I've read a lot of great stuff here lately, what with the return of certain fics, certain members and the arrival of new fantastic fics, the fanfic forum is great entertainment at the moment.
Usually when I rejoin the forum after another inevitable absence, I write after reading new fics, out of inspiration.
So I've written something, I wrote it last night, and its because its got nothing to do with Pokemon that I'm not posting it on the forums. Therefore I've decided to post just the prologue, partly because I wanted to prove I'm still here and I'm still writing, and partly because I wanted to share some of it with the people on SPPF ^^. So anyway, heres the prologue.
---
The night was icy cold, and black as the cloak that hung over the slender form Oremhon Rapkal, flickering unseen in the frosty wind that propelled across the desolate meadow. Even the stars seemed distant, dimly glowing pinpricks in the sheet of black that enveloped the atmosphere, casting an aura of insecure secrecy that discomforted Oremhon. Despite the thick fabric tailored especially for an insulated effect that would usually shield a human body from the cold, Oremhon struggled to suppress a shiver. His head was low, his eyes cautious, and his form swift and indistinguishable, hidden within the long blades of grass that whipped viscously, almost in hostility. Never would the night disgruntle him so, it was his ally, his aid. But this night was different.
He pulled up his hood, partly to shield himself from the bitter cold, partly for his own subconscious security – a factor he was afraid to admit, one that he would usually conceal behind his hood, behind his steely persona that intimidated so many. Paranoia. It was the only culprit.
Nevertheless, his dagger remained close, and his hand sharp. Caution should never be disregarded.
His linear path was broken as he took a sharp turn. The forest. Its trees offered a security that he could thrive in. He was silent in the trees, concealed, and ultimately protected from the nighttime perils. The trees were nearby, tall-standing and thick, perfect for a stealthy flight.
The stars were barely conceivable above the canopies, occasionally glinting wherever the leaves left a gap in Oremhon’s movement. He was safer in the trees, but the night still managed to pierce his skin with its chill. Something was off.
Yet still he moved, his heart steadily reaching a greater rapidity in its beating. His breaths became shorter and more frequent. It wasn’t until a sound emitted from far behind him that he was reassured that he was not the only presence within the wood that night. Hostility. The culprit of tonight’s indifference. The trees had betrayed him.
The dagger met his hasty hand, and instinct held his trust for the few seconds that triggered a swift spin on the spot – his hand opening to allow his blade to fly through the trees. The aim was precise, and a soft metallic incursion echoed through the night, swiftly ensued by a pained grunt and heavy fall.
A kill. The death granted a euphoric relief, assurance; the night had blessed him once again. He stood, taking a brief moment to reminisce over the past minutes. Never had the darkness induced such fear upon him, never had he felt an impulse to flee from an unseen pursuer. He was so sure of the night’s betrayal.
All the same, the threat no longer plagued the darkness, and Oremhon gladly embraced the customary security that the night blessed him with. Continuation. His journey wasn’t yet over. He had to retrieve his blade and persist onwards.
Treachery. A ruse. A sharp, excruciating pain pierced his shoulder before he could take a step further. He cried out, back arched in agony, hood thrown backwards by the force. His long hair was thrown behind him, strands falling across his anguished face as he gazed with dimming eyes at the partially revealed sky. The pain was relentless, lingering. He staggered, no longer troubled by the guise of stealth, and with great pain expressed with a heart-wrenching scream, he yanked the long arrow that plunged deep into his shoulder from his body. He stumbled again as it met his eyes, and a nearby tree provided temporary support while his inspection of the object ensued. An arrow of fine silver, night’s kiss of death.
His fate wouldn’t be long now, and not before breaking the tool in two did he turn to face his oppressor. A shadow in the trees, so apparent, so easily identified, poised to strike again and finish what he’d begun. How could he have been missed? In such caution did Oremhon travel, and yet the figure, blatant atop the branch, was unseen?
There was nothing else to do now. Oremhon looked to the dim sky. Only a whistle of the missile was heard, and the stars became brighter, and slowly less distant.
----
Thanks to everyone who read it. If you feel something needs to be mentioned, feel free to do so, I'm still open for critisism ^.^.
Usually when I rejoin the forum after another inevitable absence, I write after reading new fics, out of inspiration.
So I've written something, I wrote it last night, and its because its got nothing to do with Pokemon that I'm not posting it on the forums. Therefore I've decided to post just the prologue, partly because I wanted to prove I'm still here and I'm still writing, and partly because I wanted to share some of it with the people on SPPF ^^. So anyway, heres the prologue.
---
The night was icy cold, and black as the cloak that hung over the slender form Oremhon Rapkal, flickering unseen in the frosty wind that propelled across the desolate meadow. Even the stars seemed distant, dimly glowing pinpricks in the sheet of black that enveloped the atmosphere, casting an aura of insecure secrecy that discomforted Oremhon. Despite the thick fabric tailored especially for an insulated effect that would usually shield a human body from the cold, Oremhon struggled to suppress a shiver. His head was low, his eyes cautious, and his form swift and indistinguishable, hidden within the long blades of grass that whipped viscously, almost in hostility. Never would the night disgruntle him so, it was his ally, his aid. But this night was different.
He pulled up his hood, partly to shield himself from the bitter cold, partly for his own subconscious security – a factor he was afraid to admit, one that he would usually conceal behind his hood, behind his steely persona that intimidated so many. Paranoia. It was the only culprit.
Nevertheless, his dagger remained close, and his hand sharp. Caution should never be disregarded.
His linear path was broken as he took a sharp turn. The forest. Its trees offered a security that he could thrive in. He was silent in the trees, concealed, and ultimately protected from the nighttime perils. The trees were nearby, tall-standing and thick, perfect for a stealthy flight.
The stars were barely conceivable above the canopies, occasionally glinting wherever the leaves left a gap in Oremhon’s movement. He was safer in the trees, but the night still managed to pierce his skin with its chill. Something was off.
Yet still he moved, his heart steadily reaching a greater rapidity in its beating. His breaths became shorter and more frequent. It wasn’t until a sound emitted from far behind him that he was reassured that he was not the only presence within the wood that night. Hostility. The culprit of tonight’s indifference. The trees had betrayed him.
The dagger met his hasty hand, and instinct held his trust for the few seconds that triggered a swift spin on the spot – his hand opening to allow his blade to fly through the trees. The aim was precise, and a soft metallic incursion echoed through the night, swiftly ensued by a pained grunt and heavy fall.
A kill. The death granted a euphoric relief, assurance; the night had blessed him once again. He stood, taking a brief moment to reminisce over the past minutes. Never had the darkness induced such fear upon him, never had he felt an impulse to flee from an unseen pursuer. He was so sure of the night’s betrayal.
All the same, the threat no longer plagued the darkness, and Oremhon gladly embraced the customary security that the night blessed him with. Continuation. His journey wasn’t yet over. He had to retrieve his blade and persist onwards.
Treachery. A ruse. A sharp, excruciating pain pierced his shoulder before he could take a step further. He cried out, back arched in agony, hood thrown backwards by the force. His long hair was thrown behind him, strands falling across his anguished face as he gazed with dimming eyes at the partially revealed sky. The pain was relentless, lingering. He staggered, no longer troubled by the guise of stealth, and with great pain expressed with a heart-wrenching scream, he yanked the long arrow that plunged deep into his shoulder from his body. He stumbled again as it met his eyes, and a nearby tree provided temporary support while his inspection of the object ensued. An arrow of fine silver, night’s kiss of death.
His fate wouldn’t be long now, and not before breaking the tool in two did he turn to face his oppressor. A shadow in the trees, so apparent, so easily identified, poised to strike again and finish what he’d begun. How could he have been missed? In such caution did Oremhon travel, and yet the figure, blatant atop the branch, was unseen?
There was nothing else to do now. Oremhon looked to the dim sky. Only a whistle of the missile was heard, and the stars became brighter, and slowly less distant.
----
Thanks to everyone who read it. If you feel something needs to be mentioned, feel free to do so, I'm still open for critisism ^.^.