<|im_start|>user
Write me the opening chapter of a 'Grimdark' trilogy in the style of Joe Abercrombie and Rob J Hayes<|im_end|>
<|im_start|>assistant

<think>

Okay, the user wants the opening chapter of a grimdark trilogy in the style of Joe Abercrombie and Rob J. Hayes. Let me start by recalling the key elements of both authors' styles.

Joe Abercrombie is known for his gritty, morally ambiguous characters, dark humor, and a focus on the harsh realities of war and power. His prose is descriptive but never overly so, with a focus on the visceral. Rob J. Hayes, on the other hand, brings a more visceral, fast-paced action with a strong emphasis on violence and the psychological toll it takes on characters. His settings are often industrial and grim, with a sense of decay.

So, merging these styles, I need a chapter that's dark, gritty, with flawed characters in a harsh setting. Maybe start with a battle scene to set the tone. Abercrombie's opening chapters often introduce conflict early. The narrator should be someone unreliable or with a cynical outlook.

Let me think of a setting. A war-torn city? Maybe a besieged town. Abercrombie uses cities a lot, like Inevera in Best Served Cold. Hayes might have a more industrial or claustrophobic environment. A besieged fortress could work.

The protagonist could be a soldier, maybe a mercenary, disillusioned. Abercrombie's characters often have a past they're running from. Maybe a veteran of many wars, weary and cynical.

The opening should hook the reader with action. Maybe the siege is breaking, and the protagonist is in the thick of it. Abercrombie uses short, punchy sentences in action scenes. Hayes includes detailed, visceral violence.

I need to establish the grimdark tone immediately. Maybe start in media res. A soldier dying, the smell of blood and rot. The protagonist's internal monologue should be sarcastic or darkly humorous.

Also, Abercrombie often uses a third-person limited perspective, diving deep into the character's thoughts. Let me consider the protagonist's name. Something gruff, maybe a nickname. "Grim" or "Hawk"?

The chapter should end on a cliffhanger or a twist, leaving the reader wanting more. Perhaps the protagonist survives against the odds, but at a cost.

Need to avoid clichés, but hit the grimdark beats: betrayal, loss, the futility of war. Maybe introduce a secondary character who's as flawed as the protagonist.

Wait, the user mentioned a trilogy, so the opening chapter should set up larger stakes. Maybe the battle is part of a larger conflict, hinting at political machinations or a looming threat.

Let me outline a possible structure:

1. Start with the protagonist in the middle of a battle. Describe the chaos, the stench, the injuries.
2. Introduce his companions, maybe a sarcastic friend or a rival.
3. A twist occurs—maybe the city they're defending is lost, and they have to retreat, but the protagonist has a personal stake (a lover, a brother?) inside.
4. The chapter ends with them deciding to enter the city despite the odds, setting up the next conflict.

Make sure to use Abercrombie-esque dialogue with a lot of wit and cynicism. Hayes' influence would mean the action is brutal and up-close.

Check for sensory details: the sounds of battle, the feel of weapons, the smell of blood and smoke.

Avoid being too verbose. Keep the pacing tight.

Hmm, maybe the protagonist is a captain or a mercenary leader. His name could be something like "Iron" or "Hawk." Let's go with "Hawk."

The city could have a name like Ironreach or Blackspire.

Alright, time to draft the opening. Start in the thick of battle, with the protagonist's thoughts. Maybe he's been here before, so his observations are jaded.

Include a moment where he reflects on past battles, showing his experience and cynicism. Maybe a dead comrade, highlighting the cost of war.

End the chapter with a decision that propels the story forward, like entering the city despite the danger, setting up the next chapter's conflict.

I need to ensure the prose is tight, the dialogue snappy, and the violence visceral. Let's get writing.
</think>

**Chapter One: The Siege of Ironreach**

The air tasted of blood and burnt charcoal. Hawk spat a wad of clotted phlegm into the muck at his feet and wondered if the gods had a particular vendetta against him. He’d fought in half a dozen wars, seen cities burn, armies break, and kings die with a look of betrayal on their faces. But this? This was a new kind of hell.

The walls of Ironreach were crumbling. Not the stone ones—the ones that had held for three years against the Dogs of the Pale—but the living ones. The men and women who’d stood shoulder to shoulder with him for seasons, their bodies now slumped in the mud, their guts spilling into the trenches. The Pale had come at dawn, a tide of screaming fanatics and rusted blades, and whatever gods they worshipped, they’d been generous with their blessings.

Hawk’s axe was dull. He’d hacked through three Pale infantrymen already, but the blade was nicked and nicked again, and the fourth was coming. The man wore a ram’s skull over his face, his teeth bared behind the bone. Hawk swung up, catching the Paleman’s arm, but the blade snagged on chainmail and stuck. The Paleman roared and swung a cleaver at his head.

Hawk ducked, the blade shearing through his hat and grazing his scalp. He felt the blood as it trickled down his neck. He twisted the axe free and drove the pommel into the Paleman’s throat. The man’s eyes bulged, the ram’s skull slipping down over his face as he collapsed.

“Clever, you son of a goat!” shouted a voice behind him.

Hawk turned to see Grizzle, his second, leaning over the parapet. The old madman was grinning, a shard of Paleman’s rib bone stuck in his beard. “You still got that pretty face, I see!”

Hawk wiped the back of his hand across his bloodied cheek. “If I’m missing any teeth, you’ll be the first to know.”

Grizzle’s laugh was cut short by a fresh wave of Palemen surging over the wall. They spilled into the courtyard like flies to a corpse, their war cries guttural and alien. A Pale archer took an arrow to the eye, and Hawk ducked as the man fell, his body hitting the ramparts with a wet thud.

“Fall back!” barked a voice from above. A corporal in tattered leathers stood on the battlements, his sword arm hanging uselessly at his side. “The gates are breached! To the keep!”

Hawk snorted. They’d fought for three years for that keep, and now it was a tomb. Still, it was better than the Pale’s idea of hospitality. He turned to Grizzle. “You know where to find me if the gods decide to send a miracle.”

“Always do!” Grizzle fired an arrow into the press below and leapt down, landing hard on a Paleman’s back. The man screamed as the old mercenary’s blade found his spine.

Hawk followed, dropping into the chaos. Men were dying everywhere. A Pale sorcerer stood atop a fallen statue, his hands glowing with sickly green light. A stream of fire erupted from between his fingers, gutting a squad of Ironreach soldiers. Hawk threw himself behind a collapsed cart, the flames scorching his arms.

“Cowards!” the sorcerer barked, his voice echoing unnaturally. “You think your gods will save you?”

Hawk pulled his dagger from its sheath. “No,” he said, rising. “But I’ll be damned if I let you tell me how to die.”

He ran. The sorcerer’s head turned, his eyes widening as the dagger sank into his throat. The man collapsed, blood spurting across the tiles. Hawk didn’t linger. He grabbed a spear from a fallen Paleman and plunged it into the gut of another advancing warrior.

The courtyard was a slaughterhouse. Ironreach’s defenders were retreating in chaotic disorder, but the Pale were relentless, their numbers overwhelming. Hawk fought through them, blade and spear working in tandem, until he reached the keep’s inner gate. A sergeant in a tattered tabard barred his way.

“Begone!” the man barked. “The king’s orders! No one enters without a sigil!”

Hawk’s blood ran cold. The king. The one who’d promised reinforcements, who’d sworn to break the Pale’s siege. The one who’d abandoned them.

“Move,” Hawk said, pressing the dagger to the man’s throat.

The sergeant’s eyes widened. “You’ll die down there!”

“I’d rather die in the dark than out here with your stinking corpse for company!”

The man stepped aside, and Hawk ducked into the keep’s shadowed archway. The Pale’s screams faded as the doors slammed shut behind him.

Inside, the air was thick with the stench of rotting meat and despair. Soldiers and civilians alike huddled in the corridors, clutching what little they could salvage. A child’s stuffed wolf sat forgotten in the muck. Hawk kicked it aside, his mind racing.

The Pale would storm the keep. They’d burn it to the ground. And when they did, he’d be trapped.

But he wasn’t here for glory or survival.

He was here for her.

Hawk turned and started walking deeper into the darkness. The Pale could have the keep. He’d take what he’d come for and burn the rest.

He just hoped he wasn’t too late.

---

The chapter ends with Hawk entering a dimly lit chamber, where the body of a Pale sorcerer lies dead on the floor, and a figure in a hooded cloak steps out of the shadows. The reader is left to wonder: is it the woman he seeks, or something far worse?