Heh, finally done a prologue. I'll be working on another soon. If ya' see any mistakes or confusing sentences feel free to point them out.
Virage, the inventor. Maker of magical creatures and machines.
In a room filled with stone carcasses stands a large stone man; a golem who is has just been born. Standing at attention like a soldier the hallowed out sockets of its head filled with a warm yellow glow.
“Bring the power down” said Virage with a scowl looking directly into the golems eyes. “This golem is a failure. Dispose of it in the usual manner.” Virages assistant stared blankly with her deep red eyes and shut down the animation machine without blinking. The magic aura emanating from the box covered in valves, charms, and other such widgets, evaporated to a faint nothiningness with the throw of a lever. The golem lurched forward from its bold stance to collapse like a rag doll shaking the floor beneath it. “As thought, this one hasn’t the strength to be useful, prepare the mirror cannon.”
The maid wheeled a carriage of mirrors with a staff erected in the middle. It looked like a great mirrored rose, beautiful and deceptively dangerous. The maid, graceful yet rigid, placed the carriage down and began to crank the rear power wheel without hesitation. The machined moaned softly and angrily wound up to a loud scream. The mirrors began to glow while the staff pulsed with a blue aura. Suddenly, the mirrors beamed with intense light which blasted the stooped golem.
The golem slowly raised an arm to block the blast which raised Virage’s blood pressure. The arm was melted in a matter of a few seconds. “Stop!” Bellowed Virage, visibly annoyed. The maid stopped the crank and the flowers light faded quickly. The golem was scourged but still functional, despite smoldering , with its eyes glowing defiantly.
“So you DO have the strength to move! Then move for Damn’s sake! MOVE!” The wounded golem stared blankly, as if to spite him. “Maid, bring me the hammer” said Virage coldly. The maid picked up Virages favorite hammer perched against the wall and presented it to him. It was a large spike hammer, a head shorter than Virage himself. Despite its size Virage had alchemized it so he could lift it and be wielded with great power.
“Disobedience is a sign of failure in a golem so I suggest you move.” Still the golem sat still, which only raised Virage’s blood pressure even more so. “If you bloody well won’t move, I’ll make sure you can never move!” With a mild swing, Virage brought the hammer over his shoulder only for it release a burst of fire and propel forward with great speed viciously into the golems head. Half of the golem’s head was crushed as if it were sand as it was blown flat on its back. Its remaining eye still glowed faintly, however, it was certain that it would never again move.
“That was fruitful.” Said Virage with his trait sarcasm, dropping the hammer with disinterest. He slinked to a metallic pipe randomly jutting from the wall and sighed. Virage was known to perform and test several experiments at once. All of which he believed brought him closer and closer to creating his ideal love. However, even when one failed he could never feel the joy of the others success. He sighed again and looked through the end of the pipe.
Virages tower stood high on the ends of the lands, and his peerglass (Built out of the wall) crooked to peer over the edge. He looked through his great peer scope pointed to the continent below. He sees whatever the great winds dictate; the floating links move with the winds as do the view. As he focused the peer glass it groaned cheerfully at a chance to move again. “A pity.” Virage thought aloud. He was looking forward to send the golem down to the lowlands to fight the Beastman’s golems. Each Golem varies in quality so each fight would be different. He liked to watch his personal arena as measure of his own skills. Though he could create such things with magical staffs and potions, or machines that even his souless doll could use, he still envied the use of a natural magic user. He himself is only able to activate the individual power of a staff; and not to focus his magic like a real mage would. He compensated this with his ability to sense a tool or machines souls.
The souls of tools and machines would whisper in his ears, telling him their mood, what they desired, or their inner most secrets. Each soul was dependant on what materials it was made from, and how they have been treated. A gnarled staff made from a hangman’s tree for instance would whisper its wish for massacre, while a lantern whispered of its dislike of the darkness. This one of Virages few powers made him a master weapon smith. He listened to the whispers to make a weapon more powerful, a machine more efficient, a tool more effective. He could not however hear the souls of living creatures; they themselves were far too complex a machine to be comprehended.
His machines and tools loved him; however his golems and dolls were silent. Soulless husks of rock or flesh where supremely silent. This Virage could detect as the absence of a magical machines soul was oxymoronically audibly silent. All magic dolls were like this unless they were infused with a real soul. He however was trying to go against this law of nature by creating the beauty from his dreams: complete with a real soul that only ever and will belong to it. In other words, a doll with a real soul that wasn't borrowed. The ancients knew a great deal of magic and alchemy, they infused this knowledge into magical stones, however, not all stones where created for this manner. Many stones where created, as Virage theorized, by a soul of the departed, while others were made by skilled mages.
Virage beckoned his doll to come forward with an open palm. It gently placed a newly acquired stone into his palm without question. He took the ovular stone and placed it onto an alchemic ruin tattooed to his hand. His instantly saw the vision of a peasant during the ancient cataclysm. These sort of memory stones where not uncommon but they never revealed the nature of the cataclysm. This peasant was doomed by an overhanging boulder that would crush him. Yet, the peasant resisted the weight for as long as possible until he was crushed, the end of the vision brought Virage back to his golem graveyard. “Why would he choose to… wait.” Thought Virage as he stared back at the mauled golem with a keen interest. “To the lab.” He said with Vigor. “We have more work to do yet”
The doll opened the doors to the graveyard chamber to the grumpy elevator, carrying the hammer with unkempt grace. As Virage got on, the doll pulled a lever, paused at the immobility, and then kicked the magic gears into activating. As they ascended Virage saw glimpse of the land of links. The closest landmark was the kingdom of an arrogant brute. Virage foundly remembered when the king threatened him. One of his doll messengers was enough to scare him away. It parroted his message of an army of monsters and experiments ready to destroy his kingdom then died with a hysterical laughter and dropped dead with a wicked smile as it ghoulified to a hideous corpse. Virage smirked at the memory until the elevator stopped with a screech.
The view of the lab was that of disarray. Glass beakers and pipettes, unnatural creatures sealed in large cages, banshees trying to scream from their mutes, machines with valves; charms; and flowing steam all around, papers strewn everywhere, soulless dolls which wandered about while others only followed you with their eyes, along with hideous failures which where unrecognizable as anything. Virage smiled, he was home, and it was time to start another experiment. Perhaps today we would try again to make the woman of his dreams, something to give him mirth, a magical weapon, or create a monster to destroy who opposed him. He wheeled around to look at the defective doll. Reminded of his most impressive specimen, yet greatest failure, Virage was ready to better himself yet again. What Virage didn’t know is that he soon would have more to think about than experiments…
