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Post by bezzerkker on Apr 1, 2007 0:16:43 GMT -5
Title Pending: Prologue He strode into the decrepit church, the open door giving entrance to the biting autumnal breeze. The door swung on hinges that bore no memory of oiling and complained in the way that only hinges can. Dead leaves blew onto the ancient carpet, sneaking past the man’s legs and settling where they fell.
The man, not slowing his pace at all, shed his coat and tossed it onto a smashed pew of rotting wood, his beanie joining it a moment later. Under his warmer clothing, the man wore a loose t-shirt and jeans over his dark skin. His head was shaven, his nose wide and flat, his eyes brown and his mouth turned downwards in a dour expression. Broad shoulders moved in rhythm with his steps, giving him the appearance of a prowling beast.
However, no prowling beast would prostrate himself before an altar in the manner that this man did. All of his dark confidence dissipated as he humbled himself on the dusty grey carpet. After a moment, he rose to his knees and placed his elbows on the wooden altar, in grooves so well used that they had faded slower than the surrounding timber. His hands folded, fingers intertwined, and he leaned forward to rest his brow on his fingers. The words his mouth made were lost as the door opened behind him.
“Here again, Shaw?” rasped a voice that belied resigned exasperation. “Father, it’s Sunday. Where else would I be?” the man responded to the newcomer without turning.
The newcomer muttered an incomprehensible, sullen reply. Shaw ignored him and returned to his devotions. When he was finished, he stood, turned and sat, trusting his weight to the altar that groaned in protest. Shaw’s eyes scanned the newcomer, noting the greyed hair, the unshaven face, tattered Gospel clutched in his left hand, dusty black clothing and wrinkled coffee skin.
“You’re late,” Shaw stated, his tone gently accusatory. “So? Old bones don’t move well in the cold,” the man replied cantankerously. “Father, that’d be more credible if you hadn’t claimed they worked bad in the heat, too. You just keep forgetting,” Shaw retorted. “Age does that, too. How old are you, son?” the old preacher inquired. “Thirty-five,” “Bah. Still young. You have no concept of age. You probably haven’t even started going deaf.” “Is that such a blessing, sir?” “Eh? What’s that about dressing? And who are you to talk about dressing, wearing only a shirt in this weather? Freeze your face off, you will!” “My coat is over there,” Shaw explained, motioning. “Pf, I’m not falling for that one again. You point somewhere, I look and you say ‘Ha ha, made you look!’ You children are always so needlessly mean. I remember when I was a kid…” “That’s funny, I didn’t know they had invented memory that far back,” Shaw muttered quietly “There you go again!” the old preacher railed, “Mean-spirited youths plague the earth today, I tell you.” “I thought you were deaf.” “What’s that? You’re out of breath?! Then shut yer trap, lazy good-for-nothing…” The old man’s voice trailed off into space as his gaze was drawn into the very same. “Finally! You’re quiet and I can talk now,” Shaw breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m going to be on the run for awhile, father. The police have a warrant for my arrest.” “What?!” The fog rose from the preacher’s stare, his eyes quick, sharp and wild. “I didn’t raise you to be a criminal, boy.” “I know father.” “Well, what’d you do, anyway? And don’t give me no lies about being framed. Your luck isn’t that kind of lucky,” the old man demanded. “Murder, father, I’m wanted for murder.” Go on and critique, please.
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Post by Paveltc on Apr 1, 2007 0:46:45 GMT -5
very interesting, great detail. Now where the hell is the rest of it? I want to know what happens dammit!
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Post by bezzerkker on Apr 1, 2007 2:07:23 GMT -5
This will probably just leave you in suspense longer, but here is more.
Chapter 1 Blood drenched the walls and floor. It had splashed up to the ceiling and covered my arms and back. Mercifully, my face had been covered as I was face-down, covering my head with my hands. Cowering is nothing to be ashamed of when faced with a demon.
He was serpentine in form, with the arms and torso of a well-muscled man and flared hood of a cobra. The coloration of his scales was well suited to the flickering torchlight with its soft oranges and yellows. Even the sulfuric smell was somewhat disguised by the scents of smoke that permeated the room. However, even that fragrance was drowned out by the stench of freshly gutted bodies.
Though I could not see it, I knew my last protector had fallen. The sound of his or her armor hitting the stone-cobbled floor was unmistakable. Move, Shaw, move! I screamed at myself, too afraid to listen. With infinite slowness, I took my own advice. I rose from my shameful crouch behind a pillar and threw myself at the door with each step.
It was difficult to navigate around the bodies. I don’t even want to think how many corpses were left in there. All of them were viciously torn and in various stages of dismemberment. The cobbled stone floor was slick with blood, bile and other bodily fluids. Violent deaths leave quite a mess, indeed
In hindsight, it was inevitable that I tripped. On what I tripped, or who, rather, changed the course of everything in my life.
With my luck, whether it was good or bad, I found an injured--though living-- White Knight. He coughed, sputtered and rolled over as I stumbled into him. My luck struck again as I stubbed my toe on his armor. Well, it was beyond a simple stub; I heard it crack.
As I fell over him, tucking into a protective roll, he rose. Soaked in the blood of his brethren and looking more than a little unsteady on his feet, he was still ready and willing to fight. His hands whipped up, by his sides, and stopped at shoulder level fully extended, hands grasping a pair of black pistols that were too oddly shaped to be anything but custom made.
The Knight’s modern weapons contrasted sharply to the archaic spears and swords strewn around the room. His fingers twitched and I heard a pair of sickening cracks as the bullets crushed the scaled hide of the monstrous serpent-fiend. It gave a sub-bass roar, that though inaudible, shook the floor of its lair.
However, the kick of the pistols unbalanced the injured Knight. He was pitched back, falling over me as I had fallen over him. The floor met his head with a nauseating sound.
I was slower to rise than he had been, but I rose nonetheless. My eyes found the abhorred hellish beast charging towards me. Gore from its foul fighting had coated its claws and maw, dripping down to the floor to splatter there. It easily slithered over the bodies of its victims, its sightless eyes narrowed and pointed in my direction. The tongue was what guided it my way, creeping out as sinuous as seaweed swaying in the tide and flickering to taste me in the air. Blood was sprayed each time the three-pronged tongue shook.
Were it not for the now unconscious Knight, I would have fled. Instead, I found a courage born of foolishness. Alongside that, I also had found a spear. Those two were a bad combination. Without any other option, though, I used the emotion and pole-arm for what I could.
With the butt of the spear wedged between a pillar and the floor, I angled it roughly at the charging beast, lips moving in desperate prayer.
Luck comes in threes, as the old belief goes. After my two previous moments of fortune came my third stroke. It arrived precisely when the demon did. The beast had spitted itself on the poorly aimed spear, plunging it right through a bullet wound in its torso. Momentum stole the weapon’s shaft from my hands with no small discomfort, but I was glad to let it go. The fiend slid along the shaft, bright spear-head tearing through its back with a curious shaped blob of ebon gore skewered on the silvered wedge. It slammed into the pillar behind me, knocking me aside and to the ground.
Steaming obsidian blood drenched me, weighing me down more than I though liquid could. It was in my eyes, rendering them truly bloodshot. The liquid was in my nostrils, choking me with a coppery stench that I probably could have tasted from scent alone. However, I did not get to test such a statement since the blood was already in my mouth, defiling it with a taste best left to the imagination.
When the body is confronted with such a situation, it has a natural reflex: it vomits. Now that I was wearing yet another bodily fluid, I had decided it was time to go. I pulled myself up, shaking every inch of the way, grabbing hold of the Knight who saved me. I was much closer to the door than I had thought and dragged myself and my protector there, my legs threatening to give out.
It was a terrifying thought to have them fold under me, leaving me without the strength to leave. I opted to adopt a policy of resisting such terror and continued to stumble on. The stone archway passed above me as the floor started to incline upwards. This was good, since it meant I was leaving the subterranean room, but did nothing positive for the burden I was bearing.
Gritting my teeth until they, too, threatened to collapse, I struggled on. I pushed my way out the door leading down to the cellar that would haunt my dreams for many nights to come. Daylight had poured into the alley since we had entered that night. It pierced my eyes, forcing them to adjust. I don’t remember if they did or not, but I do remember my legs giving way, giving me the chance to experience a cement belly-flop. You can guess how that felt.
Struggling, I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and flipped it open. I pressed one and thanked the inventor of speed-dial. “Hello, this is—“ “Yeah, I know who you are,” I interrupted the operator, “Emergency on Doyle Road, near 6th. There’re a couple of guys on the sidewalk covered in blood that you should know about. Bye” I passed out.
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Post by Arachis on Apr 1, 2007 7:23:35 GMT -5
wow.. very nice. Im really intrigued by the story now. Great Writing. I really liked your dialogue in the opening prologue. Unfortunately I cant actually find anything to critique apart from 2 grammatical errors where it looked like you left a word out. Everything else is really good.
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Post by bezzerkker on Apr 1, 2007 17:23:13 GMT -5
Thanks. I think I caught the mistakes, but I'm not sure. I'll have chapter 2 up as soon as I finish proof-reading. And here it is.
Chapter Two Waking up in a hospital is always the same. Invariably, you find yourself wearing the most humiliating garment known to man and you find yourself in a hospital. That latter part is essential to the process, by the way.
There were lights glaring into my eyes, a weak imitation of the daylight that they had met earlier. I found I was shivering, since a hospital gown not only exposes what other articles of clothing are meant to cover, but also is poor insulation. Mentally, I made a note to demand a blanket.
Shivering showed me just how damaged up I was. My toe was definitely broken, since that is the primary reason my foot would be in a cast (which it was). Along with this, my head was wrapped in a matching bandage, as were my hands. Besides these wounds, I had several sore parts that were definitely going to make pretty bruises. All in all, I was a fashion statement of medical proportions.
To sum up these feelings, I let loose an elaborate sound that was two parts groan and one part moan. This caught the attention of a nurse who entered and responded with stating the obvious.
“Well, Mr. Shaw, you’re awake,” she said. “Really? I hadn’t noticed,” came my reply, “So, what is the damage?” “You have one broken toe,” She motioned to my foot. No surprise there. “We had to remove several large splinters from your hands, which were severely lacerated, and you are suffering from a major concussion. In fact, we had to wake you as soon as possible to keep you from falling into a coma. We can’t give you too many painkillers because they’ll make you fall asleep.” “Oh, joy. Nothing like pain to keep me company,” I paused, a thought occurring, “Um… do you know what happened to the guy who was with me?” “No, but I can check for you.” “Thank you, miss.”
She left the curtained section that was going to cost me a fortune. Hospitals rarely have separate rooms like they do in the movies and on TV. It made the embarrassing gown all the more ineffective in retaining warmth, calling back to mind my mental note for a blanket. I hollered as politely as a man who fervently believed he was in danger of hypothermia could. She returned to my humble abode and I petitioned for something to prevent the oncoming frostbite. Thankfully, she complied and said she would return with both the blanket and news of my companion. I made another mental note to leave her a hefty tip.
I settled into my bed, careful of the IV sticking out of my neck. It sucks to have bandaged hands when in a hospital. Then again, it usually just sucks to be in a hospital in the first place. To take my mind off my poor state, I took in my surroundings.
The curtain partition was primarily white, with small blue flowers making a simple pattern. Both the walls and ceiling were painted white, which seems mandatory in hospitals. I was unable to see the floor to check if it matched as well. My feet hung off the equally ivory bed that had the guardrails pulled up to keep me from rolling off. I struggled and squirmed to properly orient myself on the bed. Carefully, I turned me head, noting the resulting dizziness and beautiful flashing colors that appeared. If I had any doubts about a concussion, this dispelled them. The IV bag I was connected to was clear, meaning it was simple saline. This was good, meaning I had not bled extensively waiting for an ambulance. There was a good chance my nameless defender had survived.
I noticed the blanket before I noticed that my nurse had returned. The blanket was the traditional hospital color, but I did not care as long as it did traditional blanket things. I turned to the bearer of the fine gift with an inquisitive look upon my face.
“Your friend is in the ICU. He sustained damage to well… everywhere except his hands. Three fractures in his left leg, two in his right, broken shoulder, forearm, ribs and the list goes on. I’m not even going to get started on the gashes that were inflicted nor the internal organ damage,” she finally stopped to breathe, “Oh, and you two weren’t the only ones brought in tonight from Doyle, but you two were the only covered in black goo. That stuff was disgusting by the way and you probably will never get it out of your clothing. Ugh, I couldn’t imagine what that would have done to your hair if you had any. I guess that’s the advantage of shaving your head. Anyway, there were more people brought in from that alleyway.”
Again, she had made this speech without breathing until the end. It was grating to hear her speak so fast and constant, but I was too interested in what information she had to interrupt her.
“I’m not sure how you’re going to take this, but there were seven brought here in body-bags and three more that died in the ICU. They were too far gone for us to do anything. Besides the guy that was found next to you, there was only one other we could help. The EMTs were able to get him out in time because your friend had left a blood trail down to this weird room where everyone else they brought in was. You would not believe what my coworkers found there.” “Um… I’m going to guess they found a basement that wasn’t in any blueprints, medieval style torches on the walls, a large collection of sharp metal weapons on the floor and the nastiest deformed snake anyone has ever seen. Am I anywhere close?” I can be a real know-it-all sometimes. “Well, they found a basement, I don’t know about it not being in any blueprint… the rest is all right. How’d you know?” “I was there.” “Oh, right. What happened there? Are you some kind of weird pet exterminators? If so, I got this neighbor with a weird dog that I want dead. The dog, not the neighbor. I know it sounds kind of mean to want it dead, but it’s all orange and big and it has these bumps that look like horns. It’s really mean and I can’t walk past the house without it barking and trying to jump the fence.”
I let her talk for awhile, not paying attention to what she said. Instead, I was wondering if the two Knights I helped in the rescue of would live. It might be a bit conceited to take credit for the second Knight being rescued, but I was the one who called 911, so I definitely played some part. However, if my help was going keep him alive or not, I did not know. All I knew is it that it was going to be a pain explaining the room full of bodies and injured people to the police.
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Post by Paveltc on Apr 1, 2007 19:35:03 GMT -5
good stuff, what happens next?
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Post by bezzerkker on Apr 1, 2007 22:37:02 GMT -5
I'm working on that <.< >.>
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Post by Paveltc on Apr 2, 2007 0:31:03 GMT -5
cool man, I like the way that you are developing the story.
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