Coldstone Chronicles: The Legend of Dante Part One

The Legend of Dante, Part One
By Christian Saxton

He couldn’t sleep. He tossed and he turned, the soft duck down mattress making no sound beneath him. The pillow beneath his head invited him to the land of nighttime reveries, but he was plagued by nightmares he could not explain. Horrible visions of flame and flesh—not his own, but that of his family. The smell stuck to the inside of his nostrils like a paste. It seeped up into his brain and corrupted his thoughts.

He had been only a child, maybe four years old, when it happened. He was sleeping peacefully on a stormy night. The wind blew hard that night, making their home in the trees creak and moan, but he remained quiet, taking no notice of the outside world. He didn’t hear the leaves blowing through the cold autumn night. He didn’t hear his mother down below, calling out for his father to come home. He didn’t hear her screams as the cloaked man’s axe ripped through her body as it would a through a tree. He couldn’t hear the man’s heavy footsteps as he went up the stairs or as the door burst open. He slept on.

Alterac was tired and weak. He had traversed the continent to find this thing, this tiny, powerless bundle that could keep him from power. He would not be stopped, could not be stopped now. He had the power. He pulled back the sleeves of his cloak and put his hands out in front of him, palms facing each other. Slowly, the chanting began. It was deep and guttural, the language of the ancients.

“Pied esu dominee, donn eye est e requiem.” His hands began to itch, and then burn as electricity jumped from one to the other. He was having difficulty maintaining his focus, the fatigue was taking over. Gradually, the electricity took shape. He forced it into a tightly packed ball just before his skin began to burn. A small wisp of smoke floated up and filled the air with that stinking scent.

A loud crack made Dante’s eyes open wide. He rolled over and his eyes made contact with those of Alterac. His arms were raised high over his head and the orb was at least three times the size of his head. There was no remorse on the face of evil, merely a smirk of victory. He looked at the little blue-haired boy and laughed.

His arms came down at full speed, straight towards Dante’s head, the crackling orb close in tow. Dante began to feel the heat on his face but suddenly, it stopped. The orb stood merely inches from the child’s face, casting strange shadows across his face, but Alterac did not move. The look on his face had faded away and was replaced by a look of surprise, then of sorrow. He spun around to face the doorway. Dante then noticed the knife protruding from his back. The blade must have been six inches long, and was keenly aimed to penetrate Alterac’s heart. The gutteral sounds uttered only moments ago became gurgles as he sank to the floor.

Dante’s head turned to where Alterac’s was facing. There, in the doorway, stood a man. He wa—

Dante sat straight up. The dream was over. He listened to the air for a moment. There was someone outside.

(This message has been edited by moderator (edited 09-26-2002).)


Originally posted by soberkenny:
“Pied esu dominee, donn eye est e requiem.”

Hmm, a bit of a Monty Python fan, are we? 😄

I don't know what I'm talking about.
In Googlis non est, ergo non est.

always and forever

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Originally posted by Glenn:
**Hmm, a bit of a Monty Python fan, are we?:D


Aren't we all?

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All hail El Presidente Beeblebrox

Disturbing... well written, though.

In general, what exactly makes a game good isn't that easily
quantified - perhaps the absense of things that make it bad? - Words of Wisdom from Glenn Andreas

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Interesting story here, soberkenny, and I am sated. 😉 I just found this one logic problem in it:


Originally posted by soberkenny:
**Dante’s head turned to where Alterac’s was facing. There, in the doorway, stood a man. He wa—

Specifically, the abrupt cutoff. In dialogue, this works sometimes, but never in narrative. The reason? The sensory input (sight, sound) is instantaneous, and if enough was known to start off the sentence, then enough would be known to finish it.

Oh, and don't cut off in the middle of a one-syllable word. Not good style. 🙂 I hope to see more of this later, kenny.

Consider. If passion rules our reasoning, and we are ruled by logic, we are all simply unwitting slaves to emotion, pretending to be greater than what we truly are.

Very good. I am itching to see the next part. 😄

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Let us all scream that as we pass a windows users on the street, then point and laugh at them.
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