Just the prologue to a fantasy tale I've had in mind for about 6 months now. Think conspiracy theories, a tyrant leader and genetic splicing mixed with LOTR/Narnia, add a few pirates and voila.

I was going to make it into a Sim Story, but firstly it'd take so long setting up the scenes in-game and taking the snaps. Secondly, it's a fantasy epic novel. Terrible sim material because not only is it hard to find exactly what CC you're after, readers can't use their wonderful imaginations when it comes to how they interpret the scenes.

It's very raw right now. I wrote it a few days ago when I was bored, and have only had time for minor tweakage. But if I don't post it somewhere, I'll never move on to Chapter One :P


Lost in the gloomy, stone-coloured skies soared a battered old magpie. Neither majestic eagle nor weatherbeaten vulture was he, but simple black-and-white silence. The magpie was buffeted roughly by the ever-changing winds that swept the kingdom; a storm was brewing on the horizon. His half-blind, cloudy black eyes searched the lands below for shelter overnight, soon being drawn to the black spires of the imposing dark castle he oft frequented in his youth in search for those shiny things he adored. Gliding in gently, he perched on the ledge of a small window giving a tiny glimpse inside the mysterious fortresslike castle. Only moments after he had landed, the fatigued skies could no longer hold their weight and heavy rain began to batter the ground outside. Shying from the weather, he turned his head to preen the ruffled and worn black feathers, still weary after the long flight here. His head was nestled amongst the inky down when something made a soft scraping noise nearby, almost indistinguisable from the sound of raindrops to the magpie. He glanced up from his preening, carefully watching the shadows for signs of movement. Ancient and exhausted though his senses were, the old magpie still held the instincive quick reactions that had saved his life many a time. Once satisfied that all was still, he returned back to those unkempt feathers and recommenced work. An instant later came a second, more audible scrape; his head flew up once more only to be met with unmistakeable amber eyes looming from the darkness. A flurry of monochrome feathers, a hiss of spittle, and the old magpie may never have existed.

The predator sat on the ledge, holding its new meal in its mouth tightly. It was a peculiar being indeed, somewhere between a cat and an ape, or perhaps even a small human boy. All the features were there to identify him as feline - pointed ears, glowing eyes, long black tail... but there was definitely something distinctly human and childlike about the face and body. He had adopted a posture something catlike, but its skeleton would only permit the joints to move in a human way, giving the way he perched on the window an unusual appearance. Rain-soaked and scared, the feline hybrid gazed in through the castle windows with an expression of mingled resentment, fear and what could have been mistaken for longing...

Through the window, the cat-boy saw a room with damp walls, mould clinging to them helplessly. Manacles and chains were suspended from high vaulted ceilings, some bearing structures that looked something like birdcages. It was clearly a dungeon of some sort, this could be told by the rusty cage doors lining the walls. The catboys eyesight was adapted to nightvision; he could make out shadows just behind those cage doors, cowering away. He knew they dared not come forward into the light, through fear of something. Or someone. Someone whose footsteps could already be heard, strong and sinister footsteps filled with authority and accompanied by smaller, scurrying ones reminiscent of rats. The catboy's ears pricked at the sound, becoming ever more focused and intent on the goings-on in the dungeon.

The owner of those footsteps could now be seen, a figure tall and imposing as it left the shadowy corridor. The figure was a woman, albeit her gender made androgynous by the intimidating effect of both height and authority she possessed. A vast black cape fell like a waterfall across her shoulders and down the length of her body, and atop of her head sat an ornate head-dress encrusted with rubies and black diamonds. The sheer might of her life-force could only be indicant of one thing, and that was the royal blood coursing through her veins. The Queen was not alone - her rat-like minions scrambled around her adoringly, but none dared to come too near to her body, giving the illusionous effect that she possessed a magic forcefield. Black magic. Then she spoke. As she did, the shadow-creatures cowered in their cages, quivering at the voice as if it stung their ears. Even the catboy twitched slightly, claws digging into the weathered stone windowledge.

"Where is 2453-1?" Her monotonous voice crackled with power and magic. She stalked towards an empty cage, bending to examine the rusty bars. Now it was the minions turn to cower; they appeared unsure whether to press forward and appease their master with reassurance and compliments or shrink away in fear for their lives. The Queen straightened up, turning to the subordinates awaiting their explanation. Her face was unreadable; one could be forgiven for thinking she was nonchalent over the disappearance of a vital experimental subject. One minion was pushed forwards by the group, his diminutive stature becoming noticably more withdrawn as he attempted to disguise his own existence. Hushed murmours reverberated through the small crowd as they backed away in fear from the man. He opened his mouth to stammer a few words which could possibly save his life, but the words 'Your Majesty' had barely escaped his lips when a jet of intense red light engulfed his body. The Queen stood, palm outstretched and face contorted into something hideous, for a few seconds longer, ensuring those words were completely silenced. When her hand fell back to her side, all that remained of the man was a pile of ash and silence; a gaping hole in the space he had occupied an instant before. As though the event had not taken place, the remaining disciples resumed their bowing and adoration.

"I want it found by sunrise. Dead or alive." ordered the Queen, before retreating back into the shadows, cloak billowing behind her like a thousand bats as the rat minions scrambled to stay within her protective aura.