{"sf1_id":695921,"sf2_id":"rnaGxl3e","title":"Adventures of Morte - Prologue","author":"Mortuest","words":464,"posted_at":"2014-04-22T14:08:00.000Z","tags":["Adventures","Bull","Fantasy","Minotaur","Morte","Mortuest","Prologue","foreshadow"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/695921-adventures-of-morte-prologue","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/s/rnaGxl3e","image_url":"https://cdn.sofurryfiles.com/submissions/thumbnails/3f/8a/3f8af15f-cbd3-4829-a59a-ce1fae111f7d","description":"#1 of Adventures of Morte\n\nThis is the prologue to a novel I'm writing. Please let me know what you think. Yes, its a bit 'purple prose' but I liked it for the prologue. Title is a working title for now, not married to it by any means.","content":" **Prologue**\n\nA dark mist rolls into the room, roiling and twisting like fire in space - slithering along the walls and ceiling until the lights of the bar are but pinpricks of luminescence.\u0026nbsp; A flash of light bursts from the darkness, blinding you for a second.\u0026nbsp; You notice the mist writhing as if it were in pain, retreating back into the darkness from whence it came.\u0026nbsp; As it recedes, you start to make out a form standing in the opening in stark contrast to the light surrounding it.\u0026nbsp; The light envelops the form like spectral wings, protecting the figure from the darkness and driving it further from the recesses of the room, and your mind.\u0026nbsp; Your senses return and you realize you have been talking to the candle illuminating your table.\n\n\u0026nbsp;\n\nYou notice the stranger close in and take the empty bench across from you.\u0026nbsp; He sits at 6 foot, bristling with muscles.\u0026nbsp; Horns the size of your legs sprout from his noble head, stradling his face like support beams.\u0026nbsp; A large silver ring hangs, suspended from his nose, laced with intricate carvings of ivy and leaves entwined and folded together into celtic knotwork.\u0026nbsp; Large black spots mar an otherwise pristine white hide; tough and leathery, yet firm and somewhat comforting.\u0026nbsp; He wears no shirt, instead preferring to let the warm summer air bathe his skin and face while roaming wild in the grasslands.\u0026nbsp; His tattered black breaches hang from his waist and hug his thick legs like stray strands of thread clinging to the trunk of an oak, thrashed by the wind in a huricane.\u0026nbsp; Hooves terminate his legs; dark like obsidion but shining in the light like smooth glass.\n\n\u0026nbsp;\n\nHe buys you a drink, and as you stare into his dark blue eyes, you hear his name reverberate in your bones.\u0026nbsp; \"Mortuest\" he whispers, \"call me Mortuest.\"\u0026nbsp;\n\n\u0026nbsp;\n\nAs you sit there, stunned, he not so much stands as pushes the floor further down.\u0026nbsp; The ease at which he moves his bulk is startling, but what stands out is a gleaming claymore strapped to his back with white silk ropes linked together with golden rings.\u0026nbsp; As you watch him fade back through the doorway, you think you catch a glimpse of tattoos in the shape of angels wings behind the massive weapon.\u0026nbsp; An instant later, the flash, the darkness, and then the drone of people around you, chattering and yapping as if nothing had happened.\n\n\u0026nbsp;\n\nWas it a dream?\u0026nbsp; Is your sanity fading?\u0026nbsp; You start losing details about your brief encounter, and soon, the only memory left is the fresh mug of root beer sitting in front of you.\u0026nbsp; As you sip the frothy brew you wonder who that stranger was, and, more importantly, what he wants with you?\n\n  \n  \n\n","series":{"name":"Adventures of Morte","next":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/695923-primary-characters.json"}}