TVTyrant
March 5th, 2012, 05:27 AM
But I could really use some tips on my shitty writing. I'll spoiler it because its pretty long. Please give me some crit.
Tellontil lazed on the grass outside his home, the cool night’s breeze whispering softly across his face. The stars were bright in his home country, bright enough that on a spring night, you could walk by them without a candle. The noise of the creek washed over him as he slowly drifted off, only to be disturbed by the light hearted giggling of a young girl.
“Telly, I knew I’d find you out here” the girl said, taking a seat by her friend. What is it with you and being outside all the time?” The young boy pushed himself back up into a sitting position. Something about this girl always made him nervous.
“I just like it out here” he responded quietly. “I’m not sure why. Maybe its just how it seems like, no matter what, nature keeps going. From the beginning to the end it never stops.” Tellontil fell silent. The girl pushed closer, and laid here head against her shoulder. He looked down at the grass, both embarrassed and happy at the same time.
“I wish this moment would never end” his young companion whispered in his ear. Tellontil stood up and faced his friend, who seemed surprised by his sudden movement.
“Kayila, one day we will own all of this. All the world around us. When that happens, then…” Tellontil stuttered for a second. Kayila, blushing smiled, and then showed an expression of awe in her deep blue eyes.
“Look Tellontil” the young boy turned to the sky, seeing a streaking red light. “A shooting star.” Standing, she took his hand, and squeezed tightly as the red light came closer and closer, finally crashing in the field in front of them, its odd, elongated shape shimmering in the night.
Makarthis sat at the table, drinking his cheap rice liquor. The tiny drink shop could barely house him and his men. There were eleven in all, and they wore their swords proudly, big banners streaked across the backs of their cloaks. Warriors for the mighty Prince Kamriel.
A stranger walked into the shop. He wore his red hair hair long, with a thick black coat covering the majority of his body. His yellow spectacles obscured his face. He ordered a beer, and then sat next to the other men at the bar. One of the warriors, turned to the man. “You got some nerve kid, coming in here and sitting with the real men. Tell me, you ever done any soldiering before?”
The younger man turned to his questioner. “Yeah, I was involved in some skirmishes against Lord Dytella. Why do you ask?” The older man grinned. “Because we’re looking for a twelfth member, that’s why. And you look the part with those big shoulders. What do you say?” The younger man laid his bits on the table, and then stood up.
“Thanks, but no thanks. I’m not looking to join a bunch of sellswords who fight for the highest bidder.” Makarthis spit out his shot of liquor onto the sawdust floor.
“The fuck you say, kid?” The big man growled, standing from his stool. At six foot five and over two hundred pounds he was huge compared to the average man. His five foot claymore was almost as tall as most men, but he didn’t reach for it. Instead he laid his hand on the shorter, curved sword that dangled from his belt.
“I said I didn’t want to join your little mercenary clan. Got it?” The younger man responded, starting to walk towards the exit. Makarthis roared, and drew the katana, throwing it blade first into the door in front of the young warrior.
“You think you can disrespect me and my men? You little bastard, I’ll fucking cut you apart. Now he reached for the claymore, ripping it from its clasp. The red haired man smashed the door open, and rolled out into the street, standing and waiting for the Goliath to come out.
Cracking the bones in his massive neck, Makarthis stepped outside, the massive sword gleaming in the sunlight. Commoners scattered from the streets, moving back so not to get hurt but not so far that they couldn’t see the action.
Folding his spectacles, the stranger put them in his coat pocket. He then tossed the coat, revealing his slight but muscular build and a common length katana at his side. It had an ugly handle, and its sheath was made of micarta wood. Tied to it were strips of animal hide.
“You got some nuts, kid, not running away like a coward. But that piece of shit sword of yours isn’t going so save you.” The young stranger smiled, his steel blue eyes flashing in the sun. He reached down and drew his own blade. The metal flashed with embers, and grew to massive proportions. Makarthis wasn’t sure what he’d seen, but before he could take a step back the kid was assaulting him, every sword strike leaving a half inch dent in the claymore.
Flames flashed off the metal surface of the young man’s sword, and licked at Makarthis’s clothes. Wielding the blade with one hand as if it were weightless, the stranged struck with all his force, cutting the mercenary’s great sword like it was kindling. The big man stepped back, weighing his options. To fight further was meaningless.
“Hmm. So you are quite the fighter. Well, you’ve beaten me fair and square.” He tossed the handle and the foot of blade that was left to the muddy ground.
“Who are you employed by, mercenary?” The young warrior asked, sheathing his blade into the seemingly impossible container.
“Prince Kamriel” he responded, taken aback by the fighter’s question.
“And the Prince, is he looking for soldiers?” The young man snagged is coat, wipping it around him.
“Yes” the mercenary replied, still not sure where this was going.
“Then I will meet with him. I know this area well. It has good people. I expect for someone like yourself to not cause any more trouble.” With that, the young fighter turned towards the castle in the distance, pushed on his spectacles, and strode off.
Tellontil lazed on the grass outside his home, the cool night’s breeze whispering softly across his face. The stars were bright in his home country, bright enough that on a spring night, you could walk by them without a candle. The noise of the creek washed over him as he slowly drifted off, only to be disturbed by the light hearted giggling of a young girl.
“Telly, I knew I’d find you out here” the girl said, taking a seat by her friend. What is it with you and being outside all the time?” The young boy pushed himself back up into a sitting position. Something about this girl always made him nervous.
“I just like it out here” he responded quietly. “I’m not sure why. Maybe its just how it seems like, no matter what, nature keeps going. From the beginning to the end it never stops.” Tellontil fell silent. The girl pushed closer, and laid here head against her shoulder. He looked down at the grass, both embarrassed and happy at the same time.
“I wish this moment would never end” his young companion whispered in his ear. Tellontil stood up and faced his friend, who seemed surprised by his sudden movement.
“Kayila, one day we will own all of this. All the world around us. When that happens, then…” Tellontil stuttered for a second. Kayila, blushing smiled, and then showed an expression of awe in her deep blue eyes.
“Look Tellontil” the young boy turned to the sky, seeing a streaking red light. “A shooting star.” Standing, she took his hand, and squeezed tightly as the red light came closer and closer, finally crashing in the field in front of them, its odd, elongated shape shimmering in the night.
Makarthis sat at the table, drinking his cheap rice liquor. The tiny drink shop could barely house him and his men. There were eleven in all, and they wore their swords proudly, big banners streaked across the backs of their cloaks. Warriors for the mighty Prince Kamriel.
A stranger walked into the shop. He wore his red hair hair long, with a thick black coat covering the majority of his body. His yellow spectacles obscured his face. He ordered a beer, and then sat next to the other men at the bar. One of the warriors, turned to the man. “You got some nerve kid, coming in here and sitting with the real men. Tell me, you ever done any soldiering before?”
The younger man turned to his questioner. “Yeah, I was involved in some skirmishes against Lord Dytella. Why do you ask?” The older man grinned. “Because we’re looking for a twelfth member, that’s why. And you look the part with those big shoulders. What do you say?” The younger man laid his bits on the table, and then stood up.
“Thanks, but no thanks. I’m not looking to join a bunch of sellswords who fight for the highest bidder.” Makarthis spit out his shot of liquor onto the sawdust floor.
“The fuck you say, kid?” The big man growled, standing from his stool. At six foot five and over two hundred pounds he was huge compared to the average man. His five foot claymore was almost as tall as most men, but he didn’t reach for it. Instead he laid his hand on the shorter, curved sword that dangled from his belt.
“I said I didn’t want to join your little mercenary clan. Got it?” The younger man responded, starting to walk towards the exit. Makarthis roared, and drew the katana, throwing it blade first into the door in front of the young warrior.
“You think you can disrespect me and my men? You little bastard, I’ll fucking cut you apart. Now he reached for the claymore, ripping it from its clasp. The red haired man smashed the door open, and rolled out into the street, standing and waiting for the Goliath to come out.
Cracking the bones in his massive neck, Makarthis stepped outside, the massive sword gleaming in the sunlight. Commoners scattered from the streets, moving back so not to get hurt but not so far that they couldn’t see the action.
Folding his spectacles, the stranger put them in his coat pocket. He then tossed the coat, revealing his slight but muscular build and a common length katana at his side. It had an ugly handle, and its sheath was made of micarta wood. Tied to it were strips of animal hide.
“You got some nuts, kid, not running away like a coward. But that piece of shit sword of yours isn’t going so save you.” The young stranger smiled, his steel blue eyes flashing in the sun. He reached down and drew his own blade. The metal flashed with embers, and grew to massive proportions. Makarthis wasn’t sure what he’d seen, but before he could take a step back the kid was assaulting him, every sword strike leaving a half inch dent in the claymore.
Flames flashed off the metal surface of the young man’s sword, and licked at Makarthis’s clothes. Wielding the blade with one hand as if it were weightless, the stranged struck with all his force, cutting the mercenary’s great sword like it was kindling. The big man stepped back, weighing his options. To fight further was meaningless.
“Hmm. So you are quite the fighter. Well, you’ve beaten me fair and square.” He tossed the handle and the foot of blade that was left to the muddy ground.
“Who are you employed by, mercenary?” The young warrior asked, sheathing his blade into the seemingly impossible container.
“Prince Kamriel” he responded, taken aback by the fighter’s question.
“And the Prince, is he looking for soldiers?” The young man snagged is coat, wipping it around him.
“Yes” the mercenary replied, still not sure where this was going.
“Then I will meet with him. I know this area well. It has good people. I expect for someone like yourself to not cause any more trouble.” With that, the young fighter turned towards the castle in the distance, pushed on his spectacles, and strode off.