Because you asked so nicely, I present: The Compleat Idiot's Guide to Being the Chosen One: The Prologue! I apologise for spacing problems. Constructive criticism, please? 

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Prologue: An Introduction, of a Sort

It’s a dark and stormy night.

Oh, all right. I suppose I really should be honest with you, Gentle Reader. And in the interests of honesty, I have to say that no, it’s not. Not really. 

It’s night, of course. No self-respecting author, nobody with any sense of drama, would start a story during the day if it could possibly begin at night. But there’s a full moon, so it’s not really all that dark. And it’s not really stormy, either. There is, in fact, a quite conspicuous lack of precipitation. It’s not even overcast. So, really, it’s a clear and moonlit night, though that doesn’t really have the same ring to it.

But we’re not here to discuss the weather, are we? We have more important things to think about than a bit of rain. So let’s turn our attention to our purpose for being here: the teenage boy running along the street.

He doesn’t seem to be bothered by the rain or, indeed, to notice it. He blends in effortlessly with the buildings and shadows behind him. Not that anyone but us is here to see him. It’s late, and most people, if they aren’t out, say, stealing things, are still asleep.

If, however, a person (besides us, of course) were out here to see the boy, they would most likely notice two things. The first would be the way he is dressed: all in black. He looks as if he’s trying to hide. And the second would be the way his left fist is clasped tightly shut, as if he’s protecting something valuable.

At the end of the street, the boy turns a corner into a side alley. He could go in through the main doors of the building, but that’s hardly sneaky enough for his tastes. Though this building is his home, he has been instructed to keep silent and not be noticed. And he is carrying out these instructions to the letter.

And so, quietly and sneakily, the boy enters the Thieves’ Guild through the back door. 

 Prologue The Meeting            Zotnoke’s tail bristled slightly as he thought of what the humans were doing to them and their land.  But he had his own hidden reason to do this too.  No matter, he reminded himself.  Tonight, things will change.à            The Council of Wolves sat in a circle in a small clearing in the forest that night. Clouds covered up a full moon, and trees shivered in the wind. A perfect setting for the mood everyone is in, Zotnoke thought.           

“Tonight we discuss how to deal with the humans.” Fahtan spat out the word like a piece of grass. “Suggestions?”           

“I think we should let them do what they want,” Lillilita said. She was peaceful wolf, rarely joining in with hunts or raids.           

“No!” barked Kahkian, one of the more aggressive wolves. “Attack them, show them who is top dog!”           

“Too risky,” Fahtan responded, his nose twitching lightly, he smelled a skunk nearby, “they have guns and traps.”           

The small group continued to bark out ideas. Each responded with too boring, too risky etc. Zotnoke laughed at them quietly. Have they all forgotten the ancient tradition? he thought. When, at last, they seemed to have run out of ideas, Zotnoke stood up and growled, “The Wolf Call.”           

“What!” Fahtan yelped. “That is too, too dangerous! Remember the disaster last time?”           

“It is our only hope. And I am the leader, so it is my choice.” Zotnoke sat down and proceeded to lick his paw, sure of what the answer would be.

“Very well,” Fahtan growled.  “Tomorrow at dawn, we will meet again.”

(Sorry, Admins, about copying and pasting, but I don't have enought time to fix it.)

That was really really really awesome ZNZ!!! I will most definitly buy your book once it's in stores and you're a miilionaire, because that was AWESOME.

Are these open for editing? Because even though I'm not very good... oh all right, even though I'm pretty bad at beggining (and ending) stories, I'm realy good at editing! Not that either of your stories are bad, they are really good.

ZNZ’s edited:

It’s a dark and stormy night.

Oh, all right. I suppose I really should be honest with you, Gentle Reader. And in the interests of honesty, I have to say that no, it’s not. Not really.

It’s night, of course. No self-respecting author or anybody with any sense of drama, would start a story during the day if it could begin at night. But there is a full moon, so I guess it’s not really that dark. And it’s not exactly stormy either. Acctually, there’s a conspicuous lack of precipitation. It’s not even that overcast. So, really, it’s a clear and moonlit night. Though, that doesn’t really have the same ring to it.

But we’re not here to discuss the weather, are we? We have more important things to think about than a bit of rain. So let’s turn our attention to the teenage boy running along the street.He doesn’t seem to be bothered by the weather, or indeed notice it. He blends in effortlessly with the buildings and shadows he passes. Not that anyone but us is here to see him. It’s late, and most people, if they aren’t out, say, stealing things, are quite asleep.

If, however, another person were out here to see the boy, they would most likely notice two things. The first would be that he’s dressed all in black. That makes it looke as if he’s trying to hide. And the second would be the way his left fist is clamped shut, as if he’s carrying something valuable.

As the street ends, the boy turns a corner into a side alley. He could go through the front doors of the building, but that would hardly be sneaky enough for his taste. This building is his home, but he has been instructed to keep silent and not to be noticed. And he is carrying out these instructions to the letter.

So, quietly and stealthily, the boy enters the Thieves’ Guild through the back door.

Charlotte's edited:

Zotnoke’s tail bristled slightly as he thought of what the humans were doing to them and their land.  But he had his own reason to do this too.  No matter, Tonight, things will change he reminded himself.

The Council of Wolves sat in a circle in a small clearing in the forest that night. Clouds covered up a full moon, and trees shivered in the wind. A perfect setting for the mood everyone was in.

“Tonight we discuss how to deal with the humans,” Fahtan said, spitting out the last word like a piece of grass. “Suggestions?”

“I think we should let them do what they want,” Lillilita said. She was a peaceful wolf, rarely joining in with hunts or raids.

“No!” barked Kahkian, one of the more aggressive wolves. “Attack them now! Show them who is the better race!”

“Too risky,” Fahtan responded, his nose twitching slightly (he smelled a skunk nearby), “They have guns, and traps.”

The small group continued to bark out ideas. Each was said to be either too boring, or too risky, or something other that it was too much of.

Zotnoke chuckled quietly. Have they all forgotten the ancient tradition? he thought. When, at last, they seemed to have run out of ideas, Zotnoke stood up and said simply, “The Wolf Call.”

“What!?” Fahtan yelped. “That’s, too dangerous... remember what happened last time?”

“It is our only hope, Fahtan. And I am the leader, it’s my choice.” Zotnoke sat down and proceeded to lick his paw, sure of what the answer would be.

“Very well,” Fahtan growled.  “Tomorrow, at dawn, we meet again.”