Post by KM loves MUSIC and PEANUT!!!! on Dec 10, 2011 18:56:51 GMT -5
My mom wanted all your guys oppinions on this.
An autumn chill swept down from the northern border of the Orion kingdom, bringing with it the threat of a dark death.
Ramuel clung to the cold stone wall of Shazzator’s castle, every muscle in his body contracted and hard with tension. His claw-like nails gouged deep into the crevices between each stone, gripping with the strength of his ancestors.
The strength of the Spaltons.
For once, his claim to their lineage profited him. Whereas, until now, it seemed only a curse. It is a curse, he told himself darkly. If it wasn’t for their blood flowing through his veins he wouldn’t even be here now. Wouldn’t need to be here. The surface of his skin numbing from the cold of the autumn night, Ramuel pulled himself up a few more inches. Despite his strength, his fingers were beginning to ache. An ache that was slithering up his forearms like the earth serpents in the black forest. Tiny, deadly little creatures that burrowed beneath the skin on contact and slowly consumed its victim from the inside out.
A sudden tremor quivered through him; now wasn’t the time to think about the creatures of his routine nightmares.
Like ghost fingers, the icy breeze played through his long, black hair, freezing his scalp. By now, he could sustain more cold than the average Piador; at least the cruel fate that had born him into this world an outsider had lent him the advantages of the Spaltons. It was rumored that a Spalton could withstand extreme cold, which made them creatures of winter. But this night challenged even Ramuel’s resistance.
If fate had only fitted him with the Spaltons’ flying capacity as well, he wouldn’t have had to scale the castle wall.
The dark balcony loomed above. The heavy bundle of braided vine attached to his back weighed him down but he kept moving. He crawled up the cold stone slowly, a lower cavern of his mind expecting some horror from the dark nether regions to seep through the stone and detach him from the wall, sending him to his death. Shazzator was capable of conjuring up just such a creature, or so the legends were told. Though few had ever had an actual encounter with the sorceress. And Ramuel had no desire to find out if the legends were true, but his options were minimal.
If he didn’t bring back Tia-Mar, his exile would extend to his death. He would be forced to live out his days in the dark caves above the Black Forest, forced to hunt the forest, always wary of the earth serpents. Even in the caves, he wasn’t entirely safe from the vile little creatures.
The dragon-skin pouch he’d made out of the small necromancer he’d caught by the side of the pool, slapped lightly against his leg. The thorns he’d carefully plucked from the mystic rose vine lay in the bottom. It would be easier to put the princess to sleep, rather than chance a panicked episode and get them both caught by the sorceress.
Legend had it that Shazzator could do things to a soul that would make them long for death’s embrace. Ramuel couldn’t imagine longing for death, but he had little doubt the sorceress could change his thinking.
Ramuel reached upward, felt his claw-like nails scratch the edge of the stone wall of the balcony, and looked up. It had seemed so far away just moments ago. He hauled himself up and over the short stone wall and dropped with a heavy thud onto the hard balcony floor.
Crawling into a squat, Ramuel studied his surroundings, eyes wide and alert. His dragon eyes saw everything, even the tiniest of creatures skittering into the darkest shadows. His hand shot out on reflex as one sharp nail snagged a plump bug from a dark corner. He popped the bug in his mouth, chewed the crunchy morsel and swallowed – all the while remaining alert, eyes searching, ears listening. One hand pressed flat against the cold stone floor, feeling for vibrations of movement inside. All was quiet. And still.
Ramuel crept to the door and eased it open slowly. A rusting hinge groaned then popped. Ramuel froze. Waited. Nothing. He squeezed through the small opening, certain the door would create more noise if shoved open any further.
The tower room was dark but for a single thin sliver of moonlight. But Ramuel could see as clearly as if the morning sun were shining brightly through the room. His green reptile eyes came to rest on a large bed elevated in the center of the room. He could hear the low even breathing of a sleeping figure.
He crept forward, climbing the steps up to the bed. One hand slid carefully into the dragon-skin pouch and withdrew a thorn. He reached out and lightly ran his palm up the exposed arm of the sleeping figure. At the inner curve of the elbow, he pressed two fingers against the flesh, felt the blood flowing through the vein underneath and pricked the vein with the tip of the thorn.
The sleeping figure gasped softly in their sleep then slowly sank into a deeper sleep. Ramuel carefully wrapped the sleeping figure in the sheet then carried the unconscious bundle to the balcony. Though small in stature like the Piadors, the Spalton strength afforded him much advantage over his benevolent kinsmen.
Ramuel removed the braided vine and fashioned a crude harness around the sleeping bundle. Again, he picked up his prized cargo and gently lowered it over the edge of the balcony. With his dragon strength, he slowly began to lower the bundle down the edge of the stone castle wall. His eyes and ears remained alert. Could the rescue really be this simple and uneventful? He'd heard many legends about Shazzator but never once did any legend imply that the sorceress was naïve.
Still, there was no sign of Shazzator. Perhaps luck was on his side this time. All things considered, Ramuel found that little tidbit of hope harder to swallow than the crunchy bug he'd eaten earlier.
This is the first four pages
Dragon Spawn
An autumn chill swept down from the northern border of the Orion kingdom, bringing with it the threat of a dark death.
Ramuel clung to the cold stone wall of Shazzator’s castle, every muscle in his body contracted and hard with tension. His claw-like nails gouged deep into the crevices between each stone, gripping with the strength of his ancestors.
The strength of the Spaltons.
For once, his claim to their lineage profited him. Whereas, until now, it seemed only a curse. It is a curse, he told himself darkly. If it wasn’t for their blood flowing through his veins he wouldn’t even be here now. Wouldn’t need to be here. The surface of his skin numbing from the cold of the autumn night, Ramuel pulled himself up a few more inches. Despite his strength, his fingers were beginning to ache. An ache that was slithering up his forearms like the earth serpents in the black forest. Tiny, deadly little creatures that burrowed beneath the skin on contact and slowly consumed its victim from the inside out.
A sudden tremor quivered through him; now wasn’t the time to think about the creatures of his routine nightmares.
Like ghost fingers, the icy breeze played through his long, black hair, freezing his scalp. By now, he could sustain more cold than the average Piador; at least the cruel fate that had born him into this world an outsider had lent him the advantages of the Spaltons. It was rumored that a Spalton could withstand extreme cold, which made them creatures of winter. But this night challenged even Ramuel’s resistance.
If fate had only fitted him with the Spaltons’ flying capacity as well, he wouldn’t have had to scale the castle wall.
The dark balcony loomed above. The heavy bundle of braided vine attached to his back weighed him down but he kept moving. He crawled up the cold stone slowly, a lower cavern of his mind expecting some horror from the dark nether regions to seep through the stone and detach him from the wall, sending him to his death. Shazzator was capable of conjuring up just such a creature, or so the legends were told. Though few had ever had an actual encounter with the sorceress. And Ramuel had no desire to find out if the legends were true, but his options were minimal.
If he didn’t bring back Tia-Mar, his exile would extend to his death. He would be forced to live out his days in the dark caves above the Black Forest, forced to hunt the forest, always wary of the earth serpents. Even in the caves, he wasn’t entirely safe from the vile little creatures.
The dragon-skin pouch he’d made out of the small necromancer he’d caught by the side of the pool, slapped lightly against his leg. The thorns he’d carefully plucked from the mystic rose vine lay in the bottom. It would be easier to put the princess to sleep, rather than chance a panicked episode and get them both caught by the sorceress.
Legend had it that Shazzator could do things to a soul that would make them long for death’s embrace. Ramuel couldn’t imagine longing for death, but he had little doubt the sorceress could change his thinking.
Ramuel reached upward, felt his claw-like nails scratch the edge of the stone wall of the balcony, and looked up. It had seemed so far away just moments ago. He hauled himself up and over the short stone wall and dropped with a heavy thud onto the hard balcony floor.
Crawling into a squat, Ramuel studied his surroundings, eyes wide and alert. His dragon eyes saw everything, even the tiniest of creatures skittering into the darkest shadows. His hand shot out on reflex as one sharp nail snagged a plump bug from a dark corner. He popped the bug in his mouth, chewed the crunchy morsel and swallowed – all the while remaining alert, eyes searching, ears listening. One hand pressed flat against the cold stone floor, feeling for vibrations of movement inside. All was quiet. And still.
Ramuel crept to the door and eased it open slowly. A rusting hinge groaned then popped. Ramuel froze. Waited. Nothing. He squeezed through the small opening, certain the door would create more noise if shoved open any further.
The tower room was dark but for a single thin sliver of moonlight. But Ramuel could see as clearly as if the morning sun were shining brightly through the room. His green reptile eyes came to rest on a large bed elevated in the center of the room. He could hear the low even breathing of a sleeping figure.
He crept forward, climbing the steps up to the bed. One hand slid carefully into the dragon-skin pouch and withdrew a thorn. He reached out and lightly ran his palm up the exposed arm of the sleeping figure. At the inner curve of the elbow, he pressed two fingers against the flesh, felt the blood flowing through the vein underneath and pricked the vein with the tip of the thorn.
The sleeping figure gasped softly in their sleep then slowly sank into a deeper sleep. Ramuel carefully wrapped the sleeping figure in the sheet then carried the unconscious bundle to the balcony. Though small in stature like the Piadors, the Spalton strength afforded him much advantage over his benevolent kinsmen.
Ramuel removed the braided vine and fashioned a crude harness around the sleeping bundle. Again, he picked up his prized cargo and gently lowered it over the edge of the balcony. With his dragon strength, he slowly began to lower the bundle down the edge of the stone castle wall. His eyes and ears remained alert. Could the rescue really be this simple and uneventful? He'd heard many legends about Shazzator but never once did any legend imply that the sorceress was naïve.
Still, there was no sign of Shazzator. Perhaps luck was on his side this time. All things considered, Ramuel found that little tidbit of hope harder to swallow than the crunchy bug he'd eaten earlier.
This is the first four pages
I'm gonna be placing my prologues soon and want all your guys thoughts on witch one is better 
