Prologue

Hey everyone!
OK, I won't do this spiel before every post, but I feel this needs a little introductory context. Basically, after seeing the first Pirates movie many years ago, I sat down at my computer and.... well. Writing happened. And then writing continued to happen. And everything kinda snowballed, and now writing is continuing to happen. It's quite scary when you look back on it and think... what happened there?
But yeah, what is this? This is... a book, I guess. It's not finished yet, but if I put it up chapter by chapter it'll give me an inscentive to get things done faster. It's supposed to be called "Souls of the Zodiac", but I'm feeling less and less happy with that title as I go along. So here is the start, the prologue. Enjoy, and stay tuned for more!

These are the souls of the Zodiac, thought the shadow of a man, as he glided like a wraith down the shadow of a tunnel. A tunnel which was illuminated at one end by a rapidly-shrinking pinprick of sunlight, and, at the other, by the icy, blue glow of untamed and deadly spells. These are the souls of an entire race. A muster of a thousand thousand warriors. These are the souls of an army. Mortas’ army.
The shadow of the man shuddered at the mention of that name. Mortas had been – and still was, to some extent – the Emperor of Desthalyn, the Creator of its people, the Conqueror of Hell, and, amongst a dozen more titles, the God of Death. Many folk of the present day believed that Mortas was a myth, either powerless or dead. But this could not be further from the truth.
At the end of the Deth War, exactly six thousand years ago, Mortas had been imprisoned in a cage that – legend says – is unbreakable, by an unknown power, under undocumented circumstances. But Mortas was still there. Nobody knew precisely where ‘there’ was, but there could be no doubting that Mortas was there. Very real, very powerful, and very much alive.
The man remembered, many years ago, when he was a mere student of his ways, asking his master ‘Is there a way to free him?’ His master had looked him in the eye with the chilling, lifeless, blue orbs of his eyes, and told him that there was a way to achieve the impossible. That answer had been what had driven the man ever since. It was why he was here now. Here, at the very same place that Mortas’ army had been sealed within, six thousand years ago. And still they waited, for the bringer of the key to both their and Mortas’ prison. His master had told him that those keys would be two, each different, and that the Army must be awoken before the god can return. He had made this one himself, but the other was beyond the crafting skill of any mortal. Appropriately enough, he had called the first key the ‘Harbinger’, as it was like a herald, an introduction to the main event. But, nonetheless, it would be useful. Even a god cannot conquer the world without his army. The second key, as anyone learned in these matters would know, went by the name of the “Chr—” No, fool! The words lanced through his head, every syllable like a slamming door. Do not speak the names of power within such a holy place!
And speaking of keys... The man’s thoughts trailed off as he stared, perplexed, at the obstacle before him. It was a black stone wall, engraved with a glowing ‘M’ rune. It was a door, no doubts about that. Though no keyhole, lock, or opening mechanism showed itself, instinct told the man it was a door. The first gate had been relatively easy to open, only a simple password-spell guarding it. The room in which the man was now could, in essence, be a very large porch. The ‘treasure’ lay behind the second gate. Alas, Thought the man, A gate nigh impossible to open. The man sighed and sniffed the air around the gate, just to be certain.
Sure enough, the spells within the stone were unknown to him, and would probably only disperse when he returned with full access to all the ingredients. Ingredients for the Reawakening. Breathing out another heavy sigh, he turned away from the gate, and began to retrace his steps. As he walked he mused, These are the souls of an army, the souls of a race, the souls of one million. These are the souls of the Zodiac...
And they shall march again.

See ya 'round!

James