Chapter One - Midnight Flight

[swordrond]

Hi there. The following is the opening to a story I hope to complete. If the reaction is good, I will be glad to continue writing and posting the chapters. Any comments are most welcome.

 

 

 

Thank you.

 

 

 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

 

Silver moonlight poured through the gaps of the poorly constructed mud hut roof and flooded the entire room with a cold, milky glow. With the delicate shine at play upon the crevasses on his face, Thordek heaved himself from the uncomfortable unevenness of the floor on which he had lay. Despite the terrible discomfort and the searing pain in his back, Thordek glanced longingly back at his straw bed mat which seemed to call to him, as if he had just been torn for the loving grasp of a lustful lover. His legs ached terribly, his feet were blistering and sore, and the idea of what was to come made him grimace with sheer frustration. He gave a weary sigh, gritted his teeth, and reluctantly rolled the mat up and stuffed it inside his backpack, which he then slung over his left shoulder. Slowly, he pushed the creaking door ajar, and peered outside. His eyes took time to adjust to the light emanating from a dozen torches, which flickered dimly around the village. Ensuring that there was no one around, he crept outside, and slowly made his way past the assortment of primitive pens towards the shadow cast by the chieftainÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s longhouse. His nostrils were greeted with the putrid odours of tar fumes, animal fur and stale beer from the feasting of the night before. The only sound throughout the entire village was the snoring of dogs, which echoed eerily around the encampment. His breath, visible in the chilling night air trickled up before him, and danced away into the atmosphere. Pulling his cloak a little closer around his neck , he stood there for no more than a minute, and surveyed his surroundings one last time. He hated this, leaving the village behind without so much as a thank you, but this was the way it had to be. The way it had always been. It had been the same in Draynor, and in Port Sarim, and it had to be the same here, in Barbarian Village. The people there had been good to him, they had given him food, and drink, and shelter, and had asked no questions. As before, the thought of leaving a thank you note had briefly crossed his mind, but he dismissed it with a certain shake of the head, assuring himself that it wouldnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t be a good idea. He could leave nothing which would give the royal rangers of Lumbridge any clue as to where he had been. He knew that if he left any trace of his whereabouts, they would find him, and that would be that. He knew the penalty for what he had done. He knew the penalty for murder, and it was death.

 

 

 

Being weary to avoid the guard at the western entrance, he crept to the makeshift wall which encircled the entire village. He slipped on the dew sodden grass, and cursed under his breath, silently hoping that the guard had heard nothing. He shot a sudden, sharp glance in the sentryÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s direction, but was relieved to see that he stood undisturbed, keeping watch in the blackness of the night. He gently hung his pack upon a fence post, and then leapt over the fence, and landed in an awkward position, forcing him to quickly scramble on all fours before picking himself up and unhooking the strap of his bag from the fence post and darting off into the darkness.

 

 

 

He knew now that he had made a clean escape, and he even managed to force an uneasy smile. He knew that if the rangerÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s even managed to trace him to the village, the locals would be unable to provide any information regarding the direction in which he had fled. It would flummox them with yet another loose end. With every step, he reminded himself of the distance he was putting between himself and his pursuers, and with this very thought, his pace quickened and his stomach lurched. He had spared no thought for where he would rest next, but knew that he had to avoid Falador. By now, a royal telegram of the utmost importance would have reached the royal guard there, and one thousand wanted posters would decorate the city. For every poster, there would be ten pairs of watchful eyes, keen to find him and claim a fruitful reward. The suburbs and smaller villages were a safer haven, where the Asgarnian authorities had difficulty asserting their dominance. He knew now where he had to head; Taverly.

[hungryblader]

i like it. I like ur writing style. I can easily picture that in my head.

[Babybyers]

This is a really great start, perfectly descriptive. I think you should continue for sure.

 

 

 

Byers

[hungryblader]

oh heck yeah

[issy2]

Yes, very nice. I like it, but perhaps try to use more paragraphs?

 

 

 

Continue. :D :D :wink: