Before - Legends Book 1 of The GreatWar Saga: The Beginning of the Shadow.

This is my 1st written fan fiction so i hope you all will enjoy it as i do.Its a 4 Book Part Series-Upcoming Fan Fiction THE AncientWar SAGA watch out for it soon in 2weeks time. Heres a sneak peek of the opening Prologue and followed by the 1st chapter in 2weeks time. Enjoy!!!

heres the overview of the Story and the opening of the prologue:

Overview:

Title: The Beginning of the Shadow

Author: MASTER-OF-EVIL

Timeframe: Thousands of years before TPM

Main Characters: Yet to be Finalized.

Summary:

Something dark is moving in distant planets, and ancient powers are
readying themselves for a final confrontation. A Dark Queen of the
Sith has raised a standard in remote Systems and is gathering armies
of unmatched might.

Into this battleground of good and evil come a band of desperate men
whose only hope for survival is to travel to face this ancient power
and discover its true nature. Their quest is at best dangerous and at
worst suicidal.

And with these men travel the mysterious Jedi Jasmine upon whom all must
wager their lives. She appears to be an ally but knows much more than
she is willing to tell. Does she have a hidden agenda of her own? And
will she prove ally or even more deadly foe when the final
confrontation is at hand?

 

WOW....that is a good start to this book man...

I like the title of the saga...hehehe...

carn't wait for the first chapter

i will watching out for this one..

SITHJEDIMASTER

 

Good start...

 

nice work

 

I couldn't complete the whole first chapter or in this case the prologue in time so i'll post it in parts so here is the first part of the prologue, i hope you enjoy it as it is my first attempt to do my first fan-fic.

Part 1

Prologue - Deliverance

The drums thundered.
Warriors of the Cha'wen'he sang their battle chants, preparing for the struggle to come. Tattered war
banners hung limply from bloodied lances as thick smoke shrouded the sky from horizon to horizon.
Black faces marked with yellow and red paint watched the western skies, where fires cast crimson and
ocher light against the black shroud of smoke, blocking the vanishing sun and the familiar tapestry of
the western evening stars.
Taqwa, Kian'thar of the Seven Systems, Ruler of the Empire of the Elrood Sector, Lord of the Nine
Nations, could not tear his gaze away from the destruction. All day he had watched the great fires burn,
and even across the vast distance the howls of the victors and the cries of their victims had carried
through the afternoon. Winds that once carried the sweet scent of flowers or the rich aroma of spices
from the market now carried the acrid stench of charred wood and burned flesh. He knew without
looking that those behind were bracing for the coming trial, resigned in their hearts that the battle was
lost and the race would die.
"My lord," said Jerrick, his shield bearer and lifelong companion.
Taqwa turned to his oldest friend and saw the concern etched faintly around his eyes. Jerrick was an
unreadable mask to all but Taqwa; the Kian'thar could read him as a chronicler reads a holocron.
"What is it?"
"The Cha'wen'he is here."
Taqwa nodded, but he remained motionless. Powerful hands closed in frustration over the hilt of his
battle-sword, Al-Mas - Blood Drinker in the ancient tongue - far more a symbol of office than the crown
he had worn only on rare state occasions. He pushed its point down into the soil of his beloved Kaath,
the oldest nation on the world of Kathol. For seventeen years he had fought the invaders as they had
driven his hordes back to the heartland of the Empire of the Elrood Sector.
When he had taken the sword of the Kian'thar while still a youth, warriors of Cha'wen'he had passed in
review, filling the ancient stone causeway that spanned the Malakdor Narrows, the channel connecting
the Malakdor Sea and the Cassus Ocean. One hundred riders - a century - side by side, rode past, one
hundred centuries to a Jatarr; ten thousand warriors. Ten Jatarr to a host, and ten host to a horde.
At the height of his power, seven hordes answered Taqwa's battle horns, seven million warriors.
Always on the move, their Kybuck Steeds grazed the Nine Nations, while children grew to adulthood
playing and fighting among the ancient speeder wagons and tents of the Cha'wen'he, stretching from the
city of Minos to the farthest frontier, ten thousand miles distant; it was an empire so vast that teams of
Kybuck Steeds and riders, never stopping their gallop, would take full turning of the moon and half
again to ride from the capital to the frontier, twice that from one border to the other.

Each season, one horde rested near the capital, while the others moved along the frontiers of the great
nation, ensuring the peace by conquering all who refused tribute.
Along the shores of the nine great oceans, a thousand cities sent food, riches, and slaves to the court
of the Kian'thar. And once a ten-year, the champions of the seven hordes gathered for the great games
at Minos, ancient capital of the Nine Nations. Over the span of the centuries, the Cha'wen'he had
gathered all of Lashbane under the Cha'wen'he's banner, all but most distant systems on the far side of
the Rim. It was Taqwa's dream to be the Kian'thar who at last realized of his ancestors, to bring the last
system into the Empire and rule the entire world and Surrounding Systems.
Four great cities of the Elrood Sector had fallen to Taqwa's hordes, and another five surrendered wi

 

you story is coming along really well...keep up the good work and i carn't wait for the rest bro...

 

Wow! I am impressed ! Congratulations on a great beginning.

A female Jedi...hurrah!!!

Can't wait for your next chapter!

LadyZaraMarta

 

Very imaginative. I like this being from the point of view of the natives.

Its not easy defining a new culture. Good job, Lord Eclipse.

You are to be commended.

 

Deliverance - Part 2

Then his eyes fell upon the alien, and again he wondered which choice was wiser. The creature looked
much like the Cha'wen'he, black scales covering arms and face, but he wore a deep-hooded robe that
concealed the body rather than armor of a warrior or robes of a loremaster. He was small by Cha'wen'he
standards, being less than two arms' span in height, and his snout was too long by half, and his eyes
were all yellow, rather than red iris upon white as were the eyes of the Cha'wen'he. Where thick white
nails should have been, black talons extended from his fingers. And his speech contained a sibilance,
from the tongue that forked. As he removed his battered helm from his head and handed it to a servant,
Taqwa voiced aloud what every warrior and loremasters in the tent thought: 'Snake'.
The creature bowed his head, as if this was a greeting instead of a deadly insult.
"Yes, my lord," it hissed in return.

Several of Taqwa's warriors had hands upon weapons but the old Swordmaster, second only to Jerrick
in importance to his lord, said, "He is our guest."
Long had the legends of the snake people been with the
Cha'wen'he, the lizard people of Lashbane. Like
the hot-blooded Cha'wen'he, yet not, they were creatures invoked by mothers to frighten naughty
children at night. Eaters of their own kind, laying eggs in hot pools, the snake people were feared and
hated with racial passion though none had been seen in the longest memory of the loremasters of the
Cha'wen'he. In the legend it was said that both races were created by the Goddess, at dawn of time,
when the first riders of the Heavenly Horde were hatched. The servants of the Dark Lady, Goddess of
the Night, the snakes had remained in her mansion, while the Cha'wen'he had ridden forth with her and
her god-brothers and god-sisters. Abandoned to this world by the Goddess, the Cha'wen'he had
prospered, but always the memory of the others, the snakes, remained. Only the Loremaster knew which
tales were history and which were myth, but one thing Taqwa knew: from birth, the Kian'thar's heir was
taught that no snake was worthy of trust.
The snake priest said, "My lord, the transport is ready. Time grows short. Those feasting upon the
bodies of your countrymen will tire oftheir sport, and as night deepens, and their powers grow, they will
be here."
Ignoring the priest for a moment, Taqwa turned to his companions and said, "How many Jatarr survive?"
Myztic, Kian of the Vergesso, answered. "Four and but a part of a fifth." With a note of finality in his
voice, he said, "No Jatarr remains intact. These last are gathered from remnants of the Seven Hordes."
Taqwa resisted the impulse to surrender to despair. Forty thousand riders and part of another ten
thousand. That was all that survived from the Seven Great Hordes of the Cha'wen'he.
Taqwa felt blackness grip his heart. How he remembered his outrage when word came from the Puunta
Horde of the monks' defiance and refusal to pay tribute. Taqwa had ridden for seven months to lead
personally the final attack against Shyrule, City of Monks. For the moment he felt a stab of remorse
cutdeep into his soul; then he silently chided himself: could any ruler have known that the insane monks
of Shyrule would destroy everything rather than let the Cha'wen'he unite the world under one ruler? it
had been the mad high monk, Mia, who had deactivated the planetary shield and let the first demon
through.

There was small comfort in knowing that the demon's first act was to capture Mia's soul for torment as
he ripped his head from his body. One Shyrule survivor had claimed a hundred warrior monks had
attacked the one demon as it devoured Mia's flesh, and none had survived.
Ten thousand monks and loremasters alongside more than seven million warriors had died holding the
foul creatures at bay as well as the Wings of the Heavenly which consist three million starpilots from the Nine Nations above the planet they defended and battled from the farthest

 

keep up the good man bro...

carn't wait for the rest...keep them coming

 

Next Update will be by Sunday hopefully but Monday the Latest been pretty busy these days but it will be ready then.

 

Unfortunately i couldn't complete the whole final 3rd part to the prologue so this one is most of it but there will be one small part to complete it and that would be either tuesday or wednesday the latest ive been very busy its not funny so heres 3rd part so far. enjoy!!!

Deliverance - Part 3

Taqwa nodded. "He shall be your Shieldbearer." To Tsunim he said, "Remember, it is your duty to guard
his honor. No one will stand closer to Watuq than you, not mate, not child, not Loremaster. Always
speak truth, even when he wishes not to hear it."
To Watuq he added, "He is your shield; always heed his wisdom, for to ignore your Shieldbearer is to
ride into battle with an arm tied to your side, blind in one eye, deaf in one ear."
Watuq nodded, Tsunim was now granted the highest honor given to one not born of the ruling family; he
could speak his mind without fear of retribution.
Tsunim saluted, his balled right fist striking his left shoulder. "Kian'thar!" he said, then looked at the
ground, the sign of complete deference and respect.
"Who guards your table?"
Watuq said, "Chikken, birth companion."
Taqwa approved. Selected from the same birth creche, these three would know one another as they
knew themselves, a stronger tie than any other. To the named warrior Watuq said, "You shall give up
your arms and armor and you shall remain behind."
The honor was mixed with bitterness, for the honor of being Cupbearer was high, but giving up the call
to battle was difficult for any warrior.
"Protect your lord from the stealthy hand, and from the cunning word whispered over too much drink by
false friends."
Chikken saluted. Like Tsunim, he was now free to speak to his lord without fear of punishment, for in
the being Cupbearer he was pledged to protect Watuq in all ways as much as the warrior who rode on
the Ta-'thar's shield side.
Taqwa turned to another figure, his Loremaster surrounded by several acolytes. "Who among your
company is most gifted?"
The Loremaster said, "Morei. He remembers everything."
Taqwa addressed the young warrior priest. Then take the Holocrons and relics, for you are now chief
keeper of the faith. You will be Loremaster to the People." The acolyte's eyes widened as his master
handed the ancient Holocrons, large sheaves of parchment kept between board covers, and written
upon with ink nearly faded white with age. But more, he was given the responsibility to remember the
lore, the interpretations, and the traditions, a thousands words in memory for each word drawn in ink by
an ancient hand.
Taqwa said, "Those who have served with me from the first, this is my final charge to you. Soon the foe
comes a last time. We will not survive. Sing your death songs loudly and know that your names will live
in the memory of your children, upon a distant world under an alien sky. I know not if their songs can
carry across the void of space to keep the memory of the Heavenly Horde upon this alien world, but as
the demons come, let every warrior know that the flesh of our flesh shall endure safely in a distant land."
Whatever the Kian'thar might feel was hidden behind a mask as he said, "Watuq, attend me. The rest of
you, to your appointed places." To the snake priest he said, "Go to the place where you work your
magic, and know that should you play my people false, my shade shall break free from whatever pit of
hell holds it and cross space to hunt you down if it takes ten thousand years."
The priest bowed and hissed, "Lord, my life and honor are yours. I remain, to add my small aid to your
rear guard. In this pitiful fashion I show my people's respect and wish to bring the Cha'wen'he, who are
so like us in so many ways, to our home."
If Taqwa was impressed by the sacrifice, he gave no hint. He motioned his youngest son outside the
great tent. The youth followed his father to the ridge and looked down upon the distant city, made
hellish in the demon's fires. Faint screams, far beyond those made by mortal throat, tore the evening,

 

Nice bro...great part 3...carn't wait for you to finish this and get on with the first chap...i can see that is is going to take time thou...but it will be worth it

 

Well heres the final last part for Part 3 and enjoy and chapter 1 will begin soon...


Deliverance - Part 3 - Continued

Then Taqwa returned his attention to the mystic ship that now shone white-hot where demons brought their own arts to bear. He knew the fliers were more a nuisance than a danger: their speed made them deadly for lone riders or the weak or wounded, but a strong warrior could dispatch one without difficulty. It would be those that followed the fliers who would end his life.
Rents in the energy appeared along the face of the ship, and as they did, Taqwa could glimpse dark figures approaching from within it. Large demons who could not fly, save by the Force, hurried over the ground, running at the best speed of a Cha'wen'he horse and rider, their evil howls adding to the sounds of battle. The snake priest put forth his hand and flames erupted where a demon attempted to pass through the landing ramp of the ship, and Taqwa could see the snake priest stagger with the effort.
Knowing the end was but moments away, Taqwa said, "Tell me one thing, snake: why do you choose to die here with us? We had no choice, and you were free to leave with my children. Does death at the hands of those"
- he motioned toward the approaching demons - "hold no terror for you?"
With a laugh the Ruler of the Elrood Sector could only think of as mocking, the snake priest said, "No, my lord. Death is freedom, and you shall quickly learn that. We who serve in the palace of the Dark Queen know this."
Taqwa's eyes narrowed. So the ancient legends were true! This creature was one of those whom the Mother Goddess had birthed. With a flash of anger, Taqwa knew that his race was betrayed and that this creature was as bitter an enemy as those who raced to eat his soul. With a cry frustration, the Kian'thar struck out with his son's sword and severed the head from the shoulders of the Cha'wen'he.
Then the demons were loose among the rear guard and Taqwa could spare but a moment to think of his son and his companions' children, upon a distant world under an alien sun. As the Lord of the Nine Nations turned to face his foe, he made a silent prayer to his ancestors, to the Rider of the Heavenly Horde, to watch over the children of the Cha'wen'he.
One form loomed above the rest, and as if sensing his approach, the lesser demons parted. A figure twice the height of the tallest Cha'wen'he, more than twenty-five feet tall, strode purposefully toward Taqwa. Powerful of form, his body looked much like that of a Cha'wen'he - broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, large arms and legs well fashioned - but his back bore huge wings that seemed composed of tattered black leather, and his head... A triangular skull, much like that of a horse, was covered by this skin, as if leather had been stretched across bone. Teeth were exposed, fangs close together, and the eyes were pits of red fire. Around his head danced a ring of flames, and his laughter turned Taqwa's blood to ice.
The demon pushed past his lesser brethren, inoring those who rushed forward to defend the Kian'thar. He struck out, ripping flesh apart as easily as a Cha'wen'he tore bread. Taqwa stood ready, knowing each moment stolen before his death allowed more of his children to flee onto the transport.
Then the demon reared over Taqwa as a warrior stands over a child. The Kian'thar struck out with as much strength as he could muster, raking his son's sword across the creature's outsretched arm. The demon shrieked at the pain, but then ignored the wound, slowing for a second while black talons the size of daggers skewered Taqwa, punching through armor and body, as he gripped him around the middle.
The demon raised the ruler of the Cha'wen'he up toward his face and held him at eye level. As the light in Taqwa's eyes began to fade, the demon laughed and said, "You are the ruler of nothing, foolish mortal. Your soul is mine, little creature of flesh! And after i eat you, still shall you linger, to amuse me between feedings!"
For the first time since

 

This is really good... you have another reader man....

I haven't had enough time to read the last two posts, but the first was really good....

This reminds me alot of Dune and the Fremen..... Which I commend you on because (IMHO) Herbert (elder) was an amazing writer


Keep up the good work

Tuzi

 

UP!!!!

 

The 1st chapter Part 1 will be ready when i get more time because im pretty busy with managing my rpg in the role-playing forum so when i do have some spare time i will start writing up the 1st chapter to this story, sorry for any readers waiting...i will begin soon i promise.....i will post an update when i start writing up the 1st chapter to let you all know.



MASTER-OF-EVIL

 

Chapter 1 - Part 1 - The Challenge.

The trumpet sounded.
Jai wiped his hands on his apron. He was doing little real work since finishing his morning chores, merely banking the fire so he would not have to restart a cold forge should there be new work later in the day. He considered that unlikely, as everyone in the town would be lingering in the square after the Baron's arrival. But horses were preverse creatures who threw shoes at the least opportune moment, and wagons broke down at the height of inconvenience. Or so his five years of assisting the blacksmith had taught him. He glanced at where Horus lay sleeping, his arm wrapped lovingly around a jug of harsh brandy. He had begun drinking just after breakfast, 'Hoisting a few to the Baron's health,' he claimed. He had fallen asleep sometime in the last hour while Jai finished the smith's work for him. Fortunately, there was little the boy couldn't do, he being large for his age and an old hand at compensating for the smith's shortcomings.
As Jai finished covering the coals with ashes, he could hear his mother calling from the kitchen. He ignored her demand that he hurry; there was more than enough time. There was no need to rush: the Baron would not have reached the edge of the town yet. The trumpet announced his approach, not his arrival.
Jai rarely considered his appearance, but he knew today was going to thrust into the forefront of public scrutiny, and he felt he should attempt to look respectable. With that thought, he paused to remove his apron, carefully hung it on a peg, then plunged his arms into a nearby bucet of water.
Rubbing furiously, he removed most of the black soot and dirt, then splashed water on his face. Grabbing a large clean cloth off a pile of rags used for polishing steel, he dried himself, removing what the water hadn't through friction.
In the dancing surface of the water barrel he considered his broken reflectionL a pair of intense blue eyes under a beep brow, a high forehead from which shoulder-length blond hair swept back. No one tday would doubt that he was his father's son. His nose was more his mother's, but his jaw and broad grin that came when he smiled were the mirror image of his father's. But where his father had been a slender man, Jai was not. A narrow waist was his only heritage from his father. He had his maternal grandfather's massive shoulders and arms, built up through working at the forge since his tenth birthday. Jai's hands could bend iron or break walnuts. His legs were also powerful, from supporting plow horses who leaned on the smith while he cut, filed, and shod their hooves, or from helping to lift carts when replacing broken wheels.
Jai ran his hand over his chin, feeling the stubble. Blond as a man could get, he had to shave only every third day or so, for his beard was light. But he knew his mother would insist on him looking his best today. He quickly hurried to his pallet behind the forge, taking care not to disturb the smith, and fetched his razor and mirror. A cold shave was not his idea of pleasure, but far less irritating than his mother would be should she decide to send him back for the razor. He wet his face again and started scraping. When he was done, he looked at himself one more time in the shimmering water.
No woman would ever call Jai handsome: his features were large, almost coarse, from the lantern jaw to the broad forehead; but he possessed an open, honest look that men found reassuring and women would come to admire once they got used to his almost brutish appearance. At fifteen years of age, he was already the size of a man, his strength was approaching the smith's; no boy could best him in wrestling, and few tried anymore. Hands that could be clumsy when helping set platters and mugs in the common room were sure and adroit when working in the forge.
Again his mother's voice cut through the otherwise quiet morning, demanding he come inside now. He rolled down his sleeves as he left the smithy, a small building placed hard against theoutside rear wall of the livery. Circ

 

Great start M-O-E and nice prologue, can't wait for later on the story.