path to glory: prolouge
a super short possible prolouge to a story i was thinking about writing. A story about a young headstrong Ravenir (anthro raven) who wants to leave his drab, but lucrative manor life and do the one thing most ravenir hate to think about, fight and conquer.
its a story that involves long marches, brutal medieval clashes, war and maybe love and redemption. this is about a soul who takes the path of glory.
please comment ideas and crituques.
The sky was a dreary gray, so dreary. Gray clouds cluttered the sky. Not a eagle dared to take to the dark windy sky, not one eagle dared to face the harsh whipping winds. Rain pelted the cold gray glass that separated the manor from the elements outside. But on this dreary day, their was a not so dreary soul, this soul looked on the dreary outside. Unlike so many other souls that would succumb to the depressions of a dreary day, this soul stood resilient, he did not succumb to the seas of anxiety and manic depression! A soul who roared right back at the howling winds that tore to the mountainous lands that he called home. This soul stared out on the dark, dreary day and with a fiery passion that swelled in his heart like a firestorm brought on by an ancient wrath, this soul decide that today. Today he will begin the arduous March and follow his dreams that would make him immortal in history, and in the hearts and minds of those who will for years to come read of his story and begin to follow their passions. He, he will take the hard path to glory! He has too, he will! He will begin to raise a regiment of soldiers, his men whom will share in the glory and pain that surly laid in wait for them like a serpent in the grass. It would take time, yes he knew this would take quite some time, but with that same fiery passion that swelled in his chest. He knew this was his destiny, his fate. He jumped up with a vigor that almost surprised him. The wooden chair fell behind him with a loud thud.his image reflected in the window. He stood their admiring his short statue he ran his short avian hand through his slick black feathers, oddly they seemed to compliment his fiery personality, his short beak seemed to snicker at the outside world with pride and defiance, defiance of nature and of others whom wanted to keep him down. He was a leader, a lion in the body of a ravenir. He would be great, he, Brennus.