Post by Deleted on Sept 25, 2005 20:33:07 GMT -6
This is a long-term novel I've started to write. It needs a bit of polishing, but I shall post the first few pages... tell me what you guys think, ay?
Tyane's Beginnings
Paradise Abyss
by A.T. Cayce
--
At the end of the ocean there lies an abyss.
The isle upon which it brews is called Paradise, in mockery of the true conditions under which this void lies. Impossible, sudden storms, ferocious winds and perhaps, if one is lucky, the rare, normal sunny day. The brave adventurers who so foolishly step into the eternal darkness have never come out again. Who knows what lies on the other side? This ancient portal that shows nothing but shadows could actually lead to the true Paradise... or maybe, one wonders, is it the path into Death? It may be eternity before the world of Tyane finds out.
--
Just after dawn, on the forest Isle of Ikaryn, the sound of tiny minaro birds echoed gleefully into the crisp morning air as the avians began their day. A lone figure could be seen trotting down the beach, just beyond the touch of the sea, leaving footprints in the semi-moist sand. Long, blue-black hair shone in the golden sunlight, tangled and unkempt from a restless night's sleep. Clad in a simple blue robe with lavender tribal designs, the girl made a strange sight so early in the morning. As she neared a cluster of black rocks roughly carved into a temple-like structure, she slowed her pace to a leisurely walk, and finally, when she reached them, stopped. From a pocket she withdrew an ivory flute, inlaid with silver wire swirl patterns. Lifting it to her lips, she blasted out two shrill notes, harsh and commanding. After the last echoes faded, she pocketed the instrument, grinning impishly as a dark figure emerged from between the rocks. It was a boy who looked similar to the girl, but his expression was quite the opposite. “For the love of Yuanmel! Islahal, I was trying to sleep!” came the annoyed growl, a grumpy frown on his pale face, fiery brown eyes glaring at his sister. She only laughed at him, saying simply, “It's time for breakfast, Kien!” As soon as his name was out of her mouth, Islahal turned and flew back down the beach, this time not bothering to avoid the waves, sending ocean spray flying into the air, glittering like a fountain of crystals. Kien grumbled for a few minutes, then wrapped his gray cloak tighter around himself and slowly picked his way down the beach after his twin.
--
The smooth walls of Aryn's altar room gleamed white, random scrolls of archaic runes etched in black ink on the wall, here and there, sparkling with the silver of magic. The earthen floor was swept clean, with only a wooden chair and a low, carved table. One whole wall was built with many alcoves, each with their own small altar to a different god or goddess. Every morning, a new stick of incense was inserted into each one, lit with a murmured blessing, and a new offering of peace placed before each jade statue. There were six in all: Yuanmel, goddess of light and peace, Chirenkyo, goddess of the sea, Jarl, god of war and fire, Rellikary, goddess of the earth, Yunrael, god of the sky, and finally, Ukreal, god of darkness. Aryn, dressed in the mage's robe of white and gold, knelt in the center of the room, murmuring a swift prayer. She believed in the gods, but did not have quite enough devotion to join any of the temples, or even go to a worship session. She had committed too many 'sins'. That, really, was her only issue with religion. People were people, they killed, they lied and all of other the 'imperfections' were too real to be avoided. It was impossible to be perfect, or try to be, and be sorry for anything you might have done wrong on any given day. Aryn sighed and rose from her position on the floor, dusting of her knees. She left the room, quickly removing the fancy robe, revealing the black clothes she wore underneath, and the many daggers hung around her waist. Now it was time to go and fulfill her duty as a sinful human. Quietly, she made her way down the hall and out into the bust streets of Tierkyl.
--
It was just after noon on Ikaryn, he sound of Islahal's wind flute winding its way through the tall trees, singing a song of sadness, death and regret. Kien mumbled darkly to himself as he knelt in the garden that lay in front of their small hut, picking weeds out from the beds of tomatoes, lettuce and various other vegetables. Finally, he could stand it no more. “Isla! Stop playing that song! It's so depressing.” His sister shook her head, then began another tune, this one much more cheerful. Kien recognized it as a hymn to the earth goddess. “Well, it's fitting, I suppose...” he muttered, along with a yelp as he pricked his finger on a thorny weed. “Curses! I give up. Let's go inside, Isla, and see what else Father will have us do.” Isla giggled. “You mean, let's see what else he'll have you do?” Kien glowered at her and went inside, growling. Their father was a tall man, impressively built, more like a bear than a man. His coal black eyes sparked with inner strength, the black hair and beard kept tidy and neatly trimmed. He wore a plain white tunic over light brown leggings with blackened boots, polished to a high shine. He sat in front of their small fireplace, humming tunelessly, absentmindedly whittling a square piece of white wood. He lifted his head as the two siblings entered, speaking in his deep rumbling voice. “Ah, m'boy, given up so soon, have ye?” Though his expression was stern, both Isla and Kien could tell that he was laughing silently by the way his eyes danced. His son looked slightly foolish, but nodded truthfully. “And ye, Isla-girl, why haven't ye helped th' poor wee lad? A strong lass such as yerself shouldna be wastin' yer time doin' nothin'.” She grinned innocently and flourished her instrument. “I was practicing, Father.” Suddenly, their conversation was interrupted by another voice outside, sounding urgent.
“Oi! Jaerkyl! Are ya home?”
Isla and Kien's father stood abruptly, striding out the front door to greet the newcomer. The caller was a medium-sized fellow, with the skin that looked as if it had never seen the sun and dark brown hair a curling mass that was offset well by his emerald green eyes. He didn't look much older than Kien and Isla, who were 15. He grinned at Kien, and nodded politely to his sister, but bowed to Jaerkyl. As he straightened up, he began speaking. “Ah, sir, I've just come over from ma's. We got news from the capital, and we were told by the messenger to spread it around the area. It seems that a group of assassins broke into the palace and murdered the Lord Umikel.” Jaerkyl's eyebrows rose, but he didn't look too worried. “Ah, well, Ryken, I wouldna worry too much abou' it, them nobles have always been lilies.” The boy shook his head. “No, no, sir, there's more. They... Not just the nobles. The servants and visitors, too. And they haven't left Ikaryn. Rumor is, there hiding somewhere around our Deep Forest.” At this, the big man frowned, casting a sidelong glance at Kien and Isla, both of them listening intently. “A'ight, Ryken. We'll keep a sharp lookout fer these vagabonds, eh? Now, run home to th' missus, she's defenseless withou' ye!” Ryken looked stricken at the thought, and ran off into the woods as fast as he was able. Jaerkyl turned to his children. “Right, ye two, get inter th' house. I won't have ye running abou' when there's murderers 'round.” His voice told them he wanted no arguments. They glanced at each other, then obeyed.
--
It was night now, and the Deep Forest was pitch black, though the fires below lit the foliage above with bright orange shimmers. Aryn sighed happily, wiping one of her blades with a damp cloth, carefully checking the silver metal surface for remnants of blood. Her team had done well, and they'd made doubly sure each and every one of them was dead. The House of Umikel was depleted entirely. Stage two of their mission was about to be set in motion. Another isle, not too far away, had also been corrupted. The corruption was moving fast, though how, she could not guess.
“Lady Aryn... wine for you?”
She looked up at the speaker. It was her second-in-command, Fyrinn, who was grinning jokingly, holding out a flask of water. He knew she never drank spirits. Someone had to stay alert enough to be on the lookout for the Knights, the leader of which was Aryn's arch-nemesis, and it had to be her. “You know what I like. Nice and strong, too...” Aryn commented as the fresh, icy cold mountain water entered her throat. Fyrinn laughed and joined his fellow assassins around the second campfire. None of her crew had been infected with the terrible 'corruption', the demon aura that made all who had it act strangely, randomly attacking people close to them, and then eventually dying a painful death. It was a good sign.
Tyane's Beginnings
Paradise Abyss
by A.T. Cayce
--
At the end of the ocean there lies an abyss.
The isle upon which it brews is called Paradise, in mockery of the true conditions under which this void lies. Impossible, sudden storms, ferocious winds and perhaps, if one is lucky, the rare, normal sunny day. The brave adventurers who so foolishly step into the eternal darkness have never come out again. Who knows what lies on the other side? This ancient portal that shows nothing but shadows could actually lead to the true Paradise... or maybe, one wonders, is it the path into Death? It may be eternity before the world of Tyane finds out.
--
Just after dawn, on the forest Isle of Ikaryn, the sound of tiny minaro birds echoed gleefully into the crisp morning air as the avians began their day. A lone figure could be seen trotting down the beach, just beyond the touch of the sea, leaving footprints in the semi-moist sand. Long, blue-black hair shone in the golden sunlight, tangled and unkempt from a restless night's sleep. Clad in a simple blue robe with lavender tribal designs, the girl made a strange sight so early in the morning. As she neared a cluster of black rocks roughly carved into a temple-like structure, she slowed her pace to a leisurely walk, and finally, when she reached them, stopped. From a pocket she withdrew an ivory flute, inlaid with silver wire swirl patterns. Lifting it to her lips, she blasted out two shrill notes, harsh and commanding. After the last echoes faded, she pocketed the instrument, grinning impishly as a dark figure emerged from between the rocks. It was a boy who looked similar to the girl, but his expression was quite the opposite. “For the love of Yuanmel! Islahal, I was trying to sleep!” came the annoyed growl, a grumpy frown on his pale face, fiery brown eyes glaring at his sister. She only laughed at him, saying simply, “It's time for breakfast, Kien!” As soon as his name was out of her mouth, Islahal turned and flew back down the beach, this time not bothering to avoid the waves, sending ocean spray flying into the air, glittering like a fountain of crystals. Kien grumbled for a few minutes, then wrapped his gray cloak tighter around himself and slowly picked his way down the beach after his twin.
--
The smooth walls of Aryn's altar room gleamed white, random scrolls of archaic runes etched in black ink on the wall, here and there, sparkling with the silver of magic. The earthen floor was swept clean, with only a wooden chair and a low, carved table. One whole wall was built with many alcoves, each with their own small altar to a different god or goddess. Every morning, a new stick of incense was inserted into each one, lit with a murmured blessing, and a new offering of peace placed before each jade statue. There were six in all: Yuanmel, goddess of light and peace, Chirenkyo, goddess of the sea, Jarl, god of war and fire, Rellikary, goddess of the earth, Yunrael, god of the sky, and finally, Ukreal, god of darkness. Aryn, dressed in the mage's robe of white and gold, knelt in the center of the room, murmuring a swift prayer. She believed in the gods, but did not have quite enough devotion to join any of the temples, or even go to a worship session. She had committed too many 'sins'. That, really, was her only issue with religion. People were people, they killed, they lied and all of other the 'imperfections' were too real to be avoided. It was impossible to be perfect, or try to be, and be sorry for anything you might have done wrong on any given day. Aryn sighed and rose from her position on the floor, dusting of her knees. She left the room, quickly removing the fancy robe, revealing the black clothes she wore underneath, and the many daggers hung around her waist. Now it was time to go and fulfill her duty as a sinful human. Quietly, she made her way down the hall and out into the bust streets of Tierkyl.
--
It was just after noon on Ikaryn, he sound of Islahal's wind flute winding its way through the tall trees, singing a song of sadness, death and regret. Kien mumbled darkly to himself as he knelt in the garden that lay in front of their small hut, picking weeds out from the beds of tomatoes, lettuce and various other vegetables. Finally, he could stand it no more. “Isla! Stop playing that song! It's so depressing.” His sister shook her head, then began another tune, this one much more cheerful. Kien recognized it as a hymn to the earth goddess. “Well, it's fitting, I suppose...” he muttered, along with a yelp as he pricked his finger on a thorny weed. “Curses! I give up. Let's go inside, Isla, and see what else Father will have us do.” Isla giggled. “You mean, let's see what else he'll have you do?” Kien glowered at her and went inside, growling. Their father was a tall man, impressively built, more like a bear than a man. His coal black eyes sparked with inner strength, the black hair and beard kept tidy and neatly trimmed. He wore a plain white tunic over light brown leggings with blackened boots, polished to a high shine. He sat in front of their small fireplace, humming tunelessly, absentmindedly whittling a square piece of white wood. He lifted his head as the two siblings entered, speaking in his deep rumbling voice. “Ah, m'boy, given up so soon, have ye?” Though his expression was stern, both Isla and Kien could tell that he was laughing silently by the way his eyes danced. His son looked slightly foolish, but nodded truthfully. “And ye, Isla-girl, why haven't ye helped th' poor wee lad? A strong lass such as yerself shouldna be wastin' yer time doin' nothin'.” She grinned innocently and flourished her instrument. “I was practicing, Father.” Suddenly, their conversation was interrupted by another voice outside, sounding urgent.
“Oi! Jaerkyl! Are ya home?”
Isla and Kien's father stood abruptly, striding out the front door to greet the newcomer. The caller was a medium-sized fellow, with the skin that looked as if it had never seen the sun and dark brown hair a curling mass that was offset well by his emerald green eyes. He didn't look much older than Kien and Isla, who were 15. He grinned at Kien, and nodded politely to his sister, but bowed to Jaerkyl. As he straightened up, he began speaking. “Ah, sir, I've just come over from ma's. We got news from the capital, and we were told by the messenger to spread it around the area. It seems that a group of assassins broke into the palace and murdered the Lord Umikel.” Jaerkyl's eyebrows rose, but he didn't look too worried. “Ah, well, Ryken, I wouldna worry too much abou' it, them nobles have always been lilies.” The boy shook his head. “No, no, sir, there's more. They... Not just the nobles. The servants and visitors, too. And they haven't left Ikaryn. Rumor is, there hiding somewhere around our Deep Forest.” At this, the big man frowned, casting a sidelong glance at Kien and Isla, both of them listening intently. “A'ight, Ryken. We'll keep a sharp lookout fer these vagabonds, eh? Now, run home to th' missus, she's defenseless withou' ye!” Ryken looked stricken at the thought, and ran off into the woods as fast as he was able. Jaerkyl turned to his children. “Right, ye two, get inter th' house. I won't have ye running abou' when there's murderers 'round.” His voice told them he wanted no arguments. They glanced at each other, then obeyed.
--
It was night now, and the Deep Forest was pitch black, though the fires below lit the foliage above with bright orange shimmers. Aryn sighed happily, wiping one of her blades with a damp cloth, carefully checking the silver metal surface for remnants of blood. Her team had done well, and they'd made doubly sure each and every one of them was dead. The House of Umikel was depleted entirely. Stage two of their mission was about to be set in motion. Another isle, not too far away, had also been corrupted. The corruption was moving fast, though how, she could not guess.
“Lady Aryn... wine for you?”
She looked up at the speaker. It was her second-in-command, Fyrinn, who was grinning jokingly, holding out a flask of water. He knew she never drank spirits. Someone had to stay alert enough to be on the lookout for the Knights, the leader of which was Aryn's arch-nemesis, and it had to be her. “You know what I like. Nice and strong, too...” Aryn commented as the fresh, icy cold mountain water entered her throat. Fyrinn laughed and joined his fellow assassins around the second campfire. None of her crew had been infected with the terrible 'corruption', the demon aura that made all who had it act strangely, randomly attacking people close to them, and then eventually dying a painful death. It was a good sign.
