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View Full Version : Fast paced action, is this the right kinda thing.



Silen
June 8th, 2012, 07:58 PM
So , as some of you may know i am silen and i have posted a few threads so far.
Sorry to spam the fiction board but i have just re read my favourite paragraph of my WIP and was wondering if i could get some critique on the action of the scene.
I have included the entire chapter so that the background to the action is clear.
Thanks in advance.

Some more background info.

Wingblade is the commander of the humans, who have granted sanctuary to the elves.
Typhos is the right hand seargent in the evil necromancers chain of command.

Atop the walls of the fortress of Xeron the men and elves of xypaxis fought for all they held dear, the arrows they fired felled hundreds with every volley yet the dead still came, like a never ending wave of destruction. The siege machines hurled chunks of onyx rocks at the walls, and as each mighty boulder hit the walls the very foundations shook, but the wall still held. For now.

The skeletal creatures that had brought the siege engines to this battlefield had been cut loose and now charged the gate spurred on by their torturous masters whips. The hulking horned creatures seemed impervious to the arrows bristling their thick rotten flesh and they moved so quickly that soon they were at the walls pounding at them with their enormous spiked heads, ripping chunks from the strong stones. The sorcerers on the walls began hurling the elements at them and soon a few began to succumb to the assaults but still the living undead hammered at the walls of Xeron.

The lightning still danced across the sky, incinerating skeletons and men alike as they arced down onto the battlements.

The few creatures that remained strapped to the enormous siege towers inched ever closer to the walls. The towers invulnerable to magic and arrow alike.

As each tower reached the battlements, the drawbridges fell crushing the noble defenders and unleashing the hordes of skeletal creatures onto the walls. The archers stationed their drew swords and entered into the throng but they were no match and slowly but surely the skeletons hammered their advantage.

Thousands died on the blood slicked battlements lying hewn against each other. Blood trickling down to the ground and laying in pools. Showering those below in ichors and death.
Now the mightiest of the undead slaughterer’s arsenal would be revealed.

An enormous machine had been hauled into range of the great gates of Xeron; the skeletons that lay in reserve began chanting in their own tongue. Smashing spear and shield together in a sickly chorus.
Around the machine twisted hunch backed necromancers gathered performing rituals and casting spells of their own.

The machine roared into life, and with a crash loud enough to silence the entire battlefield and even the skies themselves, it fired.
From the tubular shaped funnel that jutted out of the enormous skeleton clad machine shot hundreds of skeletal soldiers, they flew through the air screaming until they impacted with the gate.
As they impacted each skeleton exploded into a mass of acidic green goo. The gates began to melt.

Wingblade left his position atop the gatehouse, sensing the loss of the walls, and took position in front of twenty thousand men and elves. With a voice louder than thunder he shouted his war cry.
“Men! Elves! Today we fight against tyranny and injustice. For our fallen brethren we will avenge this atrocity and we will be victorious!”
The army behind him shouted and screamed their own savage warcry.

The gates fell. The undead spewed through like a torrent of black water. Wingblade charged.

Twenty thousand men at arms sprinted into the breach fearlessly. Hacking and hewing at anything and everything that got in their way. Wingblade leaping into the fray leading the pointed charge. His prowess unmatched by anything living or anything that should be dead. He slew hundreds alone recklessly and fearlessly slamming his iron fist, his ornate blade or heavy shield into the skulls and chest cavities of his opponents.
It seemed that the charge had stalled the besieger’s assault.

Until, a horn sounded. The skeletal soldiers stood at ease. The front lines holding back the imperial soldiers and war bound elves.
A sickly figure strode arrogantly through the breach. The soldiers moving aside for their murderess to make her way to the forefront.
Typhos the bloodthirsty lived for this. She was born of war and slaughter, and as she approached she grinned wickedly towards wingblade.
The charge had halted. The siege machines stopped firing, the thunder and lightning stopped.
The skeletons began to form a semi-circle behind their banshee.

The imperials followed suit.
Twenty yards apart stood wingblade and Typhos, Sick with gore.

Without a word the two began circling around the circumference of their human and undead arena. Wingblade cautious not to turn his back to the skeletal horde.
They circled for many moments; these moments seemed like an eternity. Finally Wingblade halted satisfied with his enemy. Typhos too.
From within her cloak, two daggers fell to her feet, held mere inches from the ground, by sickly onyx chains. Evil seeped from the weapons, a toxic green substance dripped to the floor from each point, and the blood slicked mud started to smoke and decay.

Wingblade stabbed his ornate sword into the ground, removed his helm and placed it behind him. He unstrapped his cloak and let the wind carry it away. He wanted vengeance for the lives of his men, the destruction of his city. He wanted every advantage he could get his hands on.

His iron clad gauntlets gripped the hilt of his sword, shield hanging proudly from his other arm. The insignia of the imperial army shining brightly. He yanked the sword free.
Faster than the very lightning she had wrought upon them Typhos spun on her toes the daggers flailing like the court marshals whip. She waved her chained daggers above her head like a wrangler.
Typhos tensed like a huntress waiting to strike. Wingblade charged with a noble shout.

-Chapter break-

Wingblade sprinted, his brilliant armour glinting as he moved with pace that tested the limits of his humanity. Typhos lay in wait, blades spinning above her head.
As wingblade got within range of her poison tipped daggers he raised his hefty shield to protect his bare head. Typhos lunged as he had expected whipping the daggers into the shield with unnatural force, they lodged in the shield and as she yanked them away, wingblades shield splintered and split into fragments.

Typhos had reacted how he had hoped, and the time it took her to lunge another whip like attack at him he had closed the gap to melee range. He hoisted his sword in both hands above his head and attempted an execution. Typhos was quicker, she sidestepped his assault, pivoted on the spot and lunged her daggers at the commander’s back, and he too pivoted parrying the attack with his sword.
Blades clattered as wingblade deflected her attacks with sword or iron fist, but Typhos responded with increasingly relentless assaults. Moving faster than wingblade thought humanly possible she danced around the arena fearlessly whipping her blades above her head and forcing them down atop wingblade.

His strength was failing, he had to make this quick. He began to charge again, fearlessly and recklessly, her eyes widened as she saw the weakness. He barrelled towards her, she lunged at his exposed neck, he sidestepped just in time for the blades to miss the soft spot on his exposed neck, he grasped the chains around the daggers, and yanked at them.

Her grip was strong, but she had not been expecting it. The chain ripped free from her grasp and he threw them behind him, still charging at her.

He was mere yards from her; he lifted his sword intending to impale her on the razor sharp point. She sidestepped drawing smaller needle thin daggers from her belt and lodging them in to his shoulder blades.
With excruciating pain shooting up his arms the commander collapsed to the dusty floor, his breath coming in ragged motion.

She stood over her fallen enemy, and drew another dagger from her belt, this one longer and crooked. Its blade looked like evil incarnate. She raised it above her hands and listened as the imperial army and their ally’s the elves shuddered in disbelief. She plunged the dagger down.

Diogenes
June 11th, 2012, 05:04 AM
I can see you like the Gothic feel a lot. Not that that's a bad thing, just making an observation(more than likely an obvious one).

One thing that threw me off is I couldn't particularly tell whether Wingblade was the female or if Typhos was. One easy way to remedy that is change the name to end in an a, o, or e. Otherwise you may just need to be a bit more specific about who's attacking.

Also, while they were fighting your perspective kind of changed to that of Wingblade's. I'm not sure if this is Third Person or First person after the Chapter Break. Is this on purpose? It does seem like the entirety of the story before the break is Third Person though.

Is there any dialogue to be had between Wingblade and Typhos? Tension is mounted like this is a long awaited fight for both of them, but they have nothing to say? I couldn't really feel much sympathy for Wingblade since I don't particularly know who he is. This may be because there is a lot more story beyond this that I don't know, but with just this excerpt to go on it's difficult to understand. Just a thought :)