A new story

Right
This story hasnt got a name yet, and I've only written chapter 1, but the series will probably be called "The True Golem series" or similar. Golems will feature prominently, and I've barely looked over this first chapter.

I. The Flawed tool
Whip…
Chip…
Whimper…
Whip…
Chip…
Whimper…
Whip…
Chip…
Whimper…

The workers toiled in the way men who have realised their fate and accepted it do. The were going to die here, in this cold, dank shed. They were prisoners, watched over by the sharp-eyed, intelligent and malicious area manager Squin and his “encouragement”. They chipped away at their granite lumps, slowly shaping them into squat obelisks, then dragging them through the doors, to the next team where they were chipped into the basic shape of a man. After that, they had only had glimpses of what happened, for occasionally the two sets of doors were left open. When this happened, one of the “encouragement” would almost certainly fall from the gantries above.

One of the workers ,a youth who was known to himself as Adrian Portents, but to others in this pit of the demons as Zephyria143, was carrying out the monotonous work, cheap metal chisel in hand, with loathing. He had been an apprentice blacksmith in the merchant and scholar town of Zephyrus, named as one of the most promising pupils of master-smith Horace Thodin. The night of the raid. He had been set to graduate in the morn’ .It would have been Soulguard Day, when all the pupils of all the masters would leave their teachings, and one pupil in each guild would be blessed by the gods, set on the road to become the best in their selected field. They almost always were, unless they committed terrible sin.
That had been 3 years ago. No one in Zephyria would recognise him now. His guild tattoo had all but been worn from his arm, and they were regarded to be made from the strongest dye known. It stained so much it was said it even stained the guild into your spirit.

As he chipped, and was whipped, he heard a low grumble of stone on stone, but none of the stones were being moved in this room. He would not look around, that was a way to a beating without any doubt. So he worked on. Then he noticed rumblings, methodical and slow, travelling well through the work-wearied soil floor. One of his companions, whom he knew as Trond 382 (Trond, it appeared, had been savagely raided by the slave trade) had looked up.
“Imbecile” Adrian thought to himself, as he heard the feet of a carcass being hauled to the side of the shed. The rumblings were getting louder, the grumbling closer, and he heard the confused screams in the foreign lingo his captors used.
A large lump of stone careered through the door, but was slowed by the thick wood, and dropped, almost comically to the ground. It had blood smeared upon it.
A stone limb reached through the wall of oak, tearing at the edges of the hole. To an ignorant onlooker, this would have looked exceedingly odd, as it did also to the labourers, but the encouragement merely screamed in anguish, grabbing the strange poles at the sides of the room, wielding them as weapons. There was shouting form the gantries above and area manager Squin rattled along the bamboo walkway, hoping to his peoples strange and twisted gods what the grunts were telling him wasn’t true. Surely none of the tools could activate here. All that happened here was the shaping. No. It had not happened, he decided with glee. This was just a terrible, terrible vision brought on by his sins. This was just a vision. He started cackling. If it was a vision, he would wake up. He had a slight grimace appear on his rodent-like face. He ran straight into a low hanging light and fainted, and trampled by his own men, Area Manager Squin died.

Hope you like it guys. I really would love an artist to do some stuff for this. Any offers?
Please comment truthfully, if something needs changed or if its just plain [Insert bad language that would be editted out if i left it], please tell me.

Hexmeister

Hope you like it