Sampler, kiddies!

This is the Prologue to Harowhin's Story.

Before you go and bash the crap out of it, keep in mind that it's first draft. I have the first 2 chapters and the prologue right now, and will go back for a heavy editing when I have 5 sections in all, which is rather close.

Can't decide if excited or not...

Anyway, feel free to ask questions! You will need to if you want to comprehend anything at all in the story. I will probably blog an overview shortly, but I just want a bit of my work up so you can glean a bit of my style.

Remember, ask questions! I will gladly answer. In your comment put a short hashtag to address you by because I'm a lethargic dude.

Enjoy:

Prologue

I sat bloodied in my chair of roah wood, my hands numb and gripping at the rests. The hearth in front of me roared, fed by a billow that Tallah had constructed long ago. My dear friend, long gone from me, sat in the very room I feared I might die in. When life lays dwindling, the powerless often ignore its severity, exchanging knowledge for comfort. And so I sat a fool, bloody and consternated at myself. I could feel the dirt beneath my toes; cool and lonely. Other than that, I felt numb. I knew my wings broken. Talons cut and bleeding. All of me was smeared in blood and I smelled of carrion. 

He would come again soon, no more than to agitate me. He’d spit and swear, cut and crack his short whip in my ear. Was it pride that held back my tongue? Fatigue? Did it even matter? I doubted it did. Tedan would still be disappointed in me. The Tehlan order would remain in tatters, the Soul-Thief would run rampant, pulling the strings of his Face Puppets; I would sit here and wallow in pity.

 No, it was not me. I am a bastard, a thief, an outcast, a loner and a vagabond. But never am I one to pity myself. I am Harowhin, bastard born and raised. I have broken into the Northern Towers and stole Tovah’s book, just for the sake of being listened to whilst holding it. I have glided over kingdoms and through mountain passes. I have fought the Lost and survived. I have trekked through the Deserts of Gainmhech, the Drehwen mountains and other Godforsaken spits of land. I will not cower in my own chair at a man with a whip, a filthy extortionist. 

The rage inside me blazed like an ancient forge re-kindled by the sun. They would all hear my call. Piercing and strong, it would travel out over the Empire, the Drewhen tundra and the Ghilst ocean. It would resound in Tovah’s Temple, echo in Rehlokir’s Dens, and explode in the Sre’thesu Isles. I am Harowhin, bastard monster and crusader. My story is not pretty, nor petty. It isn’t one of vengeance, politics, or allegiance. It is my story, however, and it will forever be mine and mine alone.