GDC Prologue

Honesty is always the best policy, isn’t that what they say? I hope they’re right.  Here it goes…

Um, this prologue isn’t exactly my favorite chapter.  In fact, I don’t much care for it.

You are aware of the strategic stupidity of your current course, I assume.  Beginning commentary on your work by noting how unappealing you find it.  It strikes me as something of a Kothasian charge.

Ha, ha.  For those not in the Krynnish know,  a Kothasian charge means butting heads with a minotaur.  And yes, I am aware that telling readers I find my prologue the least satisfying chapter in my book isn’t following Marketing 101.  But it’s true.  I just don’t like this chapter.  I’ve tried to like it; other people I trust have read it and said they like it.  I hope everyone who reads it likes it and decides I’m an obstinate crank.  But I doubt I’ll ever read this chapter without being a little irked.

I think the bulk of the dissatisfaction comes from the fact that this prologue was something of a product of “necessity”— 

I appreciate your restraint in not pointing out that it was my decision that “necessitated” the alteration from the original, but such obliqueness is neither required nor desired.  The new prologue was a matter of necessity by any standard.  When one writes a volume claiming factual veracity, how does he then write a scene involving two individuals alone, one of which later disappeared without testimony on the event in question and the second of whom is quite dead?

I had a source.  Maybe not a witness, but a reliable source.  It was just unnamed—and on deep background.  Really deep.

Thus you were addressing the necessity of a change…

Fine.  Master Henham and I disagreed on the original prologue I wrote; she ordered a change; I whined; she won.  Feeling quite petulant, I wrote the prologue you now find in the book, didn’t like it, reworked it a few times, still didn’t much like it but knew not what else to do, and turned it in.  At the heart of my irritation with the chapter is the subtle revision of the rest of the book away from mystery that it required.  Particulars will be included in the line comments of my annotations, but the greater “veracity” of the prologue written to Master Henham’s standards disclosed information that I didn’t want the reader to have.  It changed aspects of the rest of the story, making particulars that the reader was to find mysterious mysterious only to the characters.  In a minor way, this prologue shifted the genre of the book.  While I am proud of the story that came out of the publication process, I can’t help wondering if the original, more mysterious story wouldn’t have been just that much richer. 

I feel better now that’s out.  But not quite good enough; that’ll take revenge.  While I can’t post chapters cut out of the book—

You make up things, claim the prerogative of clairvoyance, and expect me to allow you to promulgate it using my name?  Not if you value your— 

—Yes, I remember that lesson, thank you very much.  I’ve no desire to live entirely hairless again.  Anyway, because I can’t post the original prologue in its entirety, I’m instead sharing the first line from the original.  I do this because I really like the line and suspect Master Henham’s patience will allow it.  Right?

…

Pretty please!

You  know I can’t stand that infantile prostration.  Fine.

Yes!!!  Here it is, the first line I ever wrote for GDC: 

“Dragons don’t always die.  Sometimes they just go to sleep, don’t wake up, and disappear forever.”

Yes, I know that’s two sentences (and “always” was first “inevitably”), but it works.  I’d tell you why it works, but as it isn’t actually in the book, I think I’ll save that for my chapter one notes.  And yes, I do have a specific philosophy on first lines that I’ll share.  Be patient.  But now, having confessed my sourness about this chapter and snuck in a snippet of the original, I think it’s time I start addressing the text you have in your hands.

You do have it in your hands, don’t you?  You’d better if you want any idea what’s going on.

• Pg 1, paragraph 1, line 1: ”Viressus.”  When I wrote this prologue, this mother dragon character had no  name.  She was simply identified as “the mother,” as this role had consumed her entire identity.  I wanted the overpowering sense of this character to be maternal and represented that through the overt symbolism of namelessness.  As you’ll see in further chapters, Master Henham and I disagreed on quite a few names throughout this book, and the mother became Viressus.   As for how I arrived at the name Viressus, I used good old fashioned Krynn nomenclature—I derived the name from a synonym of the dragon’s color, green.  Viressus is an adaptation of Virescent, meaning turning green.
• Pg 1, paragraph 1, lines 5-6: “They wore the armor of her kin’s skin…”  This line serves several purposes.  First, it’s the initial clue that Viressus is a dragon, and the colors given make clear she is chromatic.  More subtly, it shows that she is familiar with these individuals as she recognizes the armor.  This is communicated via the definite article “the” rather than simply saying “armor.”  By referencing “the armor,” Viressus makes clear that she is already familiar with the garb, which obviously happened before the story started.  This is a minor element of in media res, or starting the book in the middle of the story rather than at the actual beginning. 
• Pg 2, paragraph 2, line 4-5: “Standing in front of the temple wall, as if it were the backdrop of a stage, was a black robed wizard.”  This is a subtle warning to the reader that the wizard is not who he seems.  From the first mention of the ogre mage character, mostly shown in disguise throughout the book, I use a motif of artificiality.  Also, the passive voice reinforces that this character is one who manipulates from the shadows.  Throughout most of the story Patima is the supposed driving force for revenge; this too is an illusion.  The ogre mage acts ruthlessly upon all he encounters, usually through manipulation, while portraying himself as unassuming.  I thought the passive voice in this statement would set up that pretense of inactivity of the character.
• Pg 3, paragraph 2, lines 2-3: “…Viressus believed she saw a flicker of red, as if there were coals hidden behind his pupils.”  Another hint to the artificial nature of the wizard persona.  Additionally, the ogre mage’s God, Morgion, is symbolized by a darkness filled hood with glowing red eyes, so I thought that would be a good look for his follower as well.
• Pg 3, paragraph 3, lines 5-6: “…he sped over the lip of a ragged cliff.”  This “miraculous” reappearance to life foreshadows the ogre mage’s ability to fly, again giving a clue to his real identity. 
• Pg 3, paragraph 4, lines 6-7: “The egg crackled and glowed with magic, and she felt the shell harden to unyielding stone.”  This is the Stoneskin spell, for those of you familiar with D&D role playing.  Yes, I adapted it a bit.
• Pg 5, paragraph 4, lines 3-4: “…she prayed to any god who would listen, light or dark, to save her child.”  I think I like this ending more than any other part of the prologue because it gets at the theme of the book—agency.  This story is about choices, the consequences that come from those choices, and being able to overcome when you make the wrong choice.  Patima’s journey is an exercise in agency, as is Mather’s.  There is an overt debate over whether Pug can be anything other than evil, and that debate itself is a challenge and choice for Scamp.  Here the mother Green is breaking the mold by praying to any god, light or dark, and showing that her maternal instincts are more powerful than her malevolent nature.  It sets the stage for this story that is all about characters who are empowered to be better or different than they currently are, and whether they chose to become such or not.  Yes, definitely my favorite part of this prologue.  See, I said something good about it.