2Note: I've run this through spell-check, it's just that some the words are things I've made up. This is the prologue, all I've got so far. Right now, your not supposed to know what's going on. And about the summary: trust me, the story's more intricate than that, it's jut that I could not post half of that plot in only 255 words.
HIDDEN SUN
Written by: Thomas John Bohley
PART I: Introduction
Prologue: Infiltrating Coven City
Come one, come all! Gather round, to hear my tale! Tis the tale of the Darklight Prophecy, surely you have heard of this before! No? Excuse me, but did I just hear you contradicting my insistence that you have heard at least one thing of this before? Well, you must have at least heard of the Prophecy itself! Of Viktor, of Amelia! Of-oh, this is no use. Are you even from these lands? You aren't? Aha! And therein lays the answer to why you do not, in fact, know what I speak of! I shall simply do as I have been boasting to do, and tell you the tale myself.
Please, good Master or Madame, (I cannot quite tell which...hmm...strange indeed is the land from which you come.) take a seat! Listen to a story of darkness, pain, fear, and also of beauty and love. Well, er….Damn! How could I have forgotten the story when it is my job (apparently) to stand around and tell it to people? Bad writing, that's how. Yes, you heard me. Though for the sake of an interesting opening I have made it seem as if this is being told aloud, I'm sorry to inform you that it is actually a manuscript, and you, quite the shocker here, are reading. My "forgetting" of the actual story (Agh! Damn my horrid excuse for a memory! wink-wink) is really just an excuse for me not to actually write this. The following is a collection of journal entries from the people involved with this situation.
Let me start you off with an example, from the very beginning of this tale, earlier than I had intended on starting it. So now, we read from the account of a shape-shifting Elvish spy, by the name of Phaelin. Also, let me apologize in advance for Phaelin's rather spastic personality: one moment, he's polite, the next, theatrical, the next he's cursing like a sailor.
November Eighty-third, 8004; Coven City, Nichtoi.
Morning, now-yet the sun refuses to look down upon this place, and shields her eyes and her appearance, drawing into a blanket of swirling black clouds, never shedding her light on a place that deserves not to be seen in anything but darkness.
In the tiny amount of light that is shed from torches, you can see the buildings, all uniform and monotonous. Every house or other kind of structure is a block of black granite. Each has a singular, thick wooden door, and one singular, square window, the shades behind which are drawn, each one varying only in size. At the front-left corner of each one, stands a tall, black staff, the top of which being a small bowl shape, holding a pool of kerosene, allowing a fire to blaze and crack, to flail about and lick the air within the confines of the bowl. Its red, yellow and orange light refuses to cast pleasant warmth upon me, for what I feel is not the warmth of a fireplace, but the blaze of Hell's fires. Though astoundingly hot, this is quite possibly the coolest area in all of Nichtoi, save for the Western Shore; because, while magma glows and churns underneath most of this place, underneath Coven City is the Barbed Caverns.
Coven's landscape is not an appealing one: it stands a blemish upon the already unattractive face of Nichtoi, which is a great mass of black upon gray upon very little white sand, with tall, dark and unnaturally jagged mountains, and huge, sharp rocks, as well as the ruins of the Ancient Cities-and Nichti-Rega itself! Only one structure stands out against the rest, a sore thumb on fire, a canine walking a man in the midst of...rows of ugly little granite blocks? I don't know-I'm not too good with metaphors! But I tell you now and true, I did pass grammar in school! Honestly, I-oh, dear, I seem to be getting off track. What was I talking about?
Ah, right! The sore thumb on fire! Yes, yes, that's it! It is an utterly gigantic, monumentally tall structure, towering over all else, piercing the clouds and looming up above, letting Ferichai, who now stands upon its top, peers down at us with ever-watchful, ever too keen eyes. Tis a tall, rectangular prism, made from the same old black granite, cracked but solid, every window giving view to a guard with the torch's light blazing and dancing about the walls behind him; at its base, is a thirty-foot wall around it, thick and sturdy-its entrance, a door not much wider nor taller than that of an average house, has about one thousand feet of flat space between itself and the tower. At the top, is a huge statue, barely able to be seen in the clouds, a fifteen foot beast, a hideous demon with large, blank eyes and razors in the place of teeth. It hold's tall spear, but not just any spear-the Warrior Angel's spear! The end of this spear protrudes through the top of the Angel's helm, having pierced her through the bottom of the law. What a horrid, damned mockery of the Ettori fortress! These sculptures deserve nothing short of thirty-one days of torture before being discarded like rubbish!
But still, as much as I wish it, I am not here to insult Coven sculptors. I am here to keep watch, and see if there is anything odd going on in Nichtoi. As of yet, I, Phaelin, stand in the black sand-laden road, looking about with my long, pointed ears hidden in my hood. All around me walk people about as varied as their homes; every single man wears a hooded black cloak, their heads shaved, and a tattoo of a spider crouches in a poised position upon their brow. All of the women wear long, dark purple gowns, with tall, black vale-collars that seem to start on the right of the front of their necks, then curving around the back to the other side, growing as it does so that by the time it reaches the left side of her face, it is covering it entirely. Their heads, as well as the males', are shaven.
I have altered my appearance to fit in, as much as I can do so. My shape-shifting powers, just as the shape-shifting powers of other Shifters, are limited-I can only transform into my own, slightly unusual version of a white wolf, or alter the color of my skin, hair or clothes.
I wear a long, many-layered white cloak, their sleeves tucked into the reddish-brown, thick leather armor strapped to my forearms. The same armor is used to form my boots, and is also worn under my cloak. The opening of my hood goes down the mid of my chest, revealing yet more of the armor, the same protective material that forms a mask to hide my obviously Elven face, with narrow slits over the mouth. My eyes are covered with circular-lens, black goggles. But the others do not see this, no: I have altered it, so that my cloak and armor are black as jet, my head recently shaved, the skin upon my brow altered slightly to give the impression of a black spider tattoo. Luckily, this black outfit closely resembles that of a Coven Guard, to the point where I am actually believed to be one! Hell, I've even been assigned to guard Ferichai tonight, as he performs a "classified operation." What idiots! What a fantastic way to obtain various secrets of the Dark Coven, to see what it is they are really up to! It shan't be long before I discover it, no!
And once I do, I can send a Flying Note, one of the Prophet's many nifty little inventions. I don't even have to write at all: all I must do is grasp it tightly, concentrate on what I wish to let whomever the Note is being sent to know, and the words shall appear. Though magic is involved in the actual flying of the note, do not think that it was involved in the writing appearing on it. It is some technological thingamajig that I could never begin to understand let alone explain to you-but, the point is, in order to use a chip is surgically implanted in your brain and it hurts like a bitch.
And do not think that I suspect naught-I have a Coven Guard's blade sheathed at my waist; but hidden beneath my cloak I keep an Elven blade, one of the most beautiful and deadly swords you shall ever see.
Anyway…right now, I am making my way toward Coven Tower, which lies at the other end of the city. I pass ugly little granite block after ugly little granite block: the lovely scenery shows that the architect had a knack for variety. The sky is veiled in shadow, the smoke from torches swimming through the air to join their mother clouds. My lips curve downward with displeasure at the smell and taste of thick smoke and the lack of sun, my face a disgusted grimace that is not likely to stand out amid these crowds. Walking through this sand, across an entire (fairly small) city, I note, enough to tire the legs of any human, constantly having your feet sunk into the hungry ground, having to have to tear them from its gravely maw at every step, constantly dodging its small beasts, such as scorpions and highly poisonous snakes. This is combined with having to shove, rather rudely, might I add, through large groups of people, typically headed in the opposite direction you are.
Luckily, I am not human-I am a Treeling, an Elf. And we do not tire easily, no: we can climb a tall mountain, and though we may begin to pant, we shall not break a sweat.
The roads, as always I have seen them in my day, nine hours, two minutes and forty-three point nine seconds here, are filled with people, all in their cloaks in gowns, and not a smile on one of their faces. No, the ones smiling aren't outside-they're in their houses, or the Dark Altars, the Church of the Coven, smiling and laughing in glee as they torture whoever happens to be today's lucky sacrifice, or being just as joyful in sacrificing their limbs or blood or lives to the Dark One, or to the Barbed Lords.
Agh, off track yet again! I am not here to describe the awfulness of this cult, but to get to the Tower, and see what it is that Ferichai is up to. As I shove my way through the masses, I see various beggars lying in the streets, leaning against the houses and crying out in anguish or in sheer insanity. I see starved animals, left to starve by their original owners, even a frail, furless dog feasting upon his brother's carcass just for something to eat. Disgusting, this place, and heartbreaking.
Anyway, as I near the Coven Tower Gate, a great racket, loud cheers and whoops, obviously coming from a great mass of people, befalls my ears. With that noise, darkness reaches me-I have a theory of what is behind that gate, but I guess that I am soon to find out if it is right. Oh, Lord, I hope not. Nonetheless, I approach the door-which is thick, rusted, dark-red and brown metal with many bolts, yet far from large. The noise is now louder, more frightening and soul-gripping than before as my fears are confirmed by the sounds of armor being adjusted and thick, heavy boots, crashing to the sand. With a quick swiping noise, two tall, sharp axes form an X-shape over the entrance, each held by a Coven Guard, both of whom are wearing black armor and a black cloak, their faces covered in a black steel mask. "Name?" says one Guard stoically, the taller, more heavyset one to the left.
"Coven Guard Forty-Four," I reply with no hint of lie nor panic in my voice, which is muffled and softened by my mask.
"Password?" asks the one on the right. A short, thin man is he, the little of his face that is shown being a plane of sunburnt skin, now a minefield of acne.
"Hell-Wolf," I say evenly, resisting the urge to wince at the thought of the ugly beast whose name I have just uttered.
Without question, the seemingly more idiotic than expected Guards who have failed to inquire why I hide my eyes, lift their bladed, deadly bans from the door, and move stiffly back into position, jamming the spear-like bottom-ends of their axes into the ground and staring forth, not moving one muscle. Honestly, do they not blink? Do they do naught but breathe and ask for passwords? Had I not bore witness to the fact that their lips moved and that they were able to draw their blades, I would have mistaken them for incredibly well-done sculptures! And their lack of color, the fact that they were essentially carved out of solid black, simply added to this effect….
The iron flakes in my grip as I wrap my fingers around the handle, slightly disgusted by the fact that some of the flakes, which apparently aren't actually bits of rusted iron, flee from my touch. The handle is nigh breaking as I turn it, but luckily I hear the click of the latch rather than the snapping of metal. Damn! The sounds beyond the passageway grow louder yet! No matter what I see, I mustn't show fear…but let us hope that I am entirely wrong in my assumptions of what lays beyond this gate. The rusty hinges seem to cry out in screeches of pain as I push the door open, the screech still not comparing to the racket inside. Brace yourself, Phaelin…brace yourself...
I take a deep breath, immediately coughing as the horrid poison that these people graciously accept into their lungs reaches mine. Looking foreword, my every fear is confirmed. At first I was unsure of what I was looking at, a mass of black, covering nearly the entire area around the tower. Simply the color of the air, if calling it air could be justified, made everything hard to see…it was much too soon (for me) that I realized, the black mass before me was exactly what I had feared, rather than what I had hoped, which was maybe a mass of statues, or possibly of a field of black plant that somehow cheered and breathed. But no-I was now only if not less than seven feet from the Coven's army. The sounds stabbed at my ear drums, their continuous shouting filling the air. They were innumerable, one massive force to the fearful and unsuspecting eye.
On their legs, they bore black pants, hiding thick armor, and black trench coats, closed at the abdomen, had billowed, torn and frayed in the black wind, giving each soldier a very crow-like appearance. The coats could not be seen on the abdomen, however-that was covered in various weapons, ranging from large knives, to tossing daggers, to handguns. Their masks had been taken off (and hung at their waist, having been tucked into their belts) to reveal messy, unwashed hair and soot-laden faces with a sick grin as they peered upwards, to the top of the tower, where stood Ferichai, waving down at them.
Well, I'd love to stand facing these nice fellows' backs all day, but I have work to do. Sighing, I stepped forth, onto a long path between the army and the wall, both of which being just as lovely as each other, the wall covered with ash and grime, and some other things I could not, and would not care to describe.
As I walk, I notice that the ground here is flat, hard granite, unlike the black sand outside of the wall; I also notice some of the soldiers giving charming, sometimes toothless smiling that just seem to shout happily, in the way a crazed troll may shout happily, "Y'know, your skull would like nice on my dinner table!" I walk at a quick pace, hoping to pass the multitude as quickly as can be done without appearing to be something other than a guard on his way to work. The army seemed to go on forever, for I soon felt that I was not walking between people and a wall, but rather, through a ceiling-less hallway, between two walls-one of which just breathed and moved a bit more.
We already suspected, I think it's safe to say we knew that the members of this lovely land of Nichtoi were plotting against us, but this! A vast army, and being only that of the Coven! Imagine what evils are being conjured at Nichti-Rega! Already, they are preparing to strike! Our time grows thin, I hope with every fiber of my being that this will go quickly, so that I may send a note and get back to my land to plan everything out about this mess. But I cannot be bothered with that now-if I panic, I break my cover, and will very likely become some happy soldier's feast.
And so I walk…the minutes pass like days, my entire body is rigid with the tension (which I guess is good-maybe I'm as statue-esque as the actual guards!) and clichés lay thick in the air. Suddenly-
Ah! Well, I think you've read enough of this, my friend! This part is a tale for another, so sorry if I tore you away from your reading a bit early! But note that it will be explained later…a lot later, but still. Anyway, on with the story, I guess!