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⋆꒷꒦‧₊˚𓆩The Narrator's Prologue𓆪˚₊‧꒦꒷⋆ [Before you, a book written and published under the name Fal'leon Kagura Maehr'uhier] We found ourselves in a space unfamiliar, cold, and devoid of life. The silence of nature was near deafening, and I was thankful for the song my staff gave off. Myself, Nemea, Elenora, Floria, Lesley, and a ‘ker unbeknownst to myself stood on the black sand, surrounded by crimson walls and a dark ceiling. The being- a man, or something emulating a man, faceless and threatening floated above us with menace. The Narrator, it so dubbed itself, and thus I shall do the same. The Narrator spoke, “Think of this as a first draft to my story. I’ve read stories with dragons and beasts, where a group of heroes save the princess.” Questions flurried from us. Where were we? What are the rules? Can we bird a friend? They were answered, though the information was hardly noteworthy. If the Narrator bore a gaze, it landed on Nemea, who had provoked it previously. Within an instant, she was atop a black stoned structure that hovered in the air. We, the heroes, I suppose, bickered for a small bout, the fault of our situation up for debate. A discussion I will save detailing. “Do you all have your weapons ready?” We were asked. Yes’s from nearly everyone, except myself and Floria. Panic struck me at that moment, but this Narrator creature is apparently not an unjust creature. But, rather, a storyteller. A glaive, my glaive formed into my grasp, thankfully. The engravings of elven, the decor, all as created. How interesting this creature is. The Narrator vanished before I had even a moment to notice, and in its place a creature of vile appearance. Its maw was large and toothy, hung open in an unpleasant manner. Its flesh, or something like flesh, was black and inky in colour, similar to the sand below us. “Thats a face only a haelun could love” “I dont think even a haelun could love THAT.” While humorous, it wasn’t a false description. This creature wasn’t something I enjoyed viewing. I can’t imagine any of us did. Our time to simply sit and observe was not long spent, as it let out a noise I can only describe as the roared version of a stomach gurgle before beginning to approach one of my comrades. We moved in tandem to encircle this creature while Lesley began to egg it onwards, yelling and running to draw its attention away from the rest of our party. I waited, my glaive ready, my breath held. The chance of this thing being peaceful remained on the table, that is, until it struck Lesley. I took this as this story’s confirmation to be on the attack, and attack I did. Decades of combat etched into the very bones of my existence, the cobwebs promptly shaken free in the moment of my approach. Swift, fluid, and on the mark. I felt my blade bury into the back of this creature with great satisfaction, and when I returned to a defensive position, saw what must have been its version of blood-- that thick black sand all around us-- leaked out. This initiation of combat wasn’t something that would go without punishment, I learned this fact quickly. I had kept my distance from the beast, the length of my blade allowing such, however not enough it seemed. Claws raked my face and seared pain through me. The sting of combat, a masochistic joy I seldom admit to miss. I felt the blood seep down, and with two of us bearing injury, a silent acknowledgement of the severity of our situation sunk in. Even if the Narrator wouldn’t allow us to die, a prospect we had no proof of, we could leave with severe injuries. Perhaps that realization is what caused everyone to move in at once. In succession, Elenora, myself, the ‘ker and Floria all moved to strike the creature down where it stood. Axe, glaive, trident and spear, all sunk into various places. Myself, I aimed for the very arm that dared to strike me. And, as swiftly as it had formed, the creature fell to sand as its jaw unhinged. We stood together, still seeing red, our chests heaving. I was brought from my trance by Nemea falling from above and landing next to me, and realized then it had ended. “Tutorial complete.” The Narrator floated above us once more, and I craned to view it. I wonder now, in recalling this, if it had expected the majority of us to have enjoyed the experience, or perhaps it was disappointed by such. It was hard to tell what a faceless creature was feeling, given it couldn’t emote such to us, and certainly wouldn’t give word. What it did inform us of, is that this was hardly the end of our new story. This was, in all senses of the word, a test. Our toes dipped into the waters of this tale, of the format in which this writer would be crafting its next book. Concerningly, excitingly, I’m under the impression that these chapters -- as I’ve been calling it -- will increase in difficulty going forward. This prologue was easy, but if the Narrator is as much a craftsman of chronicles as it claims to be, then things will grow more interesting with time. “I will give you two years' rest.” Two years. That’s the amount of time we have to prepare ourselves for the first real chapter of this tale, and hone the skills we have. What this Narrator is, its powersource, is unbeknownst to any of us. Voidal in nature, it is not, this is something I am sure of. Thus, it remains a mystery I hope to solve. I hope these next two years treat us well enough that we may be prepared for what lies ahead.
