A Scrapped Project — Prologue
Below is the prologue of a novel I’ve been working on with a close relative a few years ago. The project has been discontinued, yet the first few chapters remain and I felt they were too precious to just throw away. So, here they are.
Night befell the city of Yillora, and the stars glittered like conspicuous milk drops upon a dark velvet sky.
Crowds were rowdy still, the streets alive and bustling. Boots, hooves and cartwheels thundered past as people went about their matters, pushing and shoving. The people of the city were plenty and diverse; tall and burly men from the far west, scrawny tinkers with goods and wares from across the Great Waters. Exotic courtesans with revealing garbs baiting naive men in like fish, and stunning female knights and bodyguards that looked bewitchingly young to carry a battle-ax almost their own size.
Amidst a swarming crowd lay a grizzled old man, out like a light and cold as stone. No one bothered to take him somewhere safe from being trampled or at least attempted to wake him up. Folks were wary, maybe from getting involved in a dangerous scam scheme or from being roped into trouble for lending a hand where they shouldn’t have. A rough looking old man laying by the side of a cobble bridge was a sight rather ignored by many.
Ahead on the other side of the bridge stood a girl with a long dirty cloak draped over her shoulders, hood drawn up. She wore a stained brown shirt with tight leggings, and a black leather belt with a buckle larger than her fist. She carried a small skin satchel and had an empty scabbard covertly hanging from her back.
Observing her one would realize that, despite her disheveled attire, the girl was slender and graceful and perhaps a little charming. When she moved, her gait was brisk, her steps confident, and she sidestepped horse-carts and foot traffic with the deliberate efficiency that came from repetition.
The girl weaved through waves of people, placing one nimble foot after another when she walked into a child, sending him tumbling onto his bottom. “Sorry kid. You alright?” She grabbed him by his hands and plucked him back to his feet. The boy seemed twice younger than her. Showing a clue of concern, she brushed the dirt off his pants. “Be careful next time alright?”
The boy nodded, and with that she melded back into the crowd. The kid stood a while, dusting himself before slowing down like dying clockwork. Then he sat down suddenly, put his hands over his face and began to sniffle. Just a few seconds later he was sobbing loudly.
Remorse tugged at her heartstrings, but she was never one to let ethics have her starve for the night. The small pouch in her hand jingled softly as she stuffed it down her satchel.
