21-03-2012, 07:33 AM
To let all of you know, I deeply enjoy creating fantastical universes and lands, as well as writing stories about them (well, writing stories in general). I've told some people about my "universes," and my joy of writing, and I also promised that if I were to write any short stories or really anything at all, I'd post on here to share. Well, I haven't written anything new, but I did remember about this novel I was trying to write when I was a senior in high school. I got about a chapter in, then completely lost interest. However, I did manage to keep the file, and figured that it would be a good example of my style of writing. So, if you'd like, read it and tell me what you think.
Chapter 1
He was born of darkness.
A deep, suffocating darkness that enveloped him as his eyes first opened. Above, below and all around was a firmness, and as the overwhelming smell of fresh earth assaulted him, his mind was overtaken by panic. Frantically, he struck against the firmness that loomed above him. Blow after blow did he land upon that dreaded barrier, and even as liquid warmth rolled down his arms and dripped off his elbows, he continued to bash at the obstruction. And as his panic slowly drove him to madness, there came a loud *crack,* and a rain of dirt. From this soil came a pale light, and he grasped for it like a drowning man does for a helping hand. With quick thrashes, he was up and greeted by the cool twilight breeze.
From his sitting position, his first glimpse of the world came in the form of an empty, gated roadside cemetery illuminated by pale moonlight. His headstone was nothing more than a simple cross made from two sticks quickly lashed together. He could see that he was buried in the section for the unknown, for the graves that immediately surrounded him all possessed the same marker. As he took in his surroundings, curiosity led him to himself. He found that he was dressed in nothing more than a white, long-sleeved robe that gave no protection to the chilly evening breeze. Wet red blotches dotted the cloth, which brought his mind back to the stinging in his hands. The bases of his palms were cut and bruised. The blood had clotted and dried, and he could make out splinters acquired from his frantic escape. With a grimace, he rose himself from the dark womb that had borne him unto the world and made his way to the road.
Lights shone off in the distance, and he could make out the faint lines of buildings in the rapidly approach darkness. Setting his sights on the glowing lights, he set out on his way. He had only gone several yards when the sound of horse-hooves made him start and quickly take to hiding within the forest that stretched outwards from the right side of the road. Peering from the bush that he had stashed himself, he found a man of younger years, perhaps a year or two shy of his second decade, astride a common riding horse of brown color, travelling in the opposite direction as he was, just a moment ago. The boy wore an airy, blue collared shirt, with a cut to mid-chest in a V-shaped fashion. The sleeves were loose and puffy, tight-fitting at the wrist with heavily accented cuffs. At his waist was an unadorned wide belt of brown leather with a simple buckle. The boy also wore brown hose and black riding boots crafted from soft leather. He was clean-shaven, his long brown hair combed back over his head, and his dark eyes darted about, a clear sign that he was thoroughly not enjoying his evening trek.
The sight of the boy reminded him of his own dress, and he swiftly decided that a change of clothing was in desperate need. Not only was his thin burial robe not particularly decent, but it would raise suspicion and queries of a subject he knew nothing of, and therefore could not explain.
With that decision, he let out a moan likened to that of an injured man. The boy instantly halted his mount, rose straight in his saddle and sat perfectly still. Seeing that his plan was working, he let out another moan. "Hello? Is anyone there?" called the boy to the forest in a voice that quaked with fear. Another moan. The boy dismounted and quickly bent down to retrieve a small stiletto hidden in his boot. The boy, blade in hand, slowly, hesitantly, made his way into the wood. "Hello? Are you there? Are you in need of help?" As the boy strayed ever closer to him, he reached about, feeling for a rock or stick. Shortly his hand fell upon a fist-sized stone, and snatching it up, he waited, tensed. The boy eventually made his way to him, and then past him. When the boy was a few paces away, in a burst of fluid motion, he leaped from the bush and brought the stone down upon the boy's head, dropping him like a fallen tree.
Quickly he set to work, and in mere moments he was donned in the boy's attire, and the boy in his. Taking the boy's coin purse, but leaving the stiletto (it was the least that he could do) and ripping two strips from the robe with which he bound his injured hands, he was off, out of the forest, mounted upon the boy's horse and making his way towards the village.
* * *
Born of Darkness
Chapter 1
He was born of darkness.
A deep, suffocating darkness that enveloped him as his eyes first opened. Above, below and all around was a firmness, and as the overwhelming smell of fresh earth assaulted him, his mind was overtaken by panic. Frantically, he struck against the firmness that loomed above him. Blow after blow did he land upon that dreaded barrier, and even as liquid warmth rolled down his arms and dripped off his elbows, he continued to bash at the obstruction. And as his panic slowly drove him to madness, there came a loud *crack,* and a rain of dirt. From this soil came a pale light, and he grasped for it like a drowning man does for a helping hand. With quick thrashes, he was up and greeted by the cool twilight breeze.
From his sitting position, his first glimpse of the world came in the form of an empty, gated roadside cemetery illuminated by pale moonlight. His headstone was nothing more than a simple cross made from two sticks quickly lashed together. He could see that he was buried in the section for the unknown, for the graves that immediately surrounded him all possessed the same marker. As he took in his surroundings, curiosity led him to himself. He found that he was dressed in nothing more than a white, long-sleeved robe that gave no protection to the chilly evening breeze. Wet red blotches dotted the cloth, which brought his mind back to the stinging in his hands. The bases of his palms were cut and bruised. The blood had clotted and dried, and he could make out splinters acquired from his frantic escape. With a grimace, he rose himself from the dark womb that had borne him unto the world and made his way to the road.
Lights shone off in the distance, and he could make out the faint lines of buildings in the rapidly approach darkness. Setting his sights on the glowing lights, he set out on his way. He had only gone several yards when the sound of horse-hooves made him start and quickly take to hiding within the forest that stretched outwards from the right side of the road. Peering from the bush that he had stashed himself, he found a man of younger years, perhaps a year or two shy of his second decade, astride a common riding horse of brown color, travelling in the opposite direction as he was, just a moment ago. The boy wore an airy, blue collared shirt, with a cut to mid-chest in a V-shaped fashion. The sleeves were loose and puffy, tight-fitting at the wrist with heavily accented cuffs. At his waist was an unadorned wide belt of brown leather with a simple buckle. The boy also wore brown hose and black riding boots crafted from soft leather. He was clean-shaven, his long brown hair combed back over his head, and his dark eyes darted about, a clear sign that he was thoroughly not enjoying his evening trek.
The sight of the boy reminded him of his own dress, and he swiftly decided that a change of clothing was in desperate need. Not only was his thin burial robe not particularly decent, but it would raise suspicion and queries of a subject he knew nothing of, and therefore could not explain.
With that decision, he let out a moan likened to that of an injured man. The boy instantly halted his mount, rose straight in his saddle and sat perfectly still. Seeing that his plan was working, he let out another moan. "Hello? Is anyone there?" called the boy to the forest in a voice that quaked with fear. Another moan. The boy dismounted and quickly bent down to retrieve a small stiletto hidden in his boot. The boy, blade in hand, slowly, hesitantly, made his way into the wood. "Hello? Are you there? Are you in need of help?" As the boy strayed ever closer to him, he reached about, feeling for a rock or stick. Shortly his hand fell upon a fist-sized stone, and snatching it up, he waited, tensed. The boy eventually made his way to him, and then past him. When the boy was a few paces away, in a burst of fluid motion, he leaped from the bush and brought the stone down upon the boy's head, dropping him like a fallen tree.
Quickly he set to work, and in mere moments he was donned in the boy's attire, and the boy in his. Taking the boy's coin purse, but leaving the stiletto (it was the least that he could do) and ripping two strips from the robe with which he bound his injured hands, he was off, out of the forest, mounted upon the boy's horse and making his way towards the village.
SB_Talgion_Cheeseliker (Commando/Militia)
SB_Hyrpyndyrpyn_IV (Skirmisher)
SB_Hyrpyndyrpyn_IV (Skirmisher)
