I’ve been a writer for a very long time – nearly three decades. My earlier works were . . . atrocious. That doesn’t mean worthless. I’ve toyed with resurrecting a certain novel prologue that has a very good message. See if you can figure it out.
Terrik slumped against the only living tree within miles. The Danar Swamp was unusually dry this year. The swamp grass, usually sparse and tall, grew much thicker this year. Herders had let their flocks graze the lush vegetation among a veritable forest of dead trees, which grew easily for ten years or so, then died just as easily in the too-moist soil. Chain mail armor dug into Terrik’s waist where his plump belly rolled over his belt. A shield, still strapped to his left arm, provided additional support for the exhausted man. A mace lie close to his right hand, no longer wielded by the forty-year-old long past his prime. The battle was now over, a sea of dead trolls littering the landscape. Fifty yards away, a fellow priest, Mallory, waved his own mace over his head in victory. Suddenly the mace dipped toward the ground, as if gaining unexpected weight in an instant. Mallory’s shield, which had glowed faintly even in the morning sun, now seemed dull and lifeless. Weeks earlier, their God had warned the priesthood of the impending battle. Preparations had been made to allow for the fierceness of their foe. White Trolls, evil incarnate, would find no problem vanquishing short-lived humans without the blessings of God. Therefore a cadre of priests had been appointed to take part in the battle. Each priest carried a mace, which had been forged specially for the impending conflict, had been immersed in holy water for a week to erase any latent evil influences. This resulted in a weapon which would be lighter than usual, and able to inflict damage beyond that normally possible. Along with the mace, each cleric was given a shield. Consecrated to the sole purpose of protecting one individual, the holiness of the blessing would fade if any other attempted to use the defensive article. This, too, was immersed in holy water. Armor was donned hours before the impending battle. The trio of shield, weapon and priest was blessed once again, providing an additional layer of protection against the corruption of the trolls. The three together made a formidable fighting force capable of withstanding the malignancy which would soon be arrayed against the human army. The protections worked. A human army, outnumbered by more than three to one, held fast until dawn overwhelmed the enemy of man. Far after a normal human would have been able to swing a cudgel, Terrik, Mallory and their fellow priests had struck down the foul White Troll incursion. Now Mallory looked in puzzlement at the now-heavy weapon in his hand. Exhaustion descended on Terrik’s fellow priest, but the man still could walk over to the slumped figure leaning against the tree. “Father Terrik, why has my weapon suddenly become heavy?” “The enemy is vanquished, my son. It has fulfilled it’s purpose.” “The same with my shield, am I right?” “Yes, my son. It no longer will give you protection beyond the normal use of dead metal and leather. It’s purpose, too, has been fulfilled.” “But we do have victory, don’t we, Father? The trolls have all died.” “We do have victory. Soon there will be dead to attend, and wounded to heal. Then a great victory celebration will salute the survivors.” “Then we’d best get busy,” Mallory dropped his mace and shield, heading toward the hospital tents being pitched in the distance. Earl Trask strode around the battle field, checking on the welfare of the wounded. “Many men will need our healing powers.” “They are not your powers,” Terrik snapped, perhaps too sharply. “The power is God’s, and His alone.” “Agreed, but I merely used a figure of speech.” “One must beware the subtle influences, my son,” he slumped deeper along the tree. “They are often more dangerous than outright evil, which is easier to identify.” “Then let us go, Father. Why do you stay seated?” “Because I have fulfilled my purpose,” Terrik murmured as darkness took him.
If you finished that selection, I’m pretty sure I’ve gotten better since then. Maybe it’s conceit talking, so take that with a grain of salt.
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