I thought that it would be a good idea to present some new possible characters and plot developments for the novel. This is not my final work though, so any errors will be corrected or rewritten in a near future.
"Signore..." , the priest looked to his superior with anxiety and growing fear written all over his face. Father Gianotti stared blankly in front of himself, silenced by disbelief. The only sound heard in the room came from Byrne, who was cleaning his rifle. Byrne did it mechanically, his mind very much absent. Some people rolled their thumbs or tapped with their fingers when feeling nervous. Byrne however, would be more likely to start sharpening his combat knife than to do any of the sort. And less inclined to actually look nervous. Gianotti suddenly jerked his head towards Byrne, his face contorted with anger.
"Stop that!" generous amounts of spit flew from Gianottis mouth along with the words.
"Ah, thank you Father..", Byrne responded with an equally generous amount of sarcasm, "... but I've already had me drink, see?"
Gianottis' face contorted even more. Byrne always got the best of him with his sarcastic retorts. Gianotti not being well-spoken in the english language didn't do any wonders for the bishops childish pride either.
Byrne shot a glance towards the fleshy mess that was the body which was partially hanging out of the sack. The sackcloth soaked in blood. He shrugged and poured himself some more whisky while muttering; "Another wee sip wouldn't hurt though...". He emptied the glas in one loud gulp and poured himself another glas. Father Gianotti thought about making a bitter remark about how Byrne was like a cliché of an irishman. His attention was inevitably drawn towards the mangled corpse on the floor though.
Gianotti leaned forward and buried his face in his shaking hands. The Vatican had not prepared him for this. Cold sweat ran down between his fingers.
He was instructed to observe the sudden(and illegal) constructing of a large building with an ominous design in this god-forsaken northern lands. There were also faint implications of an occult sect forming as well, but no real effort had been made as to deal with that. It was probably nothing more than some teenagers caught up in some mock seances and excessive drinking as usual. Or so they had thought. The Vatican always investigated such matters though. Thus Gianotti(not regarded as the sharpest tool in the monastic shed) had been sent to observe and report. This however, indicated something much more sinister. Something devilish. Something profoundly nefarious!
Even how the body had been transported here was baffling, unbeliavable. And still a mystery.
One of the priests from Gianottis escort had been in the conference room, when the glassed ceiling had shattered and a large sack had landed on the floor with a wet thump. The poor priest had looked up in shock and claimed that he had seen something taking off into the red dusk. The problem was that the only way anyone or anything could take off anywhere at that spot, was by flying. Flying. Luckily, Byrne had crashed into the room seconds later and through the scope of his rifle confirmed that the priests sanity was intact. Something large was flying away from the scene. And doing so at an incredible speed. The only shot Byrne had even bothered to fire was nowhere near hitting the agile flier.
They'd later confirmed that the body was that of Father Escatore, one of the priests that had been sent to investigate the sect. The other priest was still missing. They'd been told to use discretion and Gianotti doubted that they had been anything less but invisible. Apparantly though, these people had a knack for revealing the unseen.
A dark tower rising in an incredibly short space of time, and with no trace of any permissions from the countrys officials or contracts with any building company. A dangerous and bold cult on the rise, undaunted by the might and influence of the Vatican. The odd, unbeliavable and, quite frankly, unnerving events seemed to pile up at an exponential rate.
On a balcony, occasionally lit up with different colours from the nightclub, a brooding mind was gazing indifferently over the city. A quiet gust of wind made the man, tall and towering, turn his head slightly to his left. The long dark hair hid the mans' features, and his capes' collar obscured most of his head.
"Report", came a soft but bone-chilling order from the master of Shadowmound Keep.
From the shadowed roof, something crawled closer. The bottom half of a vampiresque face came into view in the multi-coloured light emanating from the nightclub.
"Master, we were succesful", Moundmaw whispered.
The man produced a pack of cigarettes from somewhere within the folds of his cape.
"Those are poisonous, Master", Moundmaw said with unease in his voice.
Smoke rose toward the starry winther sky, dissapating into the night.
"A poison to which I am immune nevertheless, but", the mans otherwise hard voice softened a bit, "...Thank you for your concern, Moundmaw... how are our new servants doing?"
Moundmaw displayed a fanged grin, and said; "They have selected a leader among themselves as you instructed them, and they were most enthustiastic in disposing of those pathetic priests...", Moundmaws' grin turned into a displeased frown(an eerie grimace on a beastial face such as his) "...But they kept one alive, saying that they wanted proof of the reality of your promise before vowing servitude to you, my Master"
The man furrowed his eyebrows, seeming even more displeased than his servant. He then chuckled for a bit, his face turning into a sly grin. "Craven, aren't they?", he chuckled. The man held the lit cigarette in the palm of his open hand.
"Man desires fire, Moundmaw, but I will give them such an inferno that they will wish they were without it.". The cigarette disintegrated completely in a burst of flames.
Moundmaw blinked and made a slightly dumb expression. He then smiled with mischievous glee as he realized the meaning of his masters metaphor.
Short story by Rex Panthera
Read 736 times
Written on 2010-05-27 at 16:24
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The Sorcerers' Cabal, Second Excerp
..."Signore..." , the priest looked to his superior with anxiety and growing fear written all over his face. Father Gianotti stared blankly in front of himself, silenced by disbelief. The only sound heard in the room came from Byrne, who was cleaning his rifle. Byrne did it mechanically, his mind very much absent. Some people rolled their thumbs or tapped with their fingers when feeling nervous. Byrne however, would be more likely to start sharpening his combat knife than to do any of the sort. And less inclined to actually look nervous. Gianotti suddenly jerked his head towards Byrne, his face contorted with anger.
"Stop that!" generous amounts of spit flew from Gianottis mouth along with the words.
"Ah, thank you Father..", Byrne responded with an equally generous amount of sarcasm, "... but I've already had me drink, see?"
Gianottis' face contorted even more. Byrne always got the best of him with his sarcastic retorts. Gianotti not being well-spoken in the english language didn't do any wonders for the bishops childish pride either.
Byrne shot a glance towards the fleshy mess that was the body which was partially hanging out of the sack. The sackcloth soaked in blood. He shrugged and poured himself some more whisky while muttering; "Another wee sip wouldn't hurt though...". He emptied the glas in one loud gulp and poured himself another glas. Father Gianotti thought about making a bitter remark about how Byrne was like a cliché of an irishman. His attention was inevitably drawn towards the mangled corpse on the floor though.
Gianotti leaned forward and buried his face in his shaking hands. The Vatican had not prepared him for this. Cold sweat ran down between his fingers.
He was instructed to observe the sudden(and illegal) constructing of a large building with an ominous design in this god-forsaken northern lands. There were also faint implications of an occult sect forming as well, but no real effort had been made as to deal with that. It was probably nothing more than some teenagers caught up in some mock seances and excessive drinking as usual. Or so they had thought. The Vatican always investigated such matters though. Thus Gianotti(not regarded as the sharpest tool in the monastic shed) had been sent to observe and report. This however, indicated something much more sinister. Something devilish. Something profoundly nefarious!
Even how the body had been transported here was baffling, unbeliavable. And still a mystery.
One of the priests from Gianottis escort had been in the conference room, when the glassed ceiling had shattered and a large sack had landed on the floor with a wet thump. The poor priest had looked up in shock and claimed that he had seen something taking off into the red dusk. The problem was that the only way anyone or anything could take off anywhere at that spot, was by flying. Flying. Luckily, Byrne had crashed into the room seconds later and through the scope of his rifle confirmed that the priests sanity was intact. Something large was flying away from the scene. And doing so at an incredible speed. The only shot Byrne had even bothered to fire was nowhere near hitting the agile flier.
They'd later confirmed that the body was that of Father Escatore, one of the priests that had been sent to investigate the sect. The other priest was still missing. They'd been told to use discretion and Gianotti doubted that they had been anything less but invisible. Apparantly though, these people had a knack for revealing the unseen.
A dark tower rising in an incredibly short space of time, and with no trace of any permissions from the countrys officials or contracts with any building company. A dangerous and bold cult on the rise, undaunted by the might and influence of the Vatican. The odd, unbeliavable and, quite frankly, unnerving events seemed to pile up at an exponential rate.
On a balcony, occasionally lit up with different colours from the nightclub, a brooding mind was gazing indifferently over the city. A quiet gust of wind made the man, tall and towering, turn his head slightly to his left. The long dark hair hid the mans' features, and his capes' collar obscured most of his head.
"Report", came a soft but bone-chilling order from the master of Shadowmound Keep.
From the shadowed roof, something crawled closer. The bottom half of a vampiresque face came into view in the multi-coloured light emanating from the nightclub.
"Master, we were succesful", Moundmaw whispered.
The man produced a pack of cigarettes from somewhere within the folds of his cape.
"Those are poisonous, Master", Moundmaw said with unease in his voice.
Smoke rose toward the starry winther sky, dissapating into the night.
"A poison to which I am immune nevertheless, but", the mans otherwise hard voice softened a bit, "...Thank you for your concern, Moundmaw... how are our new servants doing?"
Moundmaw displayed a fanged grin, and said; "They have selected a leader among themselves as you instructed them, and they were most enthustiastic in disposing of those pathetic priests...", Moundmaws' grin turned into a displeased frown(an eerie grimace on a beastial face such as his) "...But they kept one alive, saying that they wanted proof of the reality of your promise before vowing servitude to you, my Master"
The man furrowed his eyebrows, seeming even more displeased than his servant. He then chuckled for a bit, his face turning into a sly grin. "Craven, aren't they?", he chuckled. The man held the lit cigarette in the palm of his open hand.
"Man desires fire, Moundmaw, but I will give them such an inferno that they will wish they were without it.". The cigarette disintegrated completely in a burst of flames.
Moundmaw blinked and made a slightly dumb expression. He then smiled with mischievous glee as he realized the meaning of his masters metaphor.
Short story by Rex Panthera
Read 736 times
Written on 2010-05-27 at 16:24
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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Doreen Cavazza |
