Hey guys!! I'm working on a book now and would like to publish it some time later in the future. I will be posting up chapters of my story one by one. Please feel free to review and comment.
Seated on the throne, the Lord's mind was deep in contemplation. It was past midnight and he was relieved from the presence of his council members. The only men present were the ones guarding him. The night was cold and bitter, but that hadn't stopped him from sending out his messengers.
As he sat there a cloud of smoke swirled in the midst of the great hall manifesting into a cloaked manlike figure. The soldiers guarding the king were alert instantly. Fear shone in their eyes as the dark shrouded figure made his way towards the throne. But still they moved in to stop the figure, coming in from every corner of the hall.
The figure moved with unnatural speed and was already a few paces to the throne. The two elite guards standing besides the throne lunged towards the cloaked figure, as the other soldiers closed in.
Suddenly, a hand shot out of the cloaked figure and a crimson red lightning bolt struck the first elite guard, turning him inside out in an instant. There was a shower of blood as the very innards of the elite guard flew out in all directions. The second elite guard, who in his many years of training had never seen anything like it, braced for a moment before attacking. The moment of hesitation was enough for the cloaked figure as he thrust his hand into the elite guard's chest and sucked the very life force out of him. The elite guard fell dead as a caricature of bones.
"Halt!" Lord Matthius stood and commanded, as his voice echoed across the hallway. The approaching soldiers stopped in their tracts in an instant, confused. "He is no threat to me. Leave us and disperse to your respective barracks."
With silent acknowledgement the soldiers made their way out of the hallway, leaving the cloaked figure and the lord alone.
"That was unnecessary," Lord Matthius said contemptuously. "They were my finest guards."
"Well," The cloaked figure spoke, "They were the ones who drew their swords out, not me." His voice was cold and bitter
"Their swords couldn't harm you, and you knew that." growled the Lord. "But you killed them anyways." he added in bitter resignation.
"You know me well Matthius," laughed the figure in a mocking gesture. "It seems like our time together has made you aware of my likes and dislikes."
"It doesn't matter," the Lord's voice was dismissive, "We have the same purpose, you and I. And I know why you grow restless."
"Have you sent the invitations for the tournament?" the cloaked figure inquired.
"Yes." the lord replied pacing over the blood splattered carpet. "But are you sure that the time is right?"
"It could never be better."
"What of the preparations?"
"I have made sure that everything goes according to our plan." said the cloaked figure with irritation. "Do not doubt me."
"It's just that we have put in so much time in concocting this scheme already. And failure is not an option." His voice was filled with apprehension "It's now or never."
"Do not concern yourself." the cloaked figure assured in a cold fashion, "The tournament grounds have been arranged perfectly. Nothing can go wrong."
"I have sent invitations to the greatest warriors on earth." The lord stated in exuberance. "My reverence exceeds the racial rivalries among them. Winning this tournament will bring great honor to the victor and his race. No one would miss this opportunity."
"I don't care about your reverence." spat the cloaked figure. "Have you sent invitations to the ones I told you specifically?"
"The five invitations you specified were the first to be sent." he assured.
"Two of them are of utmost imporance." said the shrouded figure. "They have to be present by any means necessary. With out them our grand scheme is void."
"Do not fret yourself. They will be there. And they will fight." the Lord reassured.
"Before I leave, I must ask." the figure said as a cloud of smoke engulfed him, "What have you named the tournament?" his human figure metamorphosing into swirling dark smoke.
"The Tournament of Flames."