This is the prologue for the Stormblood books, also known as The Stormblood Chronicle or "Stormcraft" books.
**Part 1**
Harlock's body landed with an audible thudding sound as his shoulder crashed into the stone floor, adding a new rip to the several already adorning his dirt covered white shirt stained by days of travel no doubt. Looking up he could see a gray room made of stone with one small window to his left letting in a meager amount moonlight from the outside. To his right was a half-barred door made of dark brown wood with three metal bars at normal head level.
"Get cozy in there friend, ..only Leander knows what your sentence will be tomorrow, that's the punishment for striking one of his holy knights." The guard spat out his words as he spoke them, showing clear disdain for the inmate he'd just imprisoned.
Strands of Harlock's messy black hair fell over his eyes as he groaned towards the cobbled stone pressing against the side of his face.
The guard pulled a metal piece across the door's bars cutting off any communication and vision beyond the jail cell.
…
Summoning his strength, Harlock pulled himself up despite his fatigue coupled with the thick ropes binding his hands at the wrists and holding them tightly behind his back. He rolled over and lifted his legs, pulling his knee's to his chest as he looped his bound hands around his feet, bringing his hands back in front of his torso.
Standing up slightly Harlock pressed his ear against the door to hear the room just outside.
"Dumb c*nt actually thought he could get away with striking a knight? Hah, maybe in that shit hole Kanavern, but not here!" The guard shouted happily with a laugh while sitting at a wooden table in the middle of the room, the other guards around him starting laughing as they pilfered Harlock's coin purse and divided it up amongst themselves.
The original guard picked up a sword off the table, he eyed the ornate handle before turning his attention to the rest of the blade resting in its thin black sheathe the guard undid the clasp around the sheathe and attempted to pull out the blade but found it didn't move, "strange, must be some trick to it." he thought and placed it back onto the table without needlessly redoing its clasp.
Pulling his ear away from the door, Harlock started eyeing the window against the opposite wall, he sniffed the air… "Storm" he whispered to himself, if there was storm in the air he could perform a rising.
Harlock returned to the door and started pressing his fingertips to the brown wood while feeling for any grooves. Finding a singular groove in the wood he knocked softly listening for the reverberation and was able to determine the doors width, about 3 1/2 inches — should be doable he thought.
Harlock began pulling off his boot and took out a small piece of metal with a jagged edge, he winced in pain as he made a small cut across his palm before pressing his hand against the door — bloody palm facing forward.
"From blood to life, My life becomes your life, …rise." Harlock whispered softly as the wood of the door vibrated with a low humming noise before a faint blue glow spread across it's surface.
"What the f*ck?" One of the guards sitting at the table pointed to the door as it now glowed a faint blue, causing the other guards to turn around and stare.
"Open." Harlock commanded causing the glowing door to swing wide open.
"Leander's tit!, he's a god damn Crafter!" One of the guards yelled, all of them surprised - reached for their swords.
Harlock lunged forward grabbing the first guard and tossing him against the wall as he reached and pulled the sword on the table from its sheath, the sword flew free and the guards stepped back as the blade glowed with an iridescent brightness, the metal blade could hardly be seen — only a flowing stream of colors that formed into what could only be described as a flaming sword.
**Part 2**
Istrim sat at his table in a busy tavern, his nose buried in a journal roughly bound with a cheap wax that smelt faintly like burnt rubber, his scarlet hair shining crimson against the candlelight from the center of the table. The cacophony of the lively bar filling the air around him, each table was filled and some of the tavern goer's even spilt out onto the streets of Kanavern, singing songs in foreign tongues and spitting up their words after washing down the burning swill of cheap ale.
Across sat Fey her facial expression revealing her current mood, clearly bored and uninterested in the world around her as she tossed back some of her drink. Her silver hair shining — even in a tavern like this with split boards, broken windows, and vomit in the corners.
"Are we gonna stay here all night? This place reeks and none of the patrons seem the least bit interesting…" Fey exclaimed with a rough and audible scoff causing Istrim to look up from the journal with droopy eyes that left lines on his tanned skin.
"It was the only place open this close to the Hallowing." Istrim sighed as he spoke. "I'm just trying to find something in this damn journal that might help us..".
Fey didn't respond, instead she just sipped her drink with a dissatisfied look and a loud gulping noise.
"Well ain't you a pretty thing…" one of the tavern goers spoke loudly towards the table as he walked closer. "What's your name sweetheart?" He finished as his hand clasped the back of Fey's chair.
"Not interested.." Fey responded without looking back at the man, only continuing to sip before putting her drink back down on the table.
"There's n-no need to be that way darling, I'm sure w-we'd get along real nice.." the drunk said, clearly intoxicated by the way he fumbled over some of his words.
Two other tavern goers had now appeared behind him, his friends who'd also taken an interest in the prettiest girl in the tavern.
Istrim didn't react - only further skimming the journal in his hands before grabbing his own mug of ale from the edge of the table.
"Why don't we head outside and show you just how nice we can be.." one of the drunks said, slurring his words before letting out a guttural belch.
Fey didn't respond, knowing these kinds of people she just smiled and stood up from her chair as the three men lead her from her table and out of the tavern to the alleyway between the bar and another building.
Inside the tavern, Istrim grunted and slammed the journal shut in frustration, unable to gleam anything from the nonsensical scribbling's inside.
Istrim finished his drink as the tavern maid came by the clean fey's left over cups. Istrim placed his empty mug on the waitresses dish tray before standing up and leaving the tavern. Rounding the tavern's exterior he saw the three men from early all passed out on the ground with various bruises and minor burns on their faces, as Fey stood over their bodies with a satisfied look.
"That'll teach you numbskulls to pick on defenseless women in bars!" She shouted harshly as if teaching a lesson to a misbehaving child.
"Please, we both know you're anything but defenseless.." Istrim remarked from behind her, leaning slightly against the wall of the adjacent building.
Fey looked back with a smile before walking out of the alleyway with Istrim and heading out onto the city streets.
**End of the Prologue**