Sample reading #2 from a fantasy book - God's Demon
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North American (General)Transcript
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ash fell from the sky of number darkness, softening the jagged chaos of the world below his open window. It obscured his vision so that he could barely discern the distant broken towers he knew to be their only the distant star. Algo, ever burning, ever watchful, managed to pierce the dark clouds and 10 his room with a suddenly and ready glow. L. A. Gore sat motionless as he could for hours, watching the flakes drift down and thought it fitting that they should come so heavily. He watched the tiny laborers far below as they tirelessly rebuild the shattered city of Adam Anton arcs the Asheville peacefully. No burning win played upon its slow descent. And so L. A. Gore could write without having to clear his desk every few minutes, he wrote in Ferocious Burst, punctuated only by his countless interviews and his moments of reverie, he wrote because he felt he had to, and when he wrote it was in the script of Angels because now it was permitted. The script had come fitfully at first. It had been so long since he had written in it, the long strokes of his precious Quilp in had been just a little too precise, the terminating circles a little too crabbed. But eventually he loosened up, remembering his way, and the letters flew from his spin like lightning. Soon the events of the not so distant past were flowing freely, and the story of the long last days of his land sor gotten this took shape L. A. Gore barely remembered the flight from the battlefield back to the palace. He had only the vague impression of passing through the shredded clouds of war with his troops and elite squadron of flying guards and of being so weary that he could barely stay a lot. There was too much to say between them, and therefore no one said anything beneath him. The clouds had parted to reveal the dark landscape. From their altitude, the world looked as it it all always had. Vast olive brown planes like sheets of skin rented, unfolded, were cut by flowing incandescent rivers of lava and pocked by scattered outpost pin cushioned with fiery tipped hours. The fires of **** still blazed at least, and Eleanor had tried to convince himself that always that it, as it had been on, they flew their spirits beginning to lift. But when they entered, sir got NIST wards, all their fantasies vanished. There were virtually no intact buildings to be seen. So complete had been the need for the city's bricks for its souls. Where once he had been laid out of vast in bustling city, they're now was a dismal grid of tumbled blocks and foundations like some newly excavated ruin. The city of Adam Anton arcs lay exposed and broken, its empty streets only discernible with the greatest effort colossal statues to tilt it upon pillage pedestals. Ornamental columns were strewn like broken bones across avenues and the ones active. River Harbour was submerged for many blocks. In the absence of its former embankment, Sir gotten. This palace had fared little better. Looming up from the Mount in the city's center, it looked dark and ominous. The immense domed building was pierced in 1000 places, its walls ravaged for their bricks, allowing the wind, cinders and ash to move freely Within L. A. Gore closed his eyes when he first saw the palace. Here was the home of his lord, abandoned and subject to the fury of ****'s fierce elements. Empty Ella Gore and his traveling companions alighted upon the rim of the domes. Oculus and wings folded, peered down into the once great audience chamber. Nothing could be seen. They descended into the darkness silently as they dropped down. The only light came from the fires. Gutting atop the guards. Heads reflected his tiny pinpricks of flame that gleaned back from the innumerable distant gold columns that ring the space. It took many minutes to fall to the floor, and once there, many more for them to cross the space to the exit. So great was the chamber size and the flickering flame light. They could see only portions of the silver white sigil hiss sigil that was inlaid into the city covered floor. Sorrow once again washed over them. As they looked at one another, the party entered the wide corridors, and here the pierced walls allowed enough light from outside to penetrate, creating an irregular patchwork across the floor. There, muffled footsteps echoed around them as they walked away from the audience chamber. They did not bother to light the torches that lined the walls, mostly because so too, would reveal even mawr of the disarray. The sighing wind from outside bay agreed, would have extinguished them anyways. They picked their way through the palace, stepping around tipped covert cases. Tauron tapestries, smashed freezes and tiles, and the rich furnishings had given their Lord his little pleasure. All were covered in mounds of ash, which, when kicked up, suffused the hallways with a dense, choking fog. Ella Gore was the first to enter the library, and all could hear his sharp intake of breath upon seeing the devastation. He had spent so much of his time there, most of it with his Lord. They winded their way through the giant piles of enormous heavy books pulled from shelves and left in Mouldering told me Lie! The wind whistled over them, rustling the pages back and forth, blowing ash and bits of parchment in small whirlwinds around them, like swirling motes of them memories. Eventually, the party split up, one by one, each Flying guards Demon broke away to descend deeper on his own into the palace, seeking their chambers. And perhaps there lost purpose. L. A. Gore wondered what they must have thought upon reaching their rooms, each finding his own personal chaos after clearing away a mound of debris L. A goer, entered his own chambers high atop the main tower and found them to be ankle deep in ash. His desk, still firmly growing from the floor, was an island in a sea of cinders. His books and papers were barely visible, scattered on the floor by the winds that came freely in through a new gate, new and gaping hole in the wall. Oddly, the obsidian glassed window was intact, banging open and closed in the same hot wind. He pulled it shut and latched it, feeling odd. This was his first active on entering his personal world, the whole yon just next to the window, and he stood at its virg, his cloaks and folded wings flapping, looking down at the ground so far below he would begin the reconstruction of his work life, immediately fill the hole, clear the floor, tidy the shelves and said his desk in order. He had a mission. Now he had to reveal everything he had to tell his Lord story.