Serroth: Shackles of the Damned (PG 13) (Beginning contest 1000 words approx. )

The first chapter is very short, only around 1000 words, I am going to make it bigger but not until I've finished the rest of the book off, its better for me to finish it then toil on with the beginning otherwise it will never be finished. Sorry I'm rambling on, here it is.





SERROTH : SHACKLES OF THE DAMNED

APEXIX 1: THE COVENANT

"Always night his lonely heart,

Searching forever throughout the dark,

Long his love lost in pain,

Day by day his search in vain,

Fear and Terror his only sorrow,

A fate the same soon to follow."



3134, the Fifth Era. She's gone... News has arrived...HE has returned. Kharathos stands poised. Arlembia lies, lies un-breathing, becoming a slow distant memory. The resistance is deteriorating, decaying like the morning mist. She's gone...

None can escape the ensuing darkness, the veil comes, and it shall be seized...with both hands!

Our story begins upon the ramparts of Erennar, seat of the great Servant. The night is thick, a shadow sweeps across valley.

* * * * * * * * * * *

"KILL IT, KILL IT, KILL IT NOW!"

Several silver sickle bolts soared across the noxious, night sky. Hard clicks and deep rumbles sounded in the near distance like thuds of dread on the black, rocks soils blasted under the failing light of the seldom full moon.

"SHOOT IT NOW!"

Cries and vicious screams continued to shout. A pale figure amongst the dense morose trees and dismal rocks and stout boulders shrinked silently into the crawling darkness under the fall of whispering spines hurtling from above.

"Fools! We must not harm the master’s project!"

Several cold figures stood upon the columned, grey, moss driven walls high above. Cloaked in black as if harbingers of death with their contracts they stood, their shredded robes lashing in the cold biting wind.

“When the Master finds out that it’s escaped he will drown Erennar in lakes of blood. What would u suggest then!?" queried one grabbing another at the neck and squeezing intently.

"We...cannot...let it...esca...pe.”

He released his grip, slumping to the floor like a submissive dog he grasped for air. Surrounded by darkness little could be seen. A hazy smoke emitted from the hoods of the cultists. Eyes, there were no eyes but they were looking, looking down upon the beaten bird caught within their claws. An unearthly smell drifted past, carried by the fel wind. A smell only described as a smell of rotten carcases, infused with visions of blood and carnage.

"Its feeding...", one turned to the crenulated walls, gazing off into the unholy mist.

With a burning hiss he said,

"We still have time!" He took a breath, turned to them, raised his skeletal hand and then vanished in a wisp of smoke.

"I...I will ap...apologise..." - Clutching his throbbing throat he continued, dribbling curses under his dismal breathe. - "... To the master a.. and beg for his forgive...ness..."

His voice waned to a croak, hesitating, he let out a sharp wail. Pointing a bony finger, stiffened and hardened, another muttered under his breath at the whelp.

"Be sure to grovel! The master has little patience for failure!"

Shifting his hand, there was a scream of pain in a split twig of light. Rocking slightly the other said "But... it... it wasn't my fault..."

Wallowing in grief he lay there for several seconds, grasping his now broken arm. One of the others standing opposite his mattered body bent down, his pitch hood level to his face.

"Be sure to tell him that. The pain will last for only several seconds but the suffering will last forever. Prey for a merciful death..." he trailed off hissing into his ear.

He arose and followed by the others, they glided across the onyx brick like stretching across the frozen wastes itself.

One of them stopped still. Turning his head slightly to the right, he said-

"It would be unwise to flee these walls; an even worse fate would await you should you elude the master's grasp. Make haste. Haza noe din a'rl enikk."

He lashed his body forwards, evaporating into the mist.

The night cautiously wore in, minutes to what seemed like hours. The black vapours covering the sky passed silently. Great pillars stood cold around him, dead as the whistling wind echoing through the pursuing darkness. Still he lay. Drowning in self pity, fiercely grasping his right arm, dripping with blood he cawed in agony. His ragged clock enveloped him in the thick fog. The white hair on his head frizzled in the cold, his pale face blackened from soot and ash blowing in the wind, the skeleton posture lay there, unmoving.

Scraping together what was left of his meagre strength, forcing himself up with his other arm still intact, he walked slowly across the wall, shimmering to a crawl. Above loomed gaseous fumes and intoxicating clouds illuminated shyly by the dim light of the moon and the fiery pits of Erennar below.

The darkness below sparkled with miniscule flames, and several oil lit lap lights. Screams of pain and howls were heard quietly across the expanse of towers, walls and camps. Grey silhouettes moved silently in the mountains and the dead trees beyond the city offered little comfort to him.

He limped carefully and cautiously down the staircase. His mind was swamped with a thousand thoughts passing through a thousand times a second. He could not feel his arm nor his legs nor his mind.

A voice came then... a whisper interrupting his thoughts, a long, drawn out serpent’s seethe. It spoke-

"Come."

It echoed through his mind. It came several times, again and again. Collecting his thoughts he wandered down the coarse stone staircase into the broken, shattered city. The streets themselves, once part of proud Erennar were now littered with small fires, dead Oak trees and little camps bundled together with cloth and rope, smuggled into deep alley ways and searching crevices of the ancient city. The old marble cobbles encased now in moss, dust and mournful memories sat quietly in oppression.

Miserable looking creatures lumbered from the camps as he went by. Humanoid of posture with cracked, pug faces staring grizzly with their beady black fire like eyes. Grunts and groans resounded under the muffled voices and the crackling and flickering of fumes of the camp fires scattered around the area. Passing by they scowled around the corners, with hungry eyes and an appetite for fresh meat, as if ready to pounce on a clean kill. Men in shrouds and hoods strided past glumly raising their heads slightly in reverence to the dead, their hands folded in on each other. Lowering their heads they passed quietly.

Another voice came. More sinister than the last-

"Do not be afraid. They will not hurt you... yet."

It crackled inside his head. His heart beated harder, thumping against his ribcage trying to escape. Sweat dripped from his brow and dissolved slowly into the pavement. The bleak wind rushed through his pale hair. Wishing to put it out of his mind he failed to think of anything worth thinking about. The message was now imbedded in his memory like a tree rooted deeply into the soil. He approached, very slowly approached. Past the symmetrical dull brick buildings he strode, through the winding alleys and broken arches to the Dark Tower itself...Durz Thallaz.

Hi! I don't know why I haven't gotten to this earlier, but here I am!

I loved the intro, if not a bit cliche. It was very intriging and grabbed my attention right frmo the off. I liked the fast pacing, the suspense, the great writing used.

I won't do grammar, because I see nothing wrong and it's not really my area anyway.

I generally liked the plot, and you had better write some more!

BWAHA! Now you have intro, you have to carry on! OK, you don't but still! I'm loving the plot, well done!

~Mark~

I hate bragging but I'm at Chapter 6 And I cant believe it, Chapter 6 is at 8000 words already and I havent even gotten to the main bit yet. I'm moving quite slowly at the moment though, I'm getting down about 500 words a day which is the bare minimum I need to meet the deadline. Thank god for the holidays though xD

anyway bragging mode off