in his life. Not for himself or the fools, who brought the anger of the Priestess upon themselves, but for her. No, he already lost her, or she had lost herself in the pit of rage, grieving and insanity. There was no more before him than a vessel for a power that was to strike the blameworthy.
The Chant of Power destroyed the soul of the caster too, not only his body. It used it to fuel its might.
The Faithful, he loved the Priestess. He was her protector, her guard. His hands trembled when he bared his sword. In his mind it was the only way left for her. For them. For him.
Time slowed down, when the blade pierced her heart. Song was interrupted by the soft wail, as she descended to the earth, falling down gracelessly. The Priestess died by the hand of the man that loved her more than life itself. He closed his eyes and placed the tip of the bloodied sword to his abdomen. He pushed.
Not a sound escaped his lips, but his eyes cried the tears of unspoken grief.
So died the last of the Priestesses. There was no other after her, for the God refused to smile upon his children anymore.
There was no magic after her, as if everything died along with her.