Edengoth
11-16-2005, 10:03 PM
A small sample of my writing.
First of all, it's a little part of a story I was writing a little while ago. While slightly Crude, i think the exceprt was actualy half way decent. What do you think.
Suddenly, all went silent in the forest. Faringoths mount continued down the road slowly, followed by the rest of his companions. The sound of hoof beats slowly came into earshot. Dwyrldelf the scout returned and emerged from the blackness of the night.
"The Path is blocked ahead," the scout uttered quietly, “I saw at least twenty men guarding a barricade, I know not who they are or why they are there, but I recommend we take another path.”
Faringoth sat silently for a moment considering his options. Dwyrldelf did the same, silently stroking his beard as if some type of wisdom would result.
“Bandits?” asked Faringoth.
“Most likely, but the thieves no longer frequent these woods, its marauder’s I’m worried about.” replied Dwyrldelf in a tone that suggested a hint of fear.
The rest of the company watched silently on as the debate continued. Faringoth was about to ask another question when he heard the sound of a twig snap. Dwyrldelf heard the noise also and turned towards the edge of the path.
The twang of a bowstring was heard, quickly fallowed by a thud. Faringoth turned to see the scout fall slowly from his saddle. A large arrow was embedded deep in his throat. Dwyrldelf struggled on the ground for an instant then lay still. Faringoth quickly surveyed the broken man’s body, his eyes transfixed on the arrow. The mere size of the arrow told him one thing.
“Northmen!” screamed Faringoth as he drew his sword and quickly swung his shield off his back.
There was a sudden roar of battle cries as a hail of arrows came darting from the darkness followed by the fierce raiders of the north.
Faringoth and his companions struggled against the small horde that assailed them. These were no bandits; they were heavily armed and armored. Each warrior carried a sword, an axe, and a round shield. They wore coats of mail and terrifying helmets wreathed in mail.
Faringoth slew three of the invaders before his horse was brought down by a swift axeman. He lay on the ground at the mercy of the barbarian’s blade, but no death blow came. Faringoth opened his eyes to see one of his comrades gutting the vicious attacker. Faringoth turned and jabbed his blade deep into the stomach of another attacker. He watched the dying villain slide slowly off his blade and looked up in time to see a club smash hard into his helm. Faringoth fell hard upon the ground; he felt several corpses land atop his body, friend or foe he could not tell. The last thing he heard was the sound of clashing swords, and then he passed into unconsciousness.
Like I said, crude, yet sort of nice.
First of all, it's a little part of a story I was writing a little while ago. While slightly Crude, i think the exceprt was actualy half way decent. What do you think.
Suddenly, all went silent in the forest. Faringoths mount continued down the road slowly, followed by the rest of his companions. The sound of hoof beats slowly came into earshot. Dwyrldelf the scout returned and emerged from the blackness of the night.
"The Path is blocked ahead," the scout uttered quietly, “I saw at least twenty men guarding a barricade, I know not who they are or why they are there, but I recommend we take another path.”
Faringoth sat silently for a moment considering his options. Dwyrldelf did the same, silently stroking his beard as if some type of wisdom would result.
“Bandits?” asked Faringoth.
“Most likely, but the thieves no longer frequent these woods, its marauder’s I’m worried about.” replied Dwyrldelf in a tone that suggested a hint of fear.
The rest of the company watched silently on as the debate continued. Faringoth was about to ask another question when he heard the sound of a twig snap. Dwyrldelf heard the noise also and turned towards the edge of the path.
The twang of a bowstring was heard, quickly fallowed by a thud. Faringoth turned to see the scout fall slowly from his saddle. A large arrow was embedded deep in his throat. Dwyrldelf struggled on the ground for an instant then lay still. Faringoth quickly surveyed the broken man’s body, his eyes transfixed on the arrow. The mere size of the arrow told him one thing.
“Northmen!” screamed Faringoth as he drew his sword and quickly swung his shield off his back.
There was a sudden roar of battle cries as a hail of arrows came darting from the darkness followed by the fierce raiders of the north.
Faringoth and his companions struggled against the small horde that assailed them. These were no bandits; they were heavily armed and armored. Each warrior carried a sword, an axe, and a round shield. They wore coats of mail and terrifying helmets wreathed in mail.
Faringoth slew three of the invaders before his horse was brought down by a swift axeman. He lay on the ground at the mercy of the barbarian’s blade, but no death blow came. Faringoth opened his eyes to see one of his comrades gutting the vicious attacker. Faringoth turned and jabbed his blade deep into the stomach of another attacker. He watched the dying villain slide slowly off his blade and looked up in time to see a club smash hard into his helm. Faringoth fell hard upon the ground; he felt several corpses land atop his body, friend or foe he could not tell. The last thing he heard was the sound of clashing swords, and then he passed into unconsciousness.
Like I said, crude, yet sort of nice.