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ALRIGHT. Let's see if anyone actually replies! xd
It's short, and it's only the prologue. Constructive criticism would be great. What'cha think? biggrin
It's short, and it's only the prologue. Constructive criticism would be great. What'cha think? biggrin
Ciaran stood on a hilltop, his notebook clutched to his chest. The grass beneath his boots was a limp, brown-green and the grey clouds weighed heavily on the sky. He could smell rain, a sorrowful dampness. He flexed his raven black wings irritably before thoroughly shaking them out. A single feather floated to the ground.
He wore black from head to toe, from his spiked hair to his combat boots. His lightweight jacket was sleeveless, and ended halfway down his calves. It too was black as pitch, as were his t-shirt and cargo pants. The only contrasts were his eyes, which were coloured a striking gold, and his skin, which was pale, but with a hint of rosiness. He was completely disoriented and utterly out of place in a setting like this.
Ciaran picked up the small black feather and rolled it between his fingertips. The town at the bottom of the hill was small and crude; barely qualifying to be called such. There was a low wooden palisade surrounding the place. A winding river lay on the opposite side, and there was a road running through the village, parallel to the river. Even Ciaran could see that the town was in a terrible position if anyone decided to take it upon themselves to attack the place. And if the river flooded, the rickety boats moored on the poorly constructed docks would surely be lost, along with most of the town.
There was a blinding flash and a terrible rumble. Ciaran tucked his journal into an inner pocket just as the sky opened and wept. He closed his eyes and turned his face skywards, and within moments was drenched. He thought of shielding himself within his waterproof wings, but decided against it, instead revelling in the icy chill of the sky’s tears.
Suddenly, he heard a curdling scream below. His eyes snapped open and he focused back on the town. A small, long haired figure stood near the town with her arm upraised. Pointing.
At him.
Ciaran sighed and pushed the dripping wet hair from his eyes. He frowned.
“What am I doing here?”
