EPTSo I figured it was long due to really devote a lot of energy to my currently 1021 page novel. This is my life's work, and I fully intend to finish it no matter how long it takes.
Some of the big problems with the book weren't the fact that it was only halfway finished, but with what was already written. Some of the writing is almost 7 years old, and there's some holes and inconsistencies that needed fixing. So I'm challenging myself to read through and revise a very large portion of the book.
Here's a portion of the very beginning that I've been working on revising.
An ancient world creaked to life. Old wounds, or perhaps new ones that had been forced away in sleep, woke anew. Unwelcome pokes and prods forced his eyes open to take in the world.
“... As if fate itself would bind me to my mission, I must not deny who I am. I am a weapon. A soldier. My purpose is to destroy the enemy. Little more. I was created to obliterate the enemies of the Great Lord, and that I shall do.”
The words he recited. The meaning they held. Every bit as unwelcome as the figure before him. In the darkness his interrogator's white cuirass stood out like an open flame. He stood confident and strong, despite the years of sleep tugging at his mind and body. His eyes focused on no particular object, staring blankly into the darkness beyond, even though he could make out the motions of those around him.
Why was it now that the High Templar stood before him? He did not know. He had appeared before, forcing him out of his slumber. This time, he seemed to be in a hurry. Stasis slime still dripped from his body as pearly-white creatures hovered and bobbed around him, inspecting his body as they had time and time again.
Orbiting the fiery eye of Lo`Heem, the massive Mantis ship appeared as a tangled mass of flesh and metal. To an unsuspecting eye, the platform was a mishmash of disorganized and tangled material without any purpose or reason to be. However, to those who called it home, it was far more than the messy inanity it seemed. The planet-sized hunk of fleshy, green-brown material housed only one chamber, large enough that he couldn't make out the end of the chamber despite various lighting apparatuses circling the ceiling and floor. Lining the damp chamber from top to bottom were hundreds of faint emerald cylinders. Most of them were empty – their inhabitants now training for war upon the storm world of Azkazar. This particular cylinder had been occupied until now. This world was his home. It was all he had known.
He knew himself as subject 331. He was Aumus. He looked like any other Zegredark, he figured. Aumus stood roughly nine feet. His skin was a grey typical of the early Strands. Aumus' horns and tusks were not fully developed. His will had kept these features immature and undeveloped. His muscles weren't nearly as impressive as the High Templar's, but he still stood with the defiant nature that was all he knew. Nemesis didn't seem so abrasive of this silent insult. Feigned pride, but pride regardless. It was all he had, now.
The High Templar broke stance for a moment, allowing a smirk to creep across his dry lips. This was the defining moment, Aumus thought. This wakening wasn't like the others. He was Fallen. If it wasn't for the High Templar's interference, he would be decorating the surface of Nazadune by now. No, Nemesis had plans for him.
The insectoid creatures floating around Aumus backed off, satisfied with the condition his body was in. Nemesis nodded to them as they hovered back to the High Templar's sides, their emotionless eyes never focusing on any single object. He looked into Aumus' eyes. Nemesis seemed to study him a bit closer, although they had met under similar circumstances many times before.
Both Nemesis and Aumus bore the same basic traits all male Zegredark did to his knowledge. Their pale, almost blue-white skin, seemed to glow in the darkness. Neither of them bore facial hair, however, and Aumus' skin was not quite as scaled as Nemesis' was. Nemesis' skin was whiter of the two. The High Templar's two large horns that came from behind his pointed ears curved in an almost spiral-like design, much like mythical demon figures Aumus scarcely recalled, were more of a ordamental feature than having any real use. They made him stand out, as did his ceremonial bone-white armor, which Aumus found strange to be wearing now of all times.
“You're not free, Aumus.” Nemesis said. The figured before him nodded slowly.
“I know. You would put me through hell itself again, wouldn't you?” the figure asked. He already knew the answer.
“I would.” Nemesis said. The High Templar was two feet shorter than Aumus, but they both knew all too well that he could strike his captive down without even so much as blinking an eye. Nemesis, the Right Hand of Ascherzon, knew no Templar that could face him in combat, armed or not. As he led the Fallen through the facility, towards the only dim light at the end of the chamber, he seemed to lose himself in trained thought. No doubt he was reciting the orders given to him by Ascherzon, the Zegredark's God and creator. Ascherzon was the only figure that could give the High Templar orders, especially when it concerned Fallen. Aumus knew that he was traveling down a new road. He would be put through worse than hell.
He would be put through the Mantis.
The two small ashen insects that floated behind the Templar were known as the Mantis. Aumus perhaps knew more about the Mantis than he did about the Templar themselves. They were the Templar's scientists, creatures created for the sole purpose of research and creation. Templar were not born – they were created, and those created under ill terms often faced reconstruction at the hands of the Mantis. Many Templar had been sent to Z`untul, only to return insane and only fit for a tasteless destruction. The Mantis didn't care, though. They perfected their methods through experimentation, and a specimen was a specimen. There would always be more. Even though Aumus supposedly held a great deal of importance to their masters, there were countless other subjects they could fiddle with to achieve the same results. An age meant nothing to them. Although, Nemesis seemed to be growing impatient. When Ascherzon became impatient, this reflected on his minions. The Mantis clicked their mandibles in mute conclusion.
“... As if fate itself would bind me to my mission, I must not deny who I am. I am a weapon. A soldier. My purpose is to destroy the enemy. Little more. I was created to obliterate the enemies of the Great Lord, and that I shall do.”
The words he recited. The meaning they held. Every bit as unwelcome as the figure before him. In the darkness his interrogator's white cuirass stood out like an open flame. He stood confident and strong, despite the years of sleep tugging at his mind and body. His eyes focused on no particular object, staring blankly into the darkness beyond, even though he could make out the motions of those around him.
Why was it now that the High Templar stood before him? He did not know. He had appeared before, forcing him out of his slumber. This time, he seemed to be in a hurry. Stasis slime still dripped from his body as pearly-white creatures hovered and bobbed around him, inspecting his body as they had time and time again.
Orbiting the fiery eye of Lo`Heem, the massive Mantis ship appeared as a tangled mass of flesh and metal. To an unsuspecting eye, the platform was a mishmash of disorganized and tangled material without any purpose or reason to be. However, to those who called it home, it was far more than the messy inanity it seemed. The planet-sized hunk of fleshy, green-brown material housed only one chamber, large enough that he couldn't make out the end of the chamber despite various lighting apparatuses circling the ceiling and floor. Lining the damp chamber from top to bottom were hundreds of faint emerald cylinders. Most of them were empty – their inhabitants now training for war upon the storm world of Azkazar. This particular cylinder had been occupied until now. This world was his home. It was all he had known.
He knew himself as subject 331. He was Aumus. He looked like any other Zegredark, he figured. Aumus stood roughly nine feet. His skin was a grey typical of the early Strands. Aumus' horns and tusks were not fully developed. His will had kept these features immature and undeveloped. His muscles weren't nearly as impressive as the High Templar's, but he still stood with the defiant nature that was all he knew. Nemesis didn't seem so abrasive of this silent insult. Feigned pride, but pride regardless. It was all he had, now.
The High Templar broke stance for a moment, allowing a smirk to creep across his dry lips. This was the defining moment, Aumus thought. This wakening wasn't like the others. He was Fallen. If it wasn't for the High Templar's interference, he would be decorating the surface of Nazadune by now. No, Nemesis had plans for him.
The insectoid creatures floating around Aumus backed off, satisfied with the condition his body was in. Nemesis nodded to them as they hovered back to the High Templar's sides, their emotionless eyes never focusing on any single object. He looked into Aumus' eyes. Nemesis seemed to study him a bit closer, although they had met under similar circumstances many times before.
Both Nemesis and Aumus bore the same basic traits all male Zegredark did to his knowledge. Their pale, almost blue-white skin, seemed to glow in the darkness. Neither of them bore facial hair, however, and Aumus' skin was not quite as scaled as Nemesis' was. Nemesis' skin was whiter of the two. The High Templar's two large horns that came from behind his pointed ears curved in an almost spiral-like design, much like mythical demon figures Aumus scarcely recalled, were more of a ordamental feature than having any real use. They made him stand out, as did his ceremonial bone-white armor, which Aumus found strange to be wearing now of all times.
“You're not free, Aumus.” Nemesis said. The figured before him nodded slowly.
“I know. You would put me through hell itself again, wouldn't you?” the figure asked. He already knew the answer.
“I would.” Nemesis said. The High Templar was two feet shorter than Aumus, but they both knew all too well that he could strike his captive down without even so much as blinking an eye. Nemesis, the Right Hand of Ascherzon, knew no Templar that could face him in combat, armed or not. As he led the Fallen through the facility, towards the only dim light at the end of the chamber, he seemed to lose himself in trained thought. No doubt he was reciting the orders given to him by Ascherzon, the Zegredark's God and creator. Ascherzon was the only figure that could give the High Templar orders, especially when it concerned Fallen. Aumus knew that he was traveling down a new road. He would be put through worse than hell.
He would be put through the Mantis.
The two small ashen insects that floated behind the Templar were known as the Mantis. Aumus perhaps knew more about the Mantis than he did about the Templar themselves. They were the Templar's scientists, creatures created for the sole purpose of research and creation. Templar were not born – they were created, and those created under ill terms often faced reconstruction at the hands of the Mantis. Many Templar had been sent to Z`untul, only to return insane and only fit for a tasteless destruction. The Mantis didn't care, though. They perfected their methods through experimentation, and a specimen was a specimen. There would always be more. Even though Aumus supposedly held a great deal of importance to their masters, there were countless other subjects they could fiddle with to achieve the same results. An age meant nothing to them. Although, Nemesis seemed to be growing impatient. When Ascherzon became impatient, this reflected on his minions. The Mantis clicked their mandibles in mute conclusion.
This still needs some perspective-related stuff to be fixed and clarified, but I consider it quite an improvement over the mess it was a few days ago where it was bouncing between Nemesis and Aumus without any reason or pause.
Maybe I'll post some more as I go along.
Alas, the "Templar" are totally unrelated to Starcraft.
I realize there is still some typos/spelling mistakes. I don't pride my knowledge of English very well.
/e fixed the most immediate one I could see.
![[image loading]](http://imgs.xkcd.com/comics/fiction_rule_of_thumb.png)
