Prologue. What do you think?

Kutaifa

Active member
Joined
Nov 23, 2019
Messages
6
Points
43
Premise: Revenge focused Xianxia/Wuxia

Prologue:

The window was open, Sinai realized.

Slowly he sensed the slight push of the afternoon wind on his loose robes. It moved between the half-mended holes in his old, heavy worn robes. Upwards it slithered. Past his torse, his face and then back behind his ears, where it then dissipated.

It was an annoyance. But not one worth the effort of disentanglement from his semi-trance. He sat cross-legged, eyes closed, and had his open hands on his knees.

Inside that small, dilapidated bamboo house he slept and trained within, Sinai felt his mind glide between a state of wakefulness and sleep. This room was where he slept, and where he trained. The latter exactly what he was doing.

In that silent stupor, where his mind warred against his will, he sensed the tug and pull between those opposing forces. One meaning to remove him from this place of silence and the other to venture beyond it.

He hadn’t the intention of giving up. Not when he was this close.

He knew that he wasn’t supposed to do this. But when no other options seemed open, this had to be done.

It was dangerous forcing his will against his wakened mind. One small issue, whether internal or external, would shatter his mind then and there. But this had to be done. Damned, be the consequences.

He continued despite those worries. His mind moved then, away from a wakeful state and onto an ether of perceived darkness.

Deeply hidden from his wakened mind. And away from its reach completely. He was now free.

As the ether then sprung up, his mind moved.

Away from his wakeful state, the ether grabbed hold and didn’t release him, until all of him had been taken. He was no longer safe and afforded the protection his wakeful mind provided.

But that was no matter, for he had succeeded. He was finally within his sleeping mind. He was gone from his external self. Now all that remained was his will coalesced in an ether of darkness and opportunity.

Now all that he sensed, tasted, and heard was the silence echoed by the ether surrounding him. His inner eye awoke then, seeing the darkness around him. Though he couldn’t touch, nor feel his surroundings, he knew where he was. He was exactly where he needed to be.

He was here for a specific reason. That was what he had to remember, for, within this place, thoughts represented a dangerous game of cat and mouse. One could lead to great rewards or to destruction.

He thought of what he sought. Attempted to sense it. No, he vehemently desired to sense what he sought. The stronger the intentions, thoughts, and will, the easier his road towards it would be.

The ether embraced him then, enveloping every pore of his non-existent flesh and pulled him away. He felt nothing, except a slight pull coming from somewhere else. But he ignored it then, for he had something important to do.

As he moved or perceived himself to be so, he saw something in the horizon. A small specter of light. The further away from this light he was, Sinai felt safe. But as the ether continued to rush him towards it, he sensed the light for what it truly was.

It was a beacon. One of misery, destruction, and terror. From it extended the tendrils of death, eroding the control that the ether forced him forward with.

If he could breathe, he would have realized that by now that it had stopped. If he continued forward, he would die. That was for sure.

In between thoughts of terror and fear, he asked himself why his sleeping mind had decided that his wish lied beyond or within the death that reigned beyond the horizon.

He would trust it for now. And attempt to control his quickly eroding mind. He was losing himself. That he knew.

But if he knew, then he could still fight it. It was only when he couldn’t recognize it, that he would be screwed. And that wasn’t what was going on. At least for now.

He controlled himself and stopped thinking about the terror and fear. He wished he could close his eyes, but what he saw and sensed was inescapable.

He rushed then still towards it. Thinking, and feeling his intent still. His fervent wish. His desire to sense what he sought. And the stronger his feelings and intent became, the faster he flew towards the light.

It was no longer a dot of light in the horizon, but a fast undulation of light that rushed from somewhere below the horizon.

He saw the tendrils of light and felt the fire rush up into the air, striking and disappearing into the ether around him. It was vast now. To both of his right and left all that he saw was the light that rushed upwards.

He felt the pulse of what released this undulate from the deep below. And heard from within himself, the small thud with which it pushed away its tendrils of death.

He was stopped briskly then. Exactly on the horizons tip. The end of this landscape of light and dark. He had reached the border of this place.

The ether was now behind him. A landscape of darkness. And yet, in front of him, where ether did not exist, lied nothing.

Not a hollowness waiting to be filled. Nor a space devoid of something. No. Unlike the ether where darkness filled everything, lied before him now a complete landscape of nothing. Existing, and yet not at the same time.

He couldn’t fathom what he saw before him. How could nothing exist and yet not?

His mind slowly separated, coalesced, and then broke and rejoined. He had begun to erode then. He didn’t realize it, for he was already beyond and gone his exterior and interior.

His mind fragmented, his will brightly burning away the self, and his person becoming one with that which lied beyond.

He was being eaten. He was burning. He was being birthed, taken, and rebirthed. He was all that he once was and all that he could be now and forever.

And just before the nothingness took him from what he truly was, he was pushed over the horizon.

Downwards he flew.

Away from the nothingness and darkness. Away from the husk that contained what once could be. He flew wearing a broken husk of what is, towards the warmth and death that wished to envelop the remains of him below.

As he had been transfixed by the nothingness beyond the horizon border, he hadn’t realized that below beckoning him was the small undulating pulse of light. A mini sun that raged fearlessly.

As he fell, his mind of what is began to erode again. But now, fragmented, and whole, he sensed the destruction it was going through.

He sensed the erosion he was feeling. And despite that, all that he saw and now even felt, was light, heat, and death. Everywhere was light and he was about to bathe in its splendor and die. And then be renewed. Rebirthed in its image. A new fragment. And it was glorious.

As he fell, for what felt like years, he felt his feelings of self erode. Sinai was dying. His wakened and sleeping mind were conjoined. His mind a fragment, and nearly gone. Nearly the entirety of what had been Sinai was slowly being stripped, broken, and separated into something new.

But despite the way the light held him, and the still eroding effects of the nothingness that grew within and twisted the fragmented unite of self.

He thought still of his desire. Or attempted to do so. But he was growing weak and was beginning to forget why he wished and thought for this wish. But it remembered. The fragmented one remembered.

He had to remember. No, he let it remember. He felts their hand on his. Guiding him inwards. Towards destruction.

He felt the memories they now guarded rise. He sensed his heart bleed in agony, and despite this, he let those old memories resurface.

He saw the pictures of mangled corpses. Saw the entire of the slaughter that took his father, mother, sister, and clan. Heard a cacophony of screams rise in a symphony of death and misery.

Lying under crumbled rocks and bleeding from his head. Terror taken.

He saw everything. And the pain he felt then, they felt now.

They sensed the rage swell. No, felt the rage swell.

But their mind continued to erode despite this. And he questioned then why they were angry. He didn’t know why. Only that they were.

But he knew one thing. That his desire and theirs was one. And then bathing in that beautiful sea of light and warmth, they became him. And he became them. Broken and birthed anew.

Still feeling the seed of a growing nothingness within, he fervently desired then once again. Utterly.

Thought it completely. Feeling every iota of what remained to become that desire. He set his wish upon the silence and now burning sea he bathed in. And made it fill the hole that had left his broken exterior.

His mind shouted his desire then, for they were now one and complete. As the sun enveloped him, he felt not death then. But rage and hatred.

He shouted out his desire. Shouted out his wish of death and destruction.

He sought to become annihilation itself. To take in and become death completely.

He wished to fill the hole that had been ripped from him. Desired to fill it through the death of those that stole that which he once was and could have come to be.

He screamed a promise of blood and laughed as slithering tendrils of terror and death exploded into the ether and nothingness. They were theirs. And they were him. And now he had become whole and broken. He had become vengeance.

He wished then to leave, and the light granted it. No. He granted it.

The self he had lost had become his power. His mind then the anvil on which death and destruction would be forged. And his exterior a weapon to fulfill his promise.

He rushed upwards. Away from the light. Away from the nothingness. Away from the ether. And away from the struggle between what remained of that which once was his will and wakened mind.

He awoke within his rotten hut and opened up to the world with eyes that gleaned a blood-red color. And he felt his lethargic face melt into a smile. He felt the undulations of heat and death escape his pores. He was ready.

“I’ll make sure you die a slow death, Koia.” He said as laughter began to leave him. And then he quickly disappeared from his once small, dilapidated bamboo home.
 

Impurrfectionist

New member
Joined
Aug 15, 2020
Messages
6
Points
3
Premise: Revenge focused Xianxia/Wuxia

Prologue:

The window was open, Sinai realized.

Slowly he sensed the slight push of the afternoon wind on his loose robes. It moved between the half-mended holes in his old, heavy worn robes. Upwards it slithered. Past his torse, his face and then back behind his ears, where it then dissipated.

It was an annoyance. But not one worth the effort of disentanglement from his semi-trance. He sat cross-legged, eyes closed, and had his open hands on his knees.

Inside that small, dilapidated bamboo house he slept and trained within, Sinai felt his mind glide between a state of wakefulness and sleep. This room was where he slept, and where he trained. The latter exactly what he was doing.

In that silent stupor, where his mind warred against his will, he sensed the tug and pull between those opposing forces. One meaning to remove him from this place of silence and the other to venture beyond it.

He hadn’t the intention of giving up. Not when he was this close.

He knew that he wasn’t supposed to do this. But when no other options seemed open, this had to be done.

It was dangerous forcing his will against his wakened mind. One small issue, whether internal or external, would shatter his mind then and there. But this had to be done. Damned, be the consequences.

He continued despite those worries. His mind moved then, away from a wakeful state and onto an ether of perceived darkness.

Deeply hidden from his wakened mind. And away from its reach completely. He was now free.

As the ether then sprung up, his mind moved.

Away from his wakeful state, the ether grabbed hold and didn’t release him, until all of him had been taken. He was no longer safe and afforded the protection his wakeful mind provided.

But that was no matter, for he had succeeded. He was finally within his sleeping mind. He was gone from his external self. Now all that remained was his will coalesced in an ether of darkness and opportunity.

Now all that he sensed, tasted, and heard was the silence echoed by the ether surrounding him. His inner eye awoke then, seeing the darkness around him. Though he couldn’t touch, nor feel his surroundings, he knew where he was. He was exactly where he needed to be.

He was here for a specific reason. That was what he had to remember, for, within this place, thoughts represented a dangerous game of cat and mouse. One could lead to great rewards or to destruction.

He thought of what he sought. Attempted to sense it. No, he vehemently desired to sense what he sought. The stronger the intentions, thoughts, and will, the easier his road towards it would be.

The ether embraced him then, enveloping every pore of his non-existent flesh and pulled him away. He felt nothing, except a slight pull coming from somewhere else. But he ignored it then, for he had something important to do.

As he moved or perceived himself to be so, he saw something in the horizon. A small specter of light. The further away from this light he was, Sinai felt safe. But as the ether continued to rush him towards it, he sensed the light for what it truly was.

It was a beacon. One of misery, destruction, and terror. From it extended the tendrils of death, eroding the control that the ether forced him forward with.

If he could breathe, he would have realized that by now that it had stopped. If he continued forward, he would die. That was for sure.

In between thoughts of terror and fear, he asked himself why his sleeping mind had decided that his wish lied beyond or within the death that reigned beyond the horizon.

He would trust it for now. And attempt to control his quickly eroding mind. He was losing himself. That he knew.

But if he knew, then he could still fight it. It was only when he couldn’t recognize it, that he would be screwed. And that wasn’t what was going on. At least for now.

He controlled himself and stopped thinking about the terror and fear. He wished he could close his eyes, but what he saw and sensed was inescapable.

He rushed then still towards it. Thinking, and feeling his intent still. His fervent wish. His desire to sense what he sought. And the stronger his feelings and intent became, the faster he flew towards the light.

It was no longer a dot of light in the horizon, but a fast undulation of light that rushed from somewhere below the horizon.

He saw the tendrils of light and felt the fire rush up into the air, striking and disappearing into the ether around him. It was vast now. To both of his right and left all that he saw was the light that rushed upwards.

He felt the pulse of what released this undulate from the deep below. And heard from within himself, the small thud with which it pushed away its tendrils of death.

He was stopped briskly then. Exactly on the horizons tip. The end of this landscape of light and dark. He had reached the border of this place.

The ether was now behind him. A landscape of darkness. And yet, in front of him, where ether did not exist, lied nothing.

Not a hollowness waiting to be filled. Nor a space devoid of something. No. Unlike the ether where darkness filled everything, lied before him now a complete landscape of nothing. Existing, and yet not at the same time.

He couldn’t fathom what he saw before him. How could nothing exist and yet not?

His mind slowly separated, coalesced, and then broke and rejoined. He had begun to erode then. He didn’t realize it, for he was already beyond and gone his exterior and interior.

His mind fragmented, his will brightly burning away the self, and his person becoming one with that which lied beyond.

He was being eaten. He was burning. He was being birthed, taken, and rebirthed. He was all that he once was and all that he could be now and forever.

And just before the nothingness took him from what he truly was, he was pushed over the horizon.

Downwards he flew.

Away from the nothingness and darkness. Away from the husk that contained what once could be. He flew wearing a broken husk of what is, towards the warmth and death that wished to envelop the remains of him below.

As he had been transfixed by the nothingness beyond the horizon border, he hadn’t realized that below beckoning him was the small undulating pulse of light. A mini sun that raged fearlessly.

As he fell, his mind of what is began to erode again. But now, fragmented, and whole, he sensed the destruction it was going through.

He sensed the erosion he was feeling. And despite that, all that he saw and now even felt, was light, heat, and death. Everywhere was light and he was about to bathe in its splendor and die. And then be renewed. Rebirthed in its image. A new fragment. And it was glorious.

As he fell, for what felt like years, he felt his feelings of self erode. Sinai was dying. His wakened and sleeping mind were conjoined. His mind a fragment, and nearly gone. Nearly the entirety of what had been Sinai was slowly being stripped, broken, and separated into something new.

But despite the way the light held him, and the still eroding effects of the nothingness that grew within and twisted the fragmented unite of self.

He thought still of his desire. Or attempted to do so. But he was growing weak and was beginning to forget why he wished and thought for this wish. But it remembered. The fragmented one remembered.

He had to remember. No, he let it remember. He felts their hand on his. Guiding him inwards. Towards destruction.

He felt the memories they now guarded rise. He sensed his heart bleed in agony, and despite this, he let those old memories resurface.

He saw the pictures of mangled corpses. Saw the entire of the slaughter that took his father, mother, sister, and clan. Heard a cacophony of screams rise in a symphony of death and misery.

Lying under crumbled rocks and bleeding from his head. Terror taken.

He saw everything. And the pain he felt then, they felt now.

They sensed the rage swell. No, felt the rage swell.

But their mind continued to erode despite this. And he questioned then why they were angry. He didn’t know why. Only that they were.

But he knew one thing. That his desire and theirs was one. And then bathing in that beautiful sea of light and warmth, they became him. And he became them. Broken and birthed anew.

Still feeling the seed of a growing nothingness within, he fervently desired then once again. Utterly.

Thought it completely. Feeling every iota of what remained to become that desire. He set his wish upon the silence and now burning sea he bathed in. And made it fill the hole that had left his broken exterior.

His mind shouted his desire then, for they were now one and complete. As the sun enveloped him, he felt not death then. But rage and hatred.

He shouted out his desire. Shouted out his wish of death and destruction.

He sought to become annihilation itself. To take in and become death completely.

He wished to fill the hole that had been ripped from him. Desired to fill it through the death of those that stole that which he once was and could have come to be.

He screamed a promise of blood and laughed as slithering tendrils of terror and death exploded into the ether and nothingness. They were theirs. And they were him. And now he had become whole and broken. He had become vengeance.

He wished then to leave, and the light granted it. No. He granted it.

The self he had lost had become his power. His mind then the anvil on which death and destruction would be forged. And his exterior a weapon to fulfill his promise.

He rushed upwards. Away from the light. Away from the nothingness. Away from the ether. And away from the struggle between what remained of that which once was his will and wakened mind.

He awoke within his rotten hut and opened up to the world with eyes that gleaned a blood-red color. And he felt his lethargic face melt into a smile. He felt the undulations of heat and death escape his pores. He was ready.

“I’ll make sure you die a slow death, Koia.” He said as laughter began to leave him. And then he quickly disappeared from his once small, dilapidated bamboo home.

It's good. A bit unclear, a few grammar mistakes, but it's good enough.
 

Ral

Well-known member
Joined
Oct 15, 2019
Messages
604
Points
133
I'm sorry. I'm extremely critical to what I read. This is just an opinion and you can just ignore it.

My main issue it that, I don't think there is any substance to it. It is extremely vague about what it is talking about. It is akin to talking like this: "the big scary thing is doing this crazy thing against this other big scary thing." It is so vague that it is practically nonsense.

The writing is really wordy and purple. They sure sound pretty but, I'm sorry, a lot of people write like that to hide the fact that there isn't much substance in their writing.

It doesn't work for me. I just find it devoid of substance. What exactly would this prologue add to your story?
 

Shiver

Well-known member
Joined
Aug 7, 2020
Messages
37
Points
48
I only have a few minutes, so I'll be harsh to get my point across. Sorry if it's too severe;

I'll start by my standard advice to any author;
get Grammarly, use it, love it.
Grammarly doesn't just help with grammar and spelling mistakes; it helps with overusing the same words in the same paragraph and tells you when a section is monotone.
You don't need to follow all the advice it gives, but when pushing your 1800 or so words through the premium version with neutral tone filters, it gave me 76 alerts.
In my opinion, a prologue is for laying out the stakes and a bit of background but is primarily meant to hook the reader.
You're using a lot of 'flowery' text, and using a lot of (repeated) words to say very little (which is also a huge problem for me), and it doesn't hook me.

sorry, I have a meeting in 2 minutes, so gotta cut this short. Hope this bit helps, I'll add to it this evening if you want more.
 

Kutaifa

Active member
Joined
Nov 23, 2019
Messages
6
Points
43
I'm sorry. I'm extremely critical to what I read. This is just an opinion and you can just ignore it.

My main issue it that, I don't think there is any substance to it. It is extremely vague about what it is talking about. It is akin to talking like this: "the big scary thing is doing this crazy thing against this other big scary thing." It is so vague that it is practically nonsense.

The writing is really wordy and purple. They sure sound pretty but, I'm sorry, a lot of people write like that to hide the fact that there isn't much substance in their writing.

It doesn't work for me. I just find it devoid of substance. What exactly would this prologue add to your story?

I do see that. I'm not really going to go through with writing it I think, so I'll lay out what I initially wanted with the prologue and what it was supposed to add to the story.

The prologue was meant to display how the MC became so revenge focused. And where the voices that continuously throughout the story shout out at him (his fragmented self) came from + it was supposed to show why he no longer was able to feel anything but hate and anger.

And it was also supposed to fit into the cultivation system I had written down.

Plot-wise it would somewhat have gone like this: But, I hadn't figured out everything. This is just what I had thought to initially pen down.



The MC marries the daughter of the city lord. They live a seemingly happy life. I would have waited to display that the MC in the prologue was the same MC in chapter 1. But nevertheless, the MC isn't happy at all. For his wife is the sister of a man that partook in the killing of his family.

And for months the son has been missing. And while the family has been searching for him day and night, the mc had him chained to the floor in his shop's cellar.

He has been continuously torturing the son and attempts to extricate from him who partook in the killing. But he doesn't say anything. Here I would have shown his apathetic state and hatred. Displaying his psychopathic tendencies fully and the voices.

And at the end, listening to the voices, he would just straight up kill him. He would regret it of course, because he hadn't suffered enough and hadn't provided enough information, but it´s whatever.

A funeral happens and MC grieves with the family. During the funeral, he discovers that people the son shouldn't have known attends. Like some merchants and various sect people. (The son was supposed to be a drunk and failed captain in the army that was kicked for insubordination. All that happened before the clan's demise)

He finds out after a lot of bullshit and fighting that behind his clan's demise lied a conspiracy. And that he hadn´t been the only one to survive.

And that was all that I had.
 

Ral

Well-known member
Joined
Oct 15, 2019
Messages
604
Points
133
I do see that. I'm not really going to go through with writing it I think, so I'll lay out what I initially wanted with the prologue and what it was supposed to add to the story.

The prologue was meant to display how the MC became so revenge focused. And where the voices that continuously throughout the story shout out at him (his fragmented self) came from + it was supposed to show why he no longer was able to feel anything but hate and anger.
Well, you don't need a prologue for this. You can easily show them in the early chapters. It is actually better to show these things throughout the story instead of dumping them in the prologue.

Also, I don't really get any of these from the prologue.
The MC marries the daughter of the city lord. They live a seemingly happy life. I would have waited to display that the MC in the prologue was the same MC in chapter 1. But nevertheless, the MC isn't happy at all. For his wife is the sister of a man that partook in the killing of his family.
The brother of your wife is the brother-in-law.

And, a City Lord? Is this medieval or something?

Okay, some tragic back-story.
And for months the son has been missing. And while the family has been searching for him day and night, the mc had him chained to the floor in his shop's cellar.
This is kinda garbled. Do you mean the nephew-in-law (mc's brother-in-law's son) is the one who is missing and the mc chained?
He has been continuously torturing the son and attempts to extricate from him who partook in the killing. But he doesn't say anything. Here I would have shown his apathetic state and hatred. Displaying his psychopathic tendencies fully and the voices.
I don't get this. Why would he be torturing this person. He know that his brother-in-law partake in the murder. Given that, the one who would have the knowledge is his brother-in-law, not his nephew-in-law. It is not like a father would tell their son that they kill their own sister and who helped him.
And at the end, listening to the voices, he would just straight up kill him. He would regret it of course, because he hadn't suffered enough and hadn't provided enough information, but it´s whatever.
Okay, your MC is insane.
A funeral happens and MC grieves with the family. During the funeral, he discovers that people the son shouldn't have known attends. Like some merchants and various sect people. (The son was supposed to be a drunk and failed captain in the army that was kicked for insubordination. All that happened before the clan's demise)
Okay. Things is a little bit garbled around here again. Is this a funeral for his nephew-in-law? If that is the case, then, what happened is normal. Remember, his father-in-law (his wife's father) is a City Lord. His nephew-in-law is the City Lord's grandson. It make sense for these people to be there considering who the grandfather of the deceased is.
He finds out after a lot of bullshit and fighting that behind his clan's demise lied a conspiracy. And that he hadn´t been the only one to survive.
He have a clan? And they are all dead? The social structure here is unclear. You might need to work on that.

There are some things that needs work and restructuring but overall not bad. It is workable general outline that could fill a dozen or more chapters.
 

Kutaifa

Active member
Joined
Nov 23, 2019
Messages
6
Points
43
Well, you don't need a prologue for this. You can easily show them in the early chapters. It is actually better to show these things throughout the story instead of dumping them in the prologue.

Also, I don't really get any of these from the prologue.

The brother of your wife is the brother-in-law.

And, a City Lord? Is this medieval or something?

Okay, some tragic back-story.

This is kinda garbled. Do you mean the nephew-in-law (mc's brother-in-law's son) is the one who is missing and the mc chained?

I don't get this. Why would he be torturing this person. He know that his brother-in-law partake in the murder. Given that, the one who would have the knowledge is his brother-in-law, not his nephew-in-law. It is not like a father would tell their son that they kill their own sister and who helped him.

Okay, your MC is insane.

Okay. Things is a little bit garbled around here again. Is this a funeral for his nephew-in-law? If that is the case, then, what happened is normal. Remember, his father-in-law (his wife's father) is a City Lord. His nephew-in-law is the City Lord's grandson. It make sense for these people to be there considering who the grandfather of the deceased is.

He have a clan? And they are all dead? The social structure here is unclear. You might need to work on that.

There are some things that needs work and restructuring but overall not bad. It is workable general outline that could fill a dozen or more chapters.

I know, that's why I decided not to continue with it. I wrote the prologue, and then was like "hmm, do I really want to write this?" And I decided that I didn't.


It sounded good when I thought about it. But when I began to pen it into existence, it was meh.

And it was a Chinese inspired medieval fantasy story. Had I continued, then the stratification of the world be have been displayed.
And I am not familiar enough with mental illness' to even attempt this.
 

Ral

Well-known member
Joined
Oct 15, 2019
Messages
604
Points
133
I know, that's why I decided not to continue with it. I wrote the prologue, and then was like "hmm, do I really want to write this?" And I decided that I didn't.
It is quite common for writers to delete whole chapters, so you're in good company.
It sounded good when I thought about it. But when I began to pen it into existence, it was meh.
You just started and this is just a rough and basic outline. There are some details to work out but it is not bad at all.

Also, these things always starts rough. It is actually quite common to hear writers, even experienced ones, say that their initial drafts are garbage. There is also the saying that writing is rewriting. That is, the very first writing/draft is always not good and it is the (multiple) rewriting that makes it good.

You just have to work on it (rewrite) and fix things.
And I am not familiar enough with mental illness' to even attempt this.
Don't worry about that. Maybe some research but just work with your understanding of your character. Enter his mind and see what it would be like as a person bent on revenge.
 
Last edited:
Top