Hi everyone! This is the prologue to my fantasy series. An old man tells village children the story of Gaya, a mortal scribe who became the god of stories and then lost his gift. I'd love honest impressions:
- Does it make you want to read chapter 1?
- Does the old man's voice feel natural?
- Anything that drags or feels too familiar?
Prologue
The old man sat hunched over the fire, his weathered face cast in flickering shadows. His eyes stared into the flames, as if lost in a distant memory. The children of the village gathered close, eager to hear one of his tales.
"Listen well," he rasped, his voice cracked with age. "For this is a story of gods and mortals, of blessings and curses. A story of the one called Gaya, the god of stories."
The children leaned in, their eyes wide. The old man took a breath and began.
"Long ago, when the world was young, there lived a scribe named Gaya. He had a gift for crafting tales that could enchant the hearts of any who heard them. Kings and peasants alike would weep or laugh, cower in fear or swell with courage, all from the power of Gaya's words.
One day, as Gaya recited his latest tale in the court of the gods, even they found themselves enthralled. When he finished, the gods showered him with praise. 'Never has a mortal spun stories as you do,' they declared. 'Your gift is divine.'
They offered Gaya a choice – to ascend and join them as a god, ruling over the domain of stories for all eternity. It was an honor no mortal had ever been granted.
Gaya's heart leapt at the prospect. To craft stories for all time, to be remembered forever – it was all he had ever dreamed of. He accepted their offer and took his place among the gods.
But immortality is a double-edged blade. Soon Gaya discovered that the stories that once flowed so easily now felt hollow and lifeless. The struggles and joys of mortality that had fueled his creativity faded away. He was a god of stories who could no longer tell a tale that moved the soul.
In his anguish, Gaya raged and despaired. He pleaded with the other gods to release him from his divine duty, to let him return to a mortal life. But the choice of the gods cannot be undone. He was bound to his post for eternity.
And so began the tale of Gaya, the god who lost his gift, and the curse of the storyteller doomed to an eternity of tales without heart…"
The old man paused, his eyes focusing on the children's rapt faces. "But that, little ones, is a story for another night. For now, remember that the greatest tales come from the heart of a mortal life – with all its pain and beauty. That is the storyteller's true gift. And true curse."
With that, he shooed them off to bed, the fire burning low. He knew they would be back tomorrow, hungry for more. Such was the power of a story.
Source: r/fantasywriters · by /u/Downtown-Trash1122