The Lone Swordsman - Writers Forum

Storm Eagle · 06-10-2007, 07:41 PM

Here ya go. Title says all. I didn't have time to read all of it, so sorry if there are a few loose ends..

Soldiers lined the outer walls of the city, waiting for a chance to attack. Archers lined the upper walls, looking down upon the great number of enemies that had swarmed the castle. A huge battering ram climbed up the steps to the castle. Hot oil poured over the sides, scalding the men below. Rain and wind battered the walls, stirring the archers’ cloaks.

“Men!” screamed Fernon, his face sopping wet from the torrential downpour. “This is our last stand! Keep these insolent pigs out of our castle! Fire at will!” A rain of arrows accompanied by the wind fell onto the soldiers, killing the few who looked up to meet their deaths. The remaining men began hammering the main gates, splintering the fin cut oak doors and their iron handles. Men screamed their deaths aloud as large chunks of wood flew into their chests, through their iron mail. Fernon looked about the rolling hills, seeing if anything was going to come forth at them. His eyes bulged at what he saw. Siege Towers accompanied by an army fit for another battle entirely. He looked down to see the oak door bash in on itself, marking the end of their petty existence.

“All soldiers! Fall back to the inner walls! Burn anything that you see on the way! Have nothing be waiting for them! Use our oil if we have to!” Fernon screamed, sheathing his blade and cutting through a man in dark red armor. His blood spattered onto the granite walls, and Fernon shoved his dying body aside in order to get out of his current positions. Fires began erupting all over the city from men carrying out his orders, and now, of all times, Fernon smiled. He smiled at the waiting doom of his city. He smiled for the death that was to accompany him. Fernon was shook out of his dream by a wild man wielding an axe charging for him. Fernon took hold of the axe, beat its wielder with the butt of it, and threw him over the walls. He now charged towards the inner walls, fires burning all around him. Then Fernon stopped. He and about two hundred other men had been locked out of the inner city, forced to defend themselves across an army the size of twelve square miles. Fernon turned, and raised his sword.

“Men! We have come here to fight! We may have been locked out of our homes, but we will defend them as if we were still inside of them!” Fernon turned around, and shook his head. All the other men we down on the ground, hailing their suppressors.

gohn67 · 06-11-2007, 04:34 PM

Hey Storm Eagle,

This reads like an excerpt to me, like a battle scene in a larger piece, though your action is nicely written. I think it has potential to be something bigger. Read over your story and then think about how your characters got to this point. Build from there and then you'll have a much stronger story. Character development is very important. Characters are what differentiates stories. Like you can insert this scene in any number of medieval war stories and not affect the story much. It's about the characters and plot and conflicts that led up to this battle that are important.

But really I think you should just write, and write a lot and enjoy what you're doing. And read a lot. I wish I wrote everyday when I was 14 and I think at that age it's more important to write just to write and to enjoy it.

WriterJohnB · 06-12-2007, 08:16 AM

Read your sentences more carefully. You have Fernon sheathing his sword (putting it away, in other words) and then cutting through a man.

In this sentence: "A rain of arrows accompanied by the wind fell onto the soldiers, killing the few who looked up to meet their deaths."
you're saying that if a soldier didn't look up, an arrow wouldn't hit him.

There's not enough here to get any idea where you're going with this, it's just another battle scene. I understand the irony of the commander's men surrendering, but it needs more.

Take care,

JohnB

valeca · 06-12-2007, 08:20 AM

You didn't have time to read it all...but had time to post it in the Writer's Workshop for critique?

Storm Eagle · 06-12-2007, 07:15 PM

Yay, my first real wall of text submitted to this site!! Read On!

1

Soldiers lined the outer walls of the city, waiting for a chance to attack. Archers lined the upper walls, looking down upon the great number of enemies that had swarmed the castle. A huge battering ram climbed up the steps to the castle. Hot oil poured over the sides, scalding the men below. Rain and wind battered the walls, stirring the archers’ cloaks.

“Men!” screamed Fernon, his face sopping wet from the torrential downpour. “This is our last stand! Keep these insolent pigs out of our castle! Fire at will!” A rain of arrows accompanied by the wind fell onto the soldiers, killing the few who looked up to meet their deaths. The remaining men began hammering the main gates, splintering the fin cut oak doors and their iron handles. Men screamed their deaths aloud as large chunks of wood flew into their chests, through their iron mail. Fernon looked about the rolling hills, seeing if anything was going to come forth at them. His eyes bulged at what he saw. Siege Towers accompanied by an army fit for another battle entirely. He looked down to see the oak door bash in on itself, marking the end of their petty existence.

“All soldiers! Fall back to the inner walls! Burn anything that you see on the way! Have nothing be waiting for them! Use our oil if we have to!” Fernon screamed, sheathing his blade and cutting through a man in dark red armor. His blood spattered onto the granite walls, and Fernon shoved his dying body aside in order to get out of his current positions. Fires began erupting all over the city from men carrying out his orders, and now, of all times, Fernon smiled. He smiled at the waiting doom of his city. He smiled for the death that was to accompany him. Fernon was shook out of his dream by a wild man wielding an axe charging for him. Fernon took hold of the axe, beat its wielder with the butt of it, and threw him over the walls. He now charged towards the inner walls, fires burning all around him. Then Fernon stopped. He and about two hundred other men had been locked out of the inner city, forced to defend themselves across an army the size of twelve square miles. Fernon turned, and raised his sword.

“Men! We have come here to fight! We may have been locked out of our homes, but we will defend them as if we were still inside of them!” Fernon turned around, and shook his head. All the other men we down on the ground, hailing their suppressors. He shook his head, wondering if these were really soldiers trained by the Empire’s finest or if they all were farmhands just given the quickest lesson in the large artistry of swordplay. Unwilling to give up, Fernon looked up to find 10 men charging towards him. He put on a grim look, and sheathed his second blade. He acted as if they were one, attacking the forthcoming men in a few simple movements. The men on the ground stood in awe of what they had just seen. One sole man just took down ten fully armed and armored men in just a few simple strokes. Many then grabbed their weapons from the ground and they formed a wall behind Fernon, ready to strike at a moments’ notice. Fernon raised his sword gallantly, and the wall of men behind him did the same, and began to shout battle cries. Another wave began marching upon them. This time, however, around one hundred men took to arms against Fernon and his wall of men, counting to about a fourth of the opposition’s number. They all stood their ground, and dropped every single one of the men charging towards them in a bloody pool of mud. Fernon looked about, and saw no losses from his side of the field.
“We have come here to fight, have we not!?” called out Fernon gallantly, sticking his sword in the bloodied mud. “My men, why have we been called to fight!? Hmm? Why, my friends, has it always been us who has to do something before it has to be done!? I say we sneak out of the city! I say we leave now, and leave these pathetic pigs to their own deaths! Our Empire is lost, crushed by a rebellion that has just begun to spread uncontrolled over the entire lands and waters of our dear home. Death be upon them as well! But for the time being, we must take our leave from this inhospitable home and onwards towards a large and glorious land farther away from here than we have ever imagined! Follow me!” The men followed him, cutting through anyone who was foolish enough to get in their way. He led them through the ashes left by the burning homes, and found a sewer. Fernon took them through it, the stench almost unbearable at first. A smell of human waste mixed with rotting corpses and rat feces made many men lose their dinners, which were less than satisfying in the first place. Fernon led them through a labyrinth of sewers, which led out to the huge ocean. Jumping out, Fernon and his men swam to a nearby beach, and camped there for the night. Fernon, upon landing, set up a large campfire and learned about many of the men’s’ pasts. They fell asleep late, listening to one another stories of uncivilized matters to Fernon, such as fucking a whore in the middle of his own house when the wife was there, or taking someone’s blood in the name of revenge. Fernon shook his head, and lay on the beach. He could not believe that anything like this could have made him exit the Empire. He decided to try to sleep, for he would leave these boys to die on their own, not for him to die as well.

Fernon rose in a blank, dark space of nothing. A horse stood there, nearly as black as his surroundings, but just a shade lighter for you to see it. A rider sat on the horse’s back, wearing a long, draping cloak that blended well into his horse’s color. Flames arose around Fernon, scaring him, and he put his hands up in defense of himself. The rider looked on, and Fernon screamed for help.

“I will not help you, Fernon,” said the rider, drawing his blade, “Your time has come for your destiny to play out. I wish to see how you will deal with it.” After he spoke, the rider vanished, and Fernon’s skin boiled from the flames.

Fernon awoke quickly, sweating and breathing heavily. After calming down from the dream, he slowly walked through the camp. He grabbed his things, only his cloak of leather and his blade, and took off into the morning mist. He turned back on a high hill, only to see the mongrels still sleeping, tired of a night of telling foolish perverted tales. Fernon’s black hair waved into his face many a times because of the rolling winds on the high plains. No human hands touched these plains for miles, and he knew it. Finding the Route of Trade, Fernon followed the road, walking along in the gutter, where muddy silt still lay from the last night’s rain. Then, Fernon had a choice; he looked at the sun, and seeing it was in the opposite direction of where he was going, he stopped. Either go north and head towards North Point to find a icebreaker ship and get out of here; or he could keep going south, and run back into the castle where he was among the few who deserted his fellow soldiers and men. Without even leaving time to think, Fernon turned and ventured to north point, the northernmost city on the continent. From there, Fernon did not know, but he knew he would probably not stay here.
A rumbling grew behind him, and a mass of wagons rumbled towards him. Tarps covered the backs, concealing any hope of knowing if they were merchants, mercenaries, or bandits. Fernon stood out of their way, being extremely cautious and making no intentional eye contact. He held his hands behind his back, and let them move on. Not seeing it coming, Fernon was whacked in the back of the head, the world blurred and slowed, and he fell, the world now black, and Fernon in one of the wagons.

Falcon · 06-12-2007, 08:07 PM

I'll read this later for sure, I read the first few lines, but I got to go. It'd make it easier to read if you made a tad bigger please.

Xtlk 1 · 06-12-2007, 08:13 PM

Not bad.
All I can say is that you need to go a little more into detail.

How you set the scene in the first paragraph was good I only suggest that you give the weather and some emotions to help mood of the story.

When they begin retreating to the inner walls start to describe the castle itself. Colors, architecture, more emotions of the soldiers.

"A horse stood there, nearly as black as his surroundings, but just a shade lighter for you to see it." Take the red part out...redundant.

When they are on the beach you should probably put one of their stories in the background and then go into depth with his thought...the story cutting in everyonce in a while.

Don't worry about it though...detail and pace are the two things everyone has trouble with.

Konignacht · 06-13-2007, 06:35 AM

Quote:

Originally Posted by valeca

You didn't have time to read it all...but had time to post it in the Writer's Workshop for critique?

I thought it, especially after I saw how short it was - but saying it was kinda petty, don't you think?

On the otherhand, I also decided not to read the story after I read the "I didn't have time to read all of it", so seems like they shot themselves in the foot with the comment anyway.

Selorian · 06-13-2007, 08:44 AM

Quote:

Originally Posted by Konignacht

I thought it, especially after I saw how short it was - but saying it was kinda petty, don't you think?

Not really since he's posted the same story for critique twice in two separate forums. One will have to be removed now.

EDIT: I have opted to merge the two threads into one.