Prolegomenon
#7 of Tales Of Impending Peril
A prologue is the start of a book while a prolegomenon is the start of a series of this books and this book is the first of an intended series.
Far to the north of the world, it slept. In the cold and the dark; in a pit of frozen terrors. Five hundred feet beneath the permafrost of the Land of Baudheil lay the Black Gate of Xiviroth. The gate made from obsidian stone and the bones of eldritch creatures
that held back a monstrosity.
As power of the most wicked and oldest magics seeped though the gate, one of the nine locks, that bound the iris of the circle, began to strain and crack under pressure. Rusted shards of a cast iron filled the air and blew forth. When the dust settled surges of the darkest power returned back to the world at the diminishing of the gate that restrained them. Through the bindings of ruin, an aberration called forth in a shrill cry that forced black beasts to stir from their graves.
At the edge of the pit, where the Black Gate waited, a shadowy figure stood and watched. Preparations had been made and at long last he could set the wheels of his plan into motion. Mobile again, he walked into the ice as a storm had stirred into full fury. The light of a single candle flickered in the ferocity of the arctic tempest.
Far from Baudheil, a powerful sorcerer felt the profound dread of the Black Gate. He immediately put in two weeks notice at his job.