The Last Angel Warrior Sample - Fiction - Male, American, Irish
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Young Adult (18-35)Accents
Irish (General) North American (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
Okay. I know what you're thinking. A stranger comes into town, does some weird ritual, and a hero is born. But let me set something straight. Full disclosure. I'm not going to be the good guy in this story. You should know that before you get the wrong idea. You're probably expecting that I'm some kind of hero warrior or chosen one. Yeah, I've heard it all before, but I'm not. I'm just a normal kid. Some would even argue that I'm evil. And I guess I am. It's complicated. You'll see he feign nonchalance is he pried the plate from my hands. I heard the slightest hint of an accent. Nothing too strong, but enough to notice it was there. I squinted. What is that Irish of senior? In pictures. You don't move into a new town without During your research. He picked up his four cutting into the flaky crust of the peach pie. Oh, uh, yeah, I muttered, ignoring the growing knot in my stomach. Caleb Donovan. Right. The stranger spoke as if you just remembered my name. But even this sounded well rehearsed. The fork scraped across the plate on route to his mouth. Andrews actually I corrected. I go by Caleb Andrews. Oh, the man Bob his head up and down. That's right, your adopted. I think I read that somewhere. Well, it's very nice to meet you. Hey, Lib. I tried to swallow, but my mouth was too dry to allow it. Research, he said. More like stalking. Who is this man? I mean, sure, a person would have to be blind not to know. I didn't look like Donald and Susan Donovan. Anyone with eyes could see I was adopted. It wasn't just my appearance, either. Aside from the contrast to my bright blue eyes, curly brown hair and market colored skin with their straight hair and slightly pink complexion, I had simply never felt like their son. I suppose that's why I never called them mom or Dad. It never felt right now that's an interesting necklace, the stranger said, dabbing the sides of his mouth with his napkin. I reached for the pendant that hung from my neck, passing it between my fingers. I was used to people asking about the necklace. It was a unique piece of jewelry, three arrows welded together to make a silver triangle at the center of it was a blue stone. I wasn't sure what kind of stone it waas, but I assumed it was valuable. But what most people were curious about with a strange silver symbols engraved onto the stone, the symbols wrapped around dependence. So every angle revealed a different mysterious image. When you look at it, what are those inscriptions? The man asked. Those symbols they look for in Do you know what they mean? Oh, no, I don't, I admitted. It's a family heirloom. I think I've always had it. The man's eyes locked onto dependent for a moment. Then meeting my confused gaze, he asked a family heirloom from Andrews. You mean, maybe it was the way he said it. Or the way he leaned forward on his elbows, eyes fixed on mine, his foot tapped anxiously beneath the table. Something about this man didn't sit well with me. A voice inside me said, Get out! Yeah, I whispered, so intimidated. I could barely push the word out. The stranger considered me for a moment. Blue is a good color on you, he said, clearing his throat. It matches the color of your eyes. Well, I I should be getting back to work. It was a pleasure to meet you, Caleb. The man extended his hand toward me. That thank you. Uh, you too. I reached out in the moment my hand touched his I felt something as if 1000 insects scuttled up my arm. Voices whispering voices filled my head, thousands of them. My legs turned to putty and I fell. I fell through A dark, endless void is the whispers erupted into a singular course, a deep rumbling laugh and a voice rising up from deep within. My mindset through death, magic and fire rehashed the blood of the Angel Warrior should be paid at last. The pounding words seared across my mind. Soon, it said, with a final boom and a bright white light burst through my head, blinding. My sense is drowning out the noise. I closed my eyes. Overwhelmed. I stared up at the stranger who had caught me from tumbling to the ground. The light fixture above the table flickered, but no one else seemed to have heard the voice. Damien dazzling slip cash across the bar, hopped off his barstool in, started towards the door. Mr. And Mrs Abernathy, meanwhile, were in a heated discussion about hurricanes. For the briefest moment. As I studied myself against the table, Stranger looked at me with terror in his eyes. You all right? Yeah. I just feeling a little lightheaded. I caught sight of Tristan peeking at me over the vinyl seat at the table. He was pretending to bus. I tried not to make eye contact. You should sit down. The stranger guested toward the booth, please. That's like, No, I I have to go. I muttered my feet moving before the words even left my mouth. I turned and ran toward the back, nearly colliding with Mr Jones. I did. So where is the fire? He said as I rushed past him.