Note to reader:

There are two drafts below totaling 1900 words. Read both. Comment on the differences and how the changes are received. Also feel free to comment on any other aspect.

Thanks,

Josh

Prologue (Draft 1.0 - original)

The black waters raged below as a crescent moon hung from a silent curtain of stars above. The waves, like the great thundering of hooves, rolled in and waged war upon the feet of the cliffs that separated the land from sea. The night was heavy and the darkness thick, yet, the moon’s faint light was still useful to the distant traveler who scaled the cliff’s ridge high above.

Clothed in a dark, worn robe and with a large leather sack on his side he climbed over underbrush and fallen trees, for there was no trail. He wore no cap and his gray hair whipped back and forth against his weathered face. His pace was steady, but not hurried, though he knew that he was being followed. He wore a white signaling horn at his side with a creature etched into it

Hand over rock, foot over root, the figure continued to climb the steep side of the mountainous terrain. When he reached the pinnacle of the summit he moved surprisingly close to the edge of the cliff. The ocean hundreds of feet below could not be heard over the screaming sound of the wind. The man looked down and breathed in for a moment, then he turned and gazed in the direction that he had just come. He stood silent as a statue with the faint moonlight glimmering in his eyes.

A dark figure emerged from around the face of a large boulder. The figure stopped, and a few moments passed before the silence was broken.

“Felsawn,” the dark figure spoke, his voice deep and harsh. “Your intent is already well known. Why run? Do you think to hide?” He too wore a horn at his side, but it was black. The man stretched his hand out and retrieved a dead tree branch. He held it in front of him, waved his hand over the staff which instantly burst into brilliant red flames. The man thrust the burning torch toward Felsawn which landed on the dirt halfway between the two figures.

Felsawn and the man were instantly illuminated and there was no hiding their presence now. All who had a view of the cliff could make out two figures in close proximity.

Felsawn’s eyes remained fixed on the man as he remained still. He said nothing.

“My brother,” the man continued as he began to slowly creep towards Felsawn, “there is no power, no wizardry strong enough now that can waylay my efforts to obtain victory over your feeble attempts.” He chuckled, “You are a fool. You always have been, Felsawn.” He paused, then added, “We will find it!”

At that moment Felsawn began to slowly inch backwards keeping distance between him and the man, though closer to the cliff’s edge which was a few feet behind him.

“You are not my brother, Womlon.” Felsawn spoke, his voice calm like the ocean’s waters had been the day before.” And the power that you call great, will abandon you in that very hour when you need it most.” Felsawn was at the edge of the cliff now, heals over the edge, he leaned slightly forward.

Womlon waved both hands from his side up through the air. The flame of the torch grew rapidly and burst high into the sky. Womlon stepped closer.

“Where will you go?” Womlon’s lips curled into a wry smile. “What hope is there?”

Felsawn never let his gaze off of his foe. His blue eyes were glowing. “Farewell,” he spoke. “We will meet again.” Then Felsawn pulled his horn to his lips, blew, then paused, only for a moment. For he then leaned backwards, his feet left the edge of the cliff side and his body fell out of sight.

Womlon sprang to the edge of the cliff and yelled. He watched as Felsawn’s figure shrank rapidly as he fell. Almost out of nowhere appeared a massive, white figure heading straight for Felsawn. It swerved, flapped its wings to slow in speed, paused, then turned in the direction opposite the cliff.

Womlon watched as the great white dragon, Sedrak, carried Felsawn away to safety. The white dragon shrank far out to the horizon then disappeared.

Womlon, still laying on the ground over the cliff looked up at the sky for a moment, then looked at his own horn at his side. He pulled it to his lips then blew four slow times. He waited, then far in the distance, four horn calls returned.

The flame of the torch was still burning high. Womlon waved his hands from left to right, and with a deafening crack, the stick exploded and shrouded the surrounding area in flame. The wind quickly carried the fire down the side of the mountain.

Other torches could be seen across the mountain side and on the shores below. More horn calls were heard. The boats were readied hours ago.

Womlon reached the shore and approached one of the men standing near one of the hundreds of boats, “We will leave at once.” He said gruffly.

He looked at the cliff where he knew Felsawn had leapt from. Now, it was a blaze in red fire. He squinted and spoke through his clenched teeth, “The plan will fail.”

He turned, then announced in a bellowing voice, “Men...it is as I guessed.” Womlon turned to the men who were approaching on the shore in droves. “We sail west...and we will leave immediately.”

Prologue (Draft 2.1)

The black waters raged below as an oversized crescent moon hung from a silent curtain of stars above. The moon’s faint light revealed the outline of a figure moving along the grassy hillside of the highest cliff.

Moving at a steady pace, the hooded man was in no hurry, though he knew that he was being followed. Gusts of wind tossed his long cloak about as he marched towards the cliff’s edge.

When he reached the pinnacle of the summit he moved surprisingly close to the edge of the bluff. Surveying the scene his gaze spanned from left to right. The cliffs of Alganthra spanned the Southern shores which gradually sank into the ocean's depths. To his right the Northern shore revealed a smooth beach that lined the island for miles. And before him, the horizon, where the bejeweled Western sky meets the mysterious depths of a turbulent sea.

The man touched the white signalling horn at his side as he watched, then turned around, his back now to the edge. He remained silent and still as an iron statue. Thin and tall he stood regal in his hooded garb. The faint moonlight glimmered in his eyes as he waited.

In a moment a massive and dark figure emerged from around the face of a large boulder. Seeing the hooded man staring at him, he stopped. He was dressed entirely in black with a broad sword at his side and a black signally horn around his waist.

He snatched a bush nearby, uprooted it then three it halfway between the two of them. Then the man stretched out his hand out waving it in the direction of the bush and which instantly burst into brilliant red flames. Felsawn and the man were instantly illuminated and there was no hiding their presence now. All who had a view of the cliff could make out two figures in close proximity. The red glow revealed a crooked lopsided smile on the man’s face who spoke first.

“Felsawn,” he said in a deep and raspy voice. “Your intent is already well known. Why run? Do you think to hide?”

Felsawn’s eyes remained fixed on the man.

“My brother,” the man continued, now beginning to creep towards Felsawn, “there is no power, no wizardry strong enough now that can waylay my efforts to obtain victory over your feeble attempts.”

He chuckled, “You are a fool. You always have been, Felsawn.” He paused, then added, clutching his fists at his side, “We will find it!”

The man had reached the blazing bush and was inching past it.

At that moment Felsawn began to slowly step backwards keeping distance between him and the man. A few more feet and the ground would drop three hundred feet or more.

“You are no longer my brother, Womlon,” Felsawn said, his hand on his white horn, ”And the power that you call great, will abandon you in that very hour when you need it most.”

Felsawn was at the edge of the cliff now, heals over the edge, he leaned slightly forward. Womlon growled then he let out a fit of maniacal laughter. Looking away from Felsawn, he waved both hands from his side up through the air. The flame of the bush grew rapidly and burst high into the sky. Womlon stepped closer.

“Where will you go?” Womlon’s lips curled into a wry smile as his chuckle resembled the scrapping of metal against stone. “What hope is there?”

“We will not meet again,” he said, a single tear escaping one eye.

“Farewell,” he said in a tone barely above a whisper.

Felsawn never let his gaze off of his foe. His blue eyes were glowing as he pulled his horn to his lips, blew, then paused. Then, as if at a calculated moment, Felsawn leaned backwards and fell out of sight.

Womlon sprang to the edge of the cliff. He watched as Felsawn’s figure shrank rapidly. Something white caught Womlon’s eyes to the North as a massive figure moved toward where Felsawn was now falling.

It was the great, white dragon, Sedrak.

The dragon swerved, flapped its wings to slow in speed, paused, then turned in the direction opposite the cliff.

Felsawn had made his escape.

Just before the dragon turned to sail over the ocean, Womlon squinted and caught sight of a second figure on the back of the dragon. He watched as the dragon flew into the West and gradually disappeared into the darkness of the night.

Womlon looked up at the sky, still laying on the ground over the cliff, then looked at his own horn at his side. He stood up then pulled the horn to his lips and blew a long call. He waited, then far in the distance, the sound of an identical call was heard.

Womlon whipped around and faced the flaming bush. He waved his hands from left to right, and with a deafening crack, the bush exploded and shrouded the surrounding area in flame. The wind quickly carried the fire down the grassy side of the cliff.

Womlon ran down the hillside and onto the Northern shore.

“Belglaron!” He shouted as he crashed through the outer ranks and into the center of a small group of men.

Belglaron turned to face Womlon then opened his mouth to speak before being cut off.

“It is as I guessed,” Womlon’s voice boomed. “Felsawn has fled.”

He turned to Belglaron. “You…” Womlon said, jabbing his finger several times into his chest, “...take your men and lay down the diversion.”

Womlon turned, then pointed to the cliffs, the sky now red with flames stretching for miles, “and from a spark to the mighty roar of the flame, we will bring down a kingdom and raise an empire.”

He turned to his men again then said, “Tonight...my father will not sleep.” Womlon laughed. “Tonight..he will know war.”