He Who Slays Demons: Prologue (Patreon)

Another concept, similar to the Jabberwocky story intro. Like before, I'll likely do a few chapters of this as time allows to see how I like the world.

Thirteen years ago...

One rickety wooden carriage rolled across a cobblestone road. The path was windy and uneven, and the children chained to the bars of the cart felt every rocking jitter as they passed.

“When will we get there?” A young girl whispered.

“Shh! Be quiet!” A boy hissed between his teeth. “They said we’d go hungry if we made too much noise again, and I’m not missing my only meal of the day because of you.”

The children glared at each other. Before the wagon, they’d been strangers. Now they’d spent the last three days locked together with barely enough room to stand. All that time, the wagon had only stopped twice, and each time one of their number had been taken.

“Where do you think they’re taking us?” The girl asked, more to herself than anyone else. The boy next to her glared and was about to elbow her again when the wagon came to a shaky stop.

Everyone looked up, even the quietest of the children in the wagon, a boy in ragged clothes sitting in the back corner, watching the others silently.

The children heard voices outside the wagon. “War orphans this time. Take your pick.” That was the voice of the wagon’s driver. Nobody knew his name, just that he was a rough-looking man who carried a sword.

“You weren’t seen, were you?” The second voice was older and male. He sounded nervous. “The order’s reputation is strained as it is, if they knew we were buying...”

“You’re not.” The wagon driver said. “You’re taking in wards, the same as you’ve always done.”

“Right.” The older male said. “O-of course. But we shouldn’t take in more than one. It would be unusual otherwise.”

The doors to the wagon swung open, and moonlight shot through the open doors. The children squirmed under the bright rays. Over the last few days, their eyes had become accustomed to near total darkness.

“They all look a bit scrawny...” The old man said as he joined the wagon driver. He was clad in white robes with golden trim lining their edges. He was a cleric for one of the righteous gods.

“Food’s expensive.” The wagon driver shrugged. “Especially when you’re on the road.”

“A stunted paladin won’t exactly do the Lord of Light’s image any good.” The cleric ran his fingers into the arms of his robe nervously.

“Bah, how many acolytes become paladins? One in ten? One in a hundred?”

“Only those who are touched by the Grace.” The cleric said. “But I understand your point. Our numbers could use a bit of fleshing out, even at the lower ranks.”

The cleric looked around the wagon, stroking a sigil hanging from a string around his neck. He mumbled a prayer under his breath before opening his eyes wide and pointing to the far back corner of the wagon. “You there! Yes, the broody one. The Lord of Light smiles upon you. Come with me, and your fate shall be better than those of the rest of the children here.”

The wagon driver reached in and grabbed the selected boy by the arm and hauled him out of the wagon. The boy did not struggle, young as he was. Instead, he merely examined the cleric with a patient and measured gaze that didn’t suit the face of a child.

“What’s your name, boy?” The cleric asked as the wagon driver shut the doors to his wares and prepared his horses to ride again.

“Aron.” The boy answered, watching as the cleric pulled a slip of silver out of his sleeve and pass it to the wagon driver.

“And what happened to you, Aron?” The cleric asked.

“My parents were murdered.” Aron answered with the eyes of someone who’d watched it happen.

The cleric waited for more, but Aron merely waited and watched. The boy was five years at the oldest. Too young to be void of tears.

The cleric rested a hand on Aron’s shoulder. “You poor boy. Rest assured, from henceforth, you can take comfort in the Lord of Light’s embrace. Serve him well, and you will be fulfilled. I am Cleric Mynin, and you’ll be under my care for a few months while the other wards my parishioners promised to us arrive.”

“What will become of me?” Aron asked.

“Henceforth, you are Aron, ward of the Temple.” Cleric Mynin said. “We needed one more ward for our annual contribution to the order’s acolytes. Oh, but please, don’t tell anyone about where I got you. The other children... wouldn’t understand.”

Aron nodded, and the cleric breathed a sigh of relief.

“Here. Take this book and study it.” Cleric Mynin instructed as he handed Aron a small book barely the size of his hand. “This is the Codex of the Lord of Light. It contains his teachings, and the code those who seek the embrace of his Grace should follow. Don’t worry about being unable to read it. I will teach you.”

Over the next few weeks, Aron was fed and clothed from the cleric’s own purse and taught to read by his own hand. Cleric Mynin was pleasantly surprised at how quickly Aron learned to recognize letters, and how quickly he turned those letters into words and sounds. By the time the month was up, he had read the cleric’s little book from cover to cover a dozen times.

By the time the cleric determined their lessons finished, Aron could recite the Lord of Light’s dictum as easily as the cleric himself could.

“Good! Good!” Cleric Mynin laughed and ruffled Aron’s hair like a father might to a son. “You might make a better cleric than me some day.”

Shortly after Aron mastered his reading lessons, other boys began arriving at the temple, joining him as wards. Most were the third or fourth sons of tailors and bakers, with a family behind them but no future to inherit. Their parents sent them to the care of the Celestial Temple to join Aron as fellow wards.

Given plenty to eat, Aron grew fast, and the cleric was relieved that he wouldn’t be too short compared to the other children his age. Soon, they were all off on a second wagon, though this time the cleric was the driver, and the passengers didn’t have to ride in darkness.

The other children complained as they rode, though Aron thought that silly.

Didn’t they know how lucky they were to be able to breathe fresh air and eat three meals a day as they traveled?

Aron glanced at the book of the Lord of Light’s teachings. The other children all had a book that matched his, but only Aron had read his to completion. Each of the pages to the little tome we ruffled and worn. The other boys all had pristine and unblemished copies opened once or twice at most.

Aron looked down at the stew in his bowl. Perhaps he truly had been blessed by the Lord of Light, as Cleric Mynin kept saying. Only he was the only of these children who knew it.

“This is our stop, children! Sit straight. The Order of the Golden Rod does not take kindly to acolytes who slouch!” Cleric Mynin said as he pulled up before a massive structure tucked between a pair of mountains. It was a temple painted white and made of flawless granite. From top to bottom, it was adorned in golden circles and rods, which Aron had come to learn symbolized the Lord of Light. Though this was a temple, it had walls and battlements like a castle, and guards patrolled the upper walls.

“Cleric Mynin.” One of the guards before the temple gates nodded as the cleric brought his charges forward. “These are this year’s wards from Hillcrest?”

“Just so.” Cleric Mynin said. “The Lord of Light has smiled upon these children.”

“Then they are blessed.” The guard said. “Leave the new acolytes in the courtyard and one of the attendants will come collect them.”

“Best of luck, Aron.” Cleric Mynin said as he ushered the wards to the courtyard.

Before Aron knew it, Cleric Mynin was gone. He stood in the courtyard of the strange place, waiting and watching.

The guards here wore uniforms of shining silver. Their swords were of the same color, and all of them had faces full of pride and piety.

As promised, an attendant arrived not long after. The wards were settled into bunks, and Aron had both a bed and a chest to call his own.

“Train well. If you pass the first rite of the order, you will be given rooms of your own. Those who do not pass will be returned to where you came from. You will have six months to prove your piety to the Lord of Light and show him that your desire to serve is honest and true.”

Aron clutched the book in his hands a little tighter.

These other children had families waiting for them, but not him.

***

Six months passed in the blink of an eye, though to Aron and the other children it seemed like ages. The first rite turned out to be nothing more than memorizing and reciting a few verses from the Lord of Light’s Codex.

Aron had memorized the entire book within days of becoming an acolyte, so reciting them for an attendant from memory was as effortless as naming the colors on the alter.

To Aron’s surprise, this simple test stumped most of the children, and from his group only two others remained.

The second rite was harder. In it, Aron had to explain what those same verses meant.

“But why did the man slay the skeleton?” The attendant insisted when Aron repeated the story he’d learned. “What was the significance of it? The Lord of Light’s teachings were few and far between in those days, and it would be a long time before the man the story speaks of became an acolyte.”

“Because the undead was touched by the power of demons, and it would have destroyed the man’s village if the blight it was spreading was allowed to fester.” Aron guessed.

“Well done.” The attendant said. “Evil must be cut out at the source. Merely repairing the damage is not enough. I think you will be well suited for joining the Order of the Golden Rod, Aron.”

Aron bowed and thanked the attendant, as he’d seen the older acolytes do.

Months passed at the temple, and those months turned into years. Aron fed upon the food the temple offered its acolytes and studied the texts he was given. In his free time, he tended to the temple grounds, watering plants, sweeping steps, and cleaning muck out of the stables for the horses. Each month, he was quizzed on his understanding of history and the ecclesiastical structure of the Celestial Temple and the Lord of Light’s place at its head. He was given some time to study the other gods, but the order always focused upon the Lord of Light.

“Allataria was originally a water spirit who grew both powerful and bold.” Aron explained. “Eventually, she grew strong enough to try to claim godhood for herself, but she was too eager. She failed in her efforts, but was saved by the Lord of Light, who reached down and accepted her into his holy harem.” Aron said as he recited the ancient lore. “Her priestesses were granted the power to purify demonic energy with their holy water.”

“Well done, Aron.” The attendant said. “That wraps up your mundane studies for now.”

Aron expected to be handed a new book to study, but instead the attendant looked him up and down.

“There are few acolytes as pious and dedicated as you are, Aron.” The attendant said. “From now on, you shall spend each morning training with the temple guards. There will be other acolytes there for you to spar with.”

“Do I know them?” Aron asked. As the years passed, the number of acolytes had thinned. Most had left to join lesser temples. By now, Aron was one of the oldest acolytes left.

“No, you don’t.” The attendant said. “They are the children of nobles, training to become paladins for the Lord of Light.”

Aron had seen the paladins wearing their silver armor. They rode in on tall horses with swords at their side. Each of them were tall and strong, like a man made mighty. More than that, they walked with a commanding certainty in their steps, like the world was theirs to command. From the other attendants and clerics, Aron learned that they possessed something most others did not. Something called the Grace of the Lord of Light.

“The noble children are not as well-versed in the words of the Lord of Light as you are.” The attendant said. “It is the wish of the Lord of Light that you join their number and bring them into the fold.”

Aron bowed. “If the Lord of Light commands, then I will serve.”

And so the following day, Aron went to see the noble children. They frowned at the sight of his acolytes robes.

“Are you here to serve us breakfast?” One of the noble boys asked. The other’s laughed, sharing some joke Aron did not understand.

“If the Lord of Light wished for me to serve you lunch, then I would be carrying it to you now.” Aron responded. “But he did not. I am here to train with you and the temple guards.”

“Forgive Darik,” A freckled young girl with freckled hair and oversized shirt said. “He’s about as polite as a donkey fed beans sitting in a ladies tea room.”

“There is nothing to forgive.” Aron said, looking at Darik as he spoke. “The blessings of the Lord of Light fall upon us all, man and donkey alike.”

Everyone laughed again. The joke eluded Aron once more, but apparently he’d said something funny. All the noble children laughed, at least until Darik glared at them. Unlike the others, his face was flushed red, and he glared at Aron with a face full of anger.

“Just wait until I have a sword in my hands, acolyte.” Darik spat.

“As you wish.” Aron nodded politely.

Soon the temple guards came. One of them stepped forward wearing the silver armor of a paladin. He took a swig of something from a bottle at his waist, and from the smell it clearly wasn’t water. Aron frowned at that. Ever since the Lord of Light had taken Allataria as his concubine, water had been the purest and holiest drinks.

I’m Paladin Jarkob. “Each of you, pick up a wooden practice sword. Then split off into pairs I want to see what you’re made of. I’m curious to see if the lords of the land are still teaching their sons and daughters how to fight.”

Aron picked up a wooden practice sword. It was lighter than he expected, though a real blade would have been heavier, no doubt.

Darik eyed Aron as he inspected his weapon. “You and me, acolyte. Let me show you how you use a sword.”

“I would be honored to receive instruction from one who has mastered the sword.” Aron replied. “May the grace of the Lord of Light fill your soul.”

A few of the noble children laughed, and Aron wondered what he’d said that was funny.

“You’ve mocked me one time to many!” Darik snarled. “Sword up! Let’s see what the clerics and attendants have taught you.”

This was the first time Aron had ever held a sword, but many of his duties had involved physical labor. This sword was merely another tool, like a shovel for the stables, or the pruning sheers for the berry bushes in the courtyard.

Despite having never held a weapon like this before, Aron couldn’t help but feel like it belonged in his hand. The rod of wood, simple as it was, felt like it represented a piece of him that had been missing. Aron swung the weapon in a slow arc around him, and he found he felt a bit lighter on his feet.

“What are you kids waiting for?” The paladin said as he took another swig from the jug at his waist. “You think a zombie is going to wait around for someone to tell you to start? Fight!”

Darik needed no further prompting. He charged at Aron with the fury of a man with a vendetta. The snarl on his face and the curl of his lip told Aron that he wouldn’t be going easy on him.

“A man who’s lost his temper is like steel that has done the same.” Aron recited."Both are worthless. That is the last line of the twenty ninth verse of the third volume of the codex."

“Shut up!” Darik spat as he swung his wooden practice sword in a wide arc.

Aron had more wisdom from the codex to share, but if Darik requested silence to consider the verse, he would oblige.

Not that Darik gave him much time to think and recite verses. He was about as talented with a practice sword as a boy of twelve years could be. He came at Aron from the right, and then the left. Aron held his sword aloft between him and his opponent, though he felt Darik’s practice sword leave a sting across his left shoulder and his right hip for his efforts.

Despite having never held a sword, Aron knew the general idea. He’d seen the temple guards practicing from time to time. They’d never shared their skills with Aron. He knew the general stances. The guard position, the block position, the lunge, and the strike.

Aron sank into a guard, and Darik grew visibly warier of him. The next time Darik tried to strike a blow, Aron was ready, and he sent Darik’s sword flying wide.

Something in Aron filled his heart with joy at the feeling of a sword in his hand. His entire body felt light, except for the codex in his pocket. Was this the grace of the Lord of Light he’d heard the attendants and the paladins speak about?

Aron felt something in his heart, like a whisper in his ear, carried through to him like his soul was in resonance with the world around him. He felt serene in a way he’d never felt before.

Suddenly, the movements came to him. He still didn’t really know how to use a sword, but each of his movements took on an elegance they hadn’t had before. He took the sword in his hand and tossed it in the air.

Darik looked at him strangely, but didn’t waste the opportunity. “Don’t think you’ll get out of this by surrendering!” Darik shouted as he sent the point of his wooden sword straight for Aron’s throat. Practice sword or not, something like that really could kill Aron.

But he’d felt the blow coming without even seeing it. He held out his hands and brought his palms together, clamping down on either side of Darik’s wooden sword.

Darik’s eyes were wide when Aron caught his sword. They went wider still when Aron twisted at the waist and torn the practice weapon from Darik’s hand.

Aron flicked his fingers, and the sword flipped around into his left hand. A moment later, the wooden sword he’d tossed in the air fell into his other hand. Aron crossed the two swords and held them over Darik’s throat. He was disarmed and completely at Aron’s mercy.

“H-how... what?” Darik stuttered as he fell back. He landed on his rear, splashing mud against his fine noble garments.

Aron stabbed Darik’s sword into the dirt and offered his hand. “Well fought.” He’d seen the temple guards do this after their matches.

But instead of taking his hand, Darik slapped it away. “Don’t patronize me.”

That was the first time Aron was touched by the grace. He returned to his acolyte’s quarters, reveling in the memory of the feeling. That was the closest he’d ever felt to the Lord of Light. When he next met with the attendant, he made his first request since becoming an acolyte of the temple.

“I want to become a paladin.” Aron said.

“A paladin?” The attendant asked. “Usually, that’s reserved for noble sons and daughters. It’s rather dangerous work if you don’t have the funding for proper armor and equipment. Not to mention that you’d constantly be risking your life fighting the forces of the underworld.”

“The Lord of Light has placed this path before me.” Aron said. “I must follow it.”

“Well then, who am I to argue with the Lord of Light?” The attendant laughed. “You’re a good student, Aron. I’ll pull what strings I can to get you in.”

True to his word, the attendant did as he said he would. The following morning, Aron joined the noble children in their training once again.

Months turned into a year, and during his training Aron touched upon the Grace here and there, though never as strong as that first time. Aron lacked the noble upbringing of the rest of the children, but he woke each morning before dawn and started his exercises before the others. When the rest of the trainees left for supper or to visit the tavern of the nearest town, Aron continued training.

His hard work and dedication quickly made him the most skilled of the paladin trainees, much to Darik’s smoldering fury. Aron soon left the others far behind him in skill, and he eventually began training with their instructor instead of the other students.

“That almost seemed like the grace for a moment there...” Paladin Jarkob said as he picked him self up out of the dirt. “But... that’s impossible. Only those who have gone through the last of the acolyte rites could be touched by the grace.”

Paladin Jarkob reached for the waterskin at his waist, which Aron had since learned contained something called whiskey. Then he remembered he’d just been beaten in a sword fight by a boy a third his size, and he put the cap back on the bottle.

“I think that’s enough of that for a while.” He chuckled as he reached for some water. “You’ve all improved splendidly, and I think it’s time for you boys and girls to know what the Order of the Golden Rod is really about.”

Paladin Jarkob took the young trainees to a dark room beneath the temple. There were chambers lining the underside of the temple with steel bars over each of them. Behind the steel bars were people shuffling about or lying in corners.

At first, Aron was reminded of his time in the wagon. He clutched the sigil of the Lord of Light around his neck, but the feeling faded when he realized there was something wrong with each of the people behind the bars.

“Are those... undead?” The freckled girl whispered in fright. Aron had learned her name was Sasha.

“Correct.” Paladin Jarkob said. “These are all lesser undead we captured wandering the Creeping Woods behind the temple. We captured them so young trainees and acolytes like you can practice against true forces of evil.

“They’re... corrupted?” Aron asked. “They’re under the influence of the Lady of Darkness?”

Paladin Jarkob nodded. “They are beyond saving. A big part of our job as Paladins is help these restless dead find eternal peace.”

That set Aron’s unsteady heart at ease. These creatures were evil. That was why they were imprisoned so.

“Will we get to kill one of them?” Darik grinned.

“That is the rite you shall pass today. Slaying your first undead.” Paladin Jarkob said.

And so each child was presented with an undead of their own, and armed with a real sword for the first time. They faced a row of shambling zombies, chained to the far wall by their arms and ankles. They were helpless to resist the children’s attacks, but they spat and snarled through their gags. Their eyes rolled up into their head or dangled out of their sockets by the nerve as the flesh peeled off their skin.

“I think I’m going to be sick.” Sasha said.

“Now this is what I wanted to become a paladin for!” Darik laughed. “I want the biggest one!”

Darik slew his zombie with three rough hacks, laughing as he did so. Aron dispatched his zombie with a single dispassionate swing. Once it was dead, he knelt near the severed head and said a prayer for the man this zombie had once been.

Seeing two of their peers had already dealt with their foes, the rest of the children finished off the remaining zombies. Sasha did so with closed eyes and trembling hands, while the other children had even more trouble.

“Well done, all of you.” Paladin Jarkob said to the children, though he looked at Darik and Aron as he did so.

Their training continued, By the time Aron was thirteen, he’d killed a dozen zombies and skeletons, the last three of which were unchained. Of his group, Aron was the only one able to fight a zombie without having to see a cleric after for healing.

“We have something special in store for you today.” Paladin Jarkob announced as he led the children beneath the temple. He led the children to a sinister circle drawn in blood. Aron didn’t like the look of it. It felt evil, and his instincts told him to destroy the circle immediately. But he did not. The paladins would not permit evil to exist beneath the temple without reason.

“Today, we’re going to be summoning an imp.” Paladin Jarkob explained. “They’re servants of the Lady of Darkness, sent to tempt honest people into her dark embrace. It will speak lies, but you must not believe them.”

The Paladin did something, and the circle activated. Dark crimson light filled the room. An instant later, the light faded and there stood a girl Aron’s own age. She appeared human, except for the fact that her skin was as red as fresh blood and her eyes the color of a starless night. She had two tiny horns on her head, and a pointed tail whipped back and forth behind her.

“W-where am I?” The imp asked, flinching back in fright. In doing so, her tail hit the crimson barrier behind her. Aron heard a slight zap ring through the chamber, and the imp jumped again.

Despite her demonic appearance, the imp looked for all the world like a frightened little girl. Aron immediately crushed that feeling in his heart. Aron had read about these creatures. Her appearance and expression were part of the lie she’d crafted for herself.

“Who are you?” The imp insisted. “Please, let me out of here.” She gestured to the circle around her.

“She looks scared.” Sasha said. “Maybe... we should send her back?”

“Very well, imp. I’ll release the barrier.” Paladin Jarkob’s said. One hand went to his sword, while his boot scrapped against the crimson circle on the ground. His foot disrupted the barrier, and the imp’s terrified expression turned into a ferocious grin. Her teeth, once so human in appearance, turned into fangs. The imp lunged for Sasha, and Paladin Jarkob drew his sword to cut the imp down, but he must have expected the imp to go for him and not one of his trainees. He would have been a hair too slow to save Sasha.

Darik stood frozen on one side, eyes wide as the demon lunged forward.

But Aron, standing on Asha’s other side, had no such hesitation. He grabbed the imp’s razor-sharp tail as it flicked towards Sasha’s throat. Then he tore the sigil of the Lord of Light from around his neck and wrapped it around the imp’s throat.

Despite being only a bit smaller than Aron, the imp was a demon, and was both faster and stronger than a human. But Aron had the grace of the Lord of Light to guide him. The imp tried to slash Aron with her claws, but Aron jabbed its joints with his open palm. Whatever passed for demonic bones snapped under the force of the blow, and Aron wove beneath its other arm.

He broke that like the first, then wrapped his sigil around the imp’s throat, taking the chord and pulling it tight. The demon squirmed, but Aron knocked it to the floor and pulled tighter. The imp squirmed beneath Aron’s foot with two broken arms, but Aron had no mercy for creatures of darkness. Paladin Jarkob ran his hand along his blade, which glowed with golden light. Then he thrust it into the base of the imp’s neck. Moments later, the demon burst apart into motes of black light, seeping into the ground to return to wherever the dark creature had come from.

“W-well done, Aron.” Paladin Jarkob said. “Not many paladins can claim to have slain a demon at thirteen. Let alone strangled one to death. You’ll make a fine paladin in another decade.”

“You dealt the blow that killed it.” Aron replied.

Paladin Jarkob chuckled. “But I wasn’t the one that slew it. You were. Take pride in that.”

“The seventh verse of the fourth book says that a paladin shouldn’t take pride in killing, only in their continued service to the Lord of Light.” Aron said as he wound his chord back through the hole in his holy sigil and placed it back around his neck.

“...Right.” Paladin Jarkob let out a sheepish grin. He reached for the waterskin at his waist out of habit, though he’d replaced the whiskey with water ever since that day Aron had gotten the better of him.

“You saved me.” Sasha said, voice full of awe.

“The Lord of Light saved you. I was merely his vessel.” Aron replied.

Nearby, Darik’s nails dug into his palms.

That night, the attendant arrived in Aron’s acolyte’s quarters and passed him another book. It contained the secrets of demons and the Order of the Golden Rod’s many fights against them. Aron devoured the tome in a single night. In the past, demons had infiltrated every corner of the world, from the thrones of the most noble kingdoms to the highest ranks of the very Celestial Temple itself.

The Order of the Golden Rod was created to prevent such a thing from ever happening again.

Five more years passed, and Aron’s skill grew. He learned the magic of the paladins, including minor healing can trips and the art of imbuing a sword with holy energy to better fight the forces of evil.

And so, just after his eighteenth birthday, Aron gave his final vows.

“I pledge myself to the Order of the Golden Rod, from this day unto death. I shall uphold its tenants in all that I do, and my dedication shall be second only to my faith in the Lord of Light.” Aron said without hesitation.

Darik and Sasha echoed him soon after, as did the other trainees who made it this far.

“Well done, one and all.” The attendant said as he urged the new paladins to their feet. “May you serve the Lord of Light with pride. You graduated just in time. The Order has need of more paladins. We’ll be organizing you into a party tomorrow morning. After that, you’ll be off on your first mission!”

Note:

So this weekend I was had a bit of inspiration for another story. During the work week I'm pretty strict about keeping my nose to the grindstone on the Spellheart series, but during the weekends I let myself play around a little, toy with new concepts, and practice new techniques if I can't get myself to work too much on the Spellheart series (though I always make sure at least a little gets done every day). I've been wanting to try a prologue in this style for a while and realized it would be perfect for this idea. Right now, I'm still feeling things out. If I decide to make this a full novel, I'll sit down and do some worldbuilding and outlining, potentially with a full rewrite of this chapter.

Let me know what you guys think. These concept pieces are discovery written, unlike the stuff I do for novels, so I'm pretty much learning about the story and setting at the same rate as you guys, at least until we get far enough along that I have to write out some notes.

Personal notes I'll be thinking about, should I decide to make this into a novel:

• There are a lot of characters. Some could be combined or cut.
  • Boy and girl in the wagon could be combined with Darik and Sasha (how to give them noble background though?)
  • Attendant can be combined with the Cleric Mynin.
• Not entirely satisfied with the portrayal of the Lord of Light's Grace.
  • Addition of a scene explaining why it is special?
  • Potential conflict between Aron and the older paladins who don't have the grace.
• Potential confusion between acolytes and mage acolytes from the Spellheart series. (Change?)
• Chapter is 2x longer than it should be for this style book. Reduce to 3k words.
  • Two choices. Cut dialogue and replace with exposition [Shorter length, gets story started quicker.]
  • Or cut exposition and flesh out with dialogue [Longer length, likely 3 chapters with 5 year time skips between each. Slower start.
    • (Note: Might be too slow a start for a harem novel, look for successful references)
• Conflict with Darik. --> Need an endgame plan for this.
• Need a master list of the verses/tenants/rules if the protagonist is going to reference them. (Ideas below)
  • Take no pleasure in killing.
  • Seek justice in all things.
  • Slay all evil.
  • Cut out corruption at the source.
  • Always be prepared to fight.
  • Ect.
• Potential Antagonists
  • Darik
  • Corruption within the Celestial Temple
  • Demons disguised as important humans
  • Cultists and Necromancers (careful not to overlap with the Spellheart series here)
  • Archdemons
  • The Lady of Darkness
  • Lord of Light himself
    • What if the Lord of Light isn't holy enough for End of Series Aron?
    • Reserve for potential sequel series. 4 books are not enough to scale to this.
• Flesh out Celestial Temple
• Draw maps for Creeping Woods & the Temple
  • Temple also needs a name.
  • Map the Town of Hillcrest
• How does this turn into a harem novel without compromising the story?
  • Sasha
  • Introduce female cleric or priestess? (Healing?)
  • Other character ideas:
    • Necromancer the protagonist rehabilitates? (Training against skeleton)
    • Mercenary (Combat help)
    • Wealthy merchant/Noble daughter (Protagonist needs funding)
    • Armorer/Enchanter (Protagonist needs good weapons and armor)
• Flesh out the Lord of Light and his harem of goddesses
• Potential ranks for paladins.
  • Holy Initiate
  • Sacred Blade
  • Divine Champion
• Connections to the Ten Thousand Worlds
  • [Redacted for spoilers]
• Goal length: 4 book series, each 80-90k words. Structured for a potential sequel series, but with a clear ending after 4 modest sized books. (Small enough to experiment with hiring an editor and potentially a narrator as well.)
  • Ideally, release books between Spellheart books to reduce time between releases for my more lengthy series.

Personal notes for this style of introduction.

Pros of this style intro

• Proven track record. Used by Brent Weeks, Brandon Sanderson, Pat Rothfus, Robin Hobbs, and many others
• Can quickly characterize a protagonist of unusual capabilities and personality.
• Very fast paced. Lots of story, small page count.
• Establishes the setting in the first chapter.
• Good at portraying highly competent and driven protagonists while keeping them empathetic.

Cons:

• Some readers read the first few paragraphs, see a child protagonist, and assume the novel is for kids.
• Some readers don't like time skips. Can feel very jumpy. (too fast paced?)
• Uncommon in the harem genre.
• Lots of character introductions.

Feel free to comment on these if you have any of your own insights to add. This story is still very much in the conceptualization stage.

Edit: I just realized I posted this to everyone instead of just the Mage Acolyte and up tiers. Since I did that, it will remain open to everyone, though future chapters will be for Mage Acolytes and up. (Sorry, Heartwielders, I have to give them something for their extra $4-9 a month.