The Wilderness

 

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I sweated furiously, the metal plates of my iron armor scraping together as I moved. The mixing of heat, dust, metal, and leather was very uncomfortable. But my comfort certainly wasnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t on my mind at the moment. Tiredly, I limply raised my arm and weakly parried a blow from my stronger opponent with my adamant scimitar. The strength of my aggressorÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s blow nearly knocked me backwards, and I tried to right myself. I had been fighting with this strange man in this fire-scarred place for almost an hour now. Just lifting my scimitar was trouble for me. All around me was destruction. Trees, already dead, were ablaze from pieces of lava from the nearby volcano. The wind whipped on the dry, brown dirt on the ground and into my eyes, through my visor. My head was sweating madly. I weakly swung my sword and my attacker parried it. Feeling my body begin to give out, I hurled my body limply at my opponent, knocking him down in surprise. As I made contact with him, my sword slipped past his shield, and luckily, into his side. As I fell on him, my weight pressed down onto him, my sword went deeper, and blood poured from his wound. Making a gargling sound, his body went limp and lifeless. I lay on the brown dirt for what seemed like an eternity. Too weak to get up, I let the hot wind blow over my face. The smell of the burning world was reeking, and all I wanted to do was rest. Looking through the narrow slits in my helmet, I see a wolf standing over me, bloody saliva dripping from its fangs. Oh well. Another pair of combatants a few hundred yards off, through a thick grove of charred trees, heard the grueling scream and shrugged, going on with their duel.

 

 

 

PS: I'll be writing more in the future. Tell me how you like it. I was going more for the description of the wilderness than actual combat.

nice story, keep up the good work

It is rather good, although my personal opinion was that it was slightly too short. It could do with extra details, possibly a bit on the agressor from the defendant's part. But that is simply me.

 

 

 

7/10

Thanks for the replies.

 

Yes, after reading it through, I noticed I never once described the narrator's attacker.

 

Thanks for spotting that.

The Wilderness II

 

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Sitting on a charred, blacken tree, a man slowly raised a bloody hand and un-latched his helm, letting his sweaty hair fall out. He shook his long, brown mane. His face was handsome and thin; very pointed and stern looking. His armor was of a dull, metalic hue, made from rusty, cheap iron. He was sweating under his leather padding beneath his armor, mainly from the heat. Dry, red dust gathered on his sweaty skin, and blew in his eyes, whipped up by a furious gust of wind. In his right hand, a long-handled black mace. The leather on it's grip was fine and red, and around his neck was a holy symbol of his god, Sarodomin. In his other hand was a small, round iron sheild. This strange man was a crusader, and had come to this barren land to kill the evil followers of Zamorack. His long, black cape whipped up in the wind. All arund there was the noise of fighting and explosions, even though he could find noone around for miles. No life stirred here. He spat on the ground, and cursed it's foulness. He heard a scream, and out from the mist walked a tall and dark man. His armor was blackened, from being made so or from charring, the man knew not. Underneath his visor, the crusader saw the dark man smile, his teeth sharp. Smirking, the crusader got up and strapped on his medium helmet made of iron. It was the best the monastery could do. The dark man raised his scimitar of blue steel and uttered a few words, touching a pouch of runestones at his hip. From his raised hand fire flew, and the crusader just dodged in time. He ran at the dark man, holding his mace up high, sweat on his brow. The dark man readied his scimitar. The crusader uttered a small prayer to his god, and felt new strength imbued in his limbs. He let out a war cry, and colided with the man in a huge clang of metal. Holding his sheild up, the crusader blocked a vicious swipe from the other man's scimitar, and was left with a large gash in his iron sheild. The blue-ish blade must have been of extremely fine make, and seemed razor-sharp. As it was swung, it made a singing noise in the air. A song for death, thought the crusader. The crusader returned the blow with a crushing hit from his mace in his opponent's side. The man grunted, and nearly cut the crusader's head off with his next blow. The crusader ducked just in time. But the man swung again, hard, coming into a spining attack from his position. This took the crusader by suprise, and, raising his sheild just in time, was sprawled on the floor. The crusader's sheild had hit himself in his unprotected chin, and blood was dripping from his jaw. He couldn't move it. As the man prepared to decapitate him, and rose his sword high, the hero swung his mace into the unprotected stomach of his enemy with all his combined might. The mace was lodged there, deep in his flesh, and the dark man fell over, gurgling blood softly on the ground. Looking up at the crusader through the visor in his helmet, his breath slow and hot on his face, the dark man's vision started to blur. He felt the crusader pull his mace from his shattered plate armor, and saw him, standing over him. The dark man knew he was beaten. He felt the hot, arid wind blow over his face for the last time as the crusader yelled and swung the mace downward visciously. The dark man saw no more.

 

 

 

More combat in this one.

 

Let me know how you like it.

thats pretty good

Thanks.

 

I might start writing a chapter story soon, so stay tuned.

ill look forward too it

Minor typos is all, and perhaps some paragraphing will do you good. I rather liked it, although an actual story from your considerable talents would be welcomed. So far these are simply mindless fights, and although I do not object to that, I would certainly want to see more.

 

 

 

7.5/10

Kinda reminds me of a short story i read earlier this year about two men who end their battle against eachother only to be eaten by wolves.... :P

 

 

 

Nice story. Keep up the good work :)

Kinda reminds me of a short story i read earlier this year about two men who end their battle against eachother only to be eaten by wolves.... :P

 

 

 

Nice story. Keep up the good work :)

 

 

 

The Interlopers :)

 

 

 

On Topic: Nice stories, keep up the good work and I'd like it if you wrote those chapters you're thinking about :)

These are good, and they can accurately illustrate what happens in the wildy.(to a certain degree, of course.)

 

Good work.

I probably won't be writing a chapter story due to my low attention span and such...

 

I'll keep writing short stories.

 

 

 

The Wilderness III

 

 

 

Eoneras looked up. The sky was black, pitch black. It always is, thought he. He was in a barren and dead land, named only "The Wilderness". Eoneras was a rough and weathered man of about forty; a bounty hunter. On his back was a bow, his side a sword. His face was rough and scarred, his hair unkempt. Back in his monastery home, he had been commisioned to kill any followers of Zamorack that he met, this foul land being their dwelling. As he stopped and sniffed the air, an aroma of decay met his nostrils. The harsh wind whipped al around him, Spraying up the redish dirt and stining his eyes. Eoneras ripped a peice of cloth crom his arm, and wrappec it around his face. He pushed onwards, to the top on a large hill. All the trees around him were black, charred, and lifeless, being scarred from the neverending fires that ravaged this land, making it do dead. Walking up the large, rocky hill, he saw, to his suprise, a small green patch of grass, with one pale blue baleful flower amidst it.. Crying out in suprise, he uttered a prayer to Saradomin and ran his hand over the small flower, and blessed it as best he could. May your life in this dead land be a forebear to others, so that this land may yet again be plentiful. By Saradomin's grace, I bless you, he thought to himself. Coming on the top of the hill, he heared a scream and a blood-curdling laugh. He could not see it, for the hill had been veiled in a thick mist, and the wind had died down. From the mist cam a man, wrapped in blood red robes, his wooden staff tipped with a symbol of The Unholy God Himself. Screaming his war cry, the man in the robes dashed up the hill, hurling fireballs at Eoneras. Eoneras ducked and doged as best he could, but as he atempted to jump to the side of another flmaing ball, his leg was singed. Crying out in pain, he grasped the blackened flesh. Grabbing a knife he held in the folds of his shirt with a free hand, Eoneras hurled it at the man in retribution. It hit him in the chest, but did not penetrate deeply, and the man grinned, his teeth pointed, his face evil, and his eyes bloodshot, and pulled the knife out of himself. What devlish creature stands before me now, is it Zamorack himself? As the mage aproached the top of the hill, he spoke, "None may aproach futrther north than here. It is the will of Zamorak!"

 

"You must die, foul demon!" Yelled Eoneras.

 

The man in red hissed, and lifted his arms up. As he did so, Eoneras felt his very life force being stolen from him, and the man seemed reinvigorated. This mage seemed unstopable.

 

Eoneras Fell to the floor, and the evil mage stood over him. Lifting his staff out of the mud on the ground and raising it over Eoneras's chest, the mage grinned. As he prepared to drive the sharpened tip into Eoneras' chest, Eoneras grabbed his sword and slashed at the mages leg. It came off. Well, atleast partway. The mage howled the most vile scream Eoneras had ever heard, falling to the ground. Eoneras' scimitar was logged three fourth of the way across the mage's leg, stuck partway on the bone. The leg was held together by little more than a hafl inch of soft flesh, and was hanging limply from it's owner's limb. Eoneras got up weakly, holding himself steady with his hand. The mage was pale from loss of blood, and was moaning on the ground. As Eoneras dislodged his scimitar from his leg, the mage uttered another scream, and Eoneras silenced him gently.

Kinda reminds me of a short story i read earlier this year about two men who end their battle against eachother only to be eaten by wolves.... :P

 

 

 

Nice story. Keep up the good work :)

 

 

 

The Interlopers :)

 

 

 

On Topic: Nice stories, keep up the good work and I'd like it if you wrote those chapters you're thinking about :)

 

HEY I remember that one!

 

 

 

On topic: pretty nice fight scenes, though I find it uninteresting without a plot.

cool story are you gonna write more?