Hey i was wandering through the writer's guild and was dissapointed by the lact of activity in what should have been a lively thread.
So i've created a new thread with one aim. all members who wish to write a story about whatever they like can post it here whatever its length. i'll start with one story and i hope you will olso contribute to it. and please mention a title when writing your story.
No conversation here and all comments on the Short Stories Comment thread.
Original post Posted Saturday 30th December 2006 (05:20pm)
Thread: Short Stories
A Ranger's Hunt
Night fell. Only the silence of dusk could be heard but the ranger knew that danger was not far away. For two days he had been following his prey but had not dared to attack it outright. The ranger paused. He thought of that day, when he had first got wind of it. He had been sitting in a bush, quietly observing and guarding a farm on the borders of Archet when he had been disturbed by something moving towards thr farm from the opposite direction. His surprise had been enormous when he had seen that great white wolf stealthily advancing towards the barn. Quietly, he had bent his bow and loosen an arrow on the beast but had only got its leg. Even now he was still unsure how he had missed his aim.
But, he was suddenly reminded of his peril when out of the corner of his eye he caught a movement in the undergrowth some fifty feet away. The Ranger got into kneeling posture, armed his bow and took aim at the bush. Yet, he dared not shoot least he killed another creature. He waited still, his trainning forcing him to remember not to turn his back to a potential threat. ten minutes passed, yet he kept his posture but his fingers were beginning to ache. At last something bounded from the bush an all fours and deftly ran away. The Ranger let his arrow fly and was rrelieved to hear something go crashing further away.
Three days later a group of rangers, three of them, followed his path and came to where he had shot. One of them examined the ground and said,"He was here but there seems to have been a strugle here and blood was spilled. And something seemed to have been dragged fron here by a creature with an injured foot."
"Spread out and see what you can find while i examine this are," the same ranger called out.
"over here," a call was suddenly heard and the Rangers ran toward the call. To their astonishment and great grief they found Valandil, the ranger who had dissapeared five days ago dead and half devoured by a great creature itself dead by his side, with two arrows protruding from his body....
Night fell. Only the silence of dusk could be heard but the ranger knew that danger was not far away. For two days he had been following his prey but had not dared to attack it outright. The ranger paused. He thought of that day, when he had first got wind of it. He had been sitting in a bush, quietly observing and guarding a farm on the borders of Archet when he had been disturbed by something moving towards thr farm from the opposite direction. His surprise had been enormous when he had seen that great white wolf stealthily advancing towards the barn. Quietly, he had bent his bow and loosen an arrow on the beast but had only got its leg. Even now he was still unsure how he had missed his aim.
But, he was suddenly reminded of his peril when out of the corner of his eye he caught a movement in the undergrowth some fifty feet away. The Ranger got into kneeling posture, armed his bow and took aim at the bush. Yet, he dared not shoot least he killed another creature. He waited still, his trainning forcing him to remember not to turn his back to a potential threat. ten minutes passed, yet he kept his posture but his fingers were beginning to ache. At last something bounded from the bush an all fours and deftly ran away. The Ranger let his arrow fly and was rrelieved to hear something go crashing further away.
Three days later a group of rangers, three of them, followed his path and came to where he had shot. One of them examined the ground and said,"He was here but there seems to have been a strugle here and blood was spilled. And something seemed to have been dragged fron here by a creature with an injured foot."
"Spread out and see what you can find while i examine this are," the same ranger called out.
"over here," a call was suddenly heard and the Rangers ran toward the call. To their astonishment and great grief they found Valandil, the ranger who had dissapeared five days ago dead and half devoured by a great creature itself dead by his side, with two arrows protruding from his body....
Pursuit
The house and barn were still in flame, the door to the house shattered and off its' hinges, when Frealaf rode in on his horse. Screaming in rage and through his tears, he rode out on the trail. When he forded the stream the footprints of the orcs had yet only a little water in them.
Frealaf muttered to himself "Looks like five or six."
Frealaf had a good chance to catch them as they had just left his farm carrying their plunder of food and ironwork. He rode through the moonlit night slowly overtaking the raiding party until he heard them growling and talking. They were looking forward to stopping for the day and eating their plunder, little dreaming that anyone was following from the outlying farm.
Slipping from Wing not long before dawn, Frealaf took his bow and quiver. Shouldering his pack, he left the reins loose knowing that Wing would browse nearby and eventually wander home. That is, if the orcs didn't get him first.
An orc had lagged behind the rest who were still out of sight around a bend in the trail. His errand into the bushes proved his death as Frealaf's arrow found its' mark in his chest. His thin screaming and thrashing alerted the others to danger.
Running up the trail, Frealaf nearly ran headlong into an orc. He drew the nocked shaft and fired it completely through the stinking orc; the spent arrow startling the orc behind. In that moment, Frealaf tossed the bow aside with one hand and swept out his sword with the other. The blade did not cleave the orc-helm but slid down showering sparks until it buried itself deep into the orc's shoulder blade. Wrenching it free, Frealaf finished him with a second stroke.
Three enemies down and no wounds was luck indeed. Dashing the orc blood out of his eyes, Frealaf retrieved his bow and ran on up the trail and around the bend. He intended to to recover what was taken and visit death on the raiders.
Frealaf faltered in dismay and hope left his heart at the sight of the remaining orcs and their plunder. There hadn't been five or six orcs after all. There were yet five orc warriors angry and waiting. He could still turn and run for Wing to make his escape or he could fight long odds to repay their evil.
There were two archers among them and one was even then drawing on him. Two arrows crossed in flight. One missed but the other took down the orc-archer. Frealaf loosed his next to last shaft and killed an axe-orc. The other archer-orc fired and missed in his haste but would not miss again as Frealaf closed the range at a dead run.
Nocking his last arrow, Frealaf waited for his chance for a clean shot. Skidding to a stop, he drew and released as perfect a flight as ever won him a purse. The beautiful light of the cold dawn flickered on the razor steel broadhead as it thudded home. The answering orc arrow found a mark, cut through the meat of his arm and caused him to drop the now useless bow. Drawing sword again, Frealaf ran forward even as the orc blades flashed in that beautiful light.
The love shining from the dying eyes of his beloved Morwen was the last sight that Frealaf took into the shadows of death.
The house and barn were still in flame, the door to the house shattered and off its' hinges, when Frealaf rode in on his horse. Screaming in rage and through his tears, he rode out on the trail. When he forded the stream the footprints of the orcs had yet only a little water in them.
Frealaf muttered to himself "Looks like five or six."
Frealaf had a good chance to catch them as they had just left his farm carrying their plunder of food and ironwork. He rode through the moonlit night slowly overtaking the raiding party until he heard them growling and talking. They were looking forward to stopping for the day and eating their plunder, little dreaming that anyone was following from the outlying farm.
Slipping from Wing not long before dawn, Frealaf took his bow and quiver. Shouldering his pack, he left the reins loose knowing that Wing would browse nearby and eventually wander home. That is, if the orcs didn't get him first.
An orc had lagged behind the rest who were still out of sight around a bend in the trail. His errand into the bushes proved his death as Frealaf's arrow found its' mark in his chest. His thin screaming and thrashing alerted the others to danger.
Running up the trail, Frealaf nearly ran headlong into an orc. He drew the nocked shaft and fired it completely through the stinking orc; the spent arrow startling the orc behind. In that moment, Frealaf tossed the bow aside with one hand and swept out his sword with the other. The blade did not cleave the orc-helm but slid down showering sparks until it buried itself deep into the orc's shoulder blade. Wrenching it free, Frealaf finished him with a second stroke.
Three enemies down and no wounds was luck indeed. Dashing the orc blood out of his eyes, Frealaf retrieved his bow and ran on up the trail and around the bend. He intended to to recover what was taken and visit death on the raiders.
Frealaf faltered in dismay and hope left his heart at the sight of the remaining orcs and their plunder. There hadn't been five or six orcs after all. There were yet five orc warriors angry and waiting. He could still turn and run for Wing to make his escape or he could fight long odds to repay their evil.
There were two archers among them and one was even then drawing on him. Two arrows crossed in flight. One missed but the other took down the orc-archer. Frealaf loosed his next to last shaft and killed an axe-orc. The other archer-orc fired and missed in his haste but would not miss again as Frealaf closed the range at a dead run.
Nocking his last arrow, Frealaf waited for his chance for a clean shot. Skidding to a stop, he drew and released as perfect a flight as ever won him a purse. The beautiful light of the cold dawn flickered on the razor steel broadhead as it thudded home. The answering orc arrow found a mark, cut through the meat of his arm and caused him to drop the now useless bow. Drawing sword again, Frealaf ran forward even as the orc blades flashed in that beautiful light.
The love shining from the dying eyes of his beloved Morwen was the last sight that Frealaf took into the shadows of death.
Narn i taur dínen
..... Silence hang heavy in the glade, a small candle lit the face of a young elf kneeling before a pool of crystaline water, a heavy mop of jet black hair draped elegantly over his cloak, which was a dark brown save for the edging, illuminated in bright gold and silver. he pulled his hair forwards and touched it lovingly and looked down at his face reflected in the small pool in front of him, he said, as he drew from his belt a small, curved dagger,
"how could i let you be mudered, naneth, i should have been there, should have been protecting you!"
he played with the knife in his hands, testing the blade with his thumb, a small trickle of blood played down from his thumb, causing ripples to appear in the pool, the once clear water becoming murkey and crimson, he raised the dagger up to eye level, glared determindly into his own reflection,
"now is the time, this IS the right thing to do"
the blade worked quickly, slicing through without any catching, the severed lock of hair fell limply to the floor, he continued working and before long he had removed the most part of his hair, save a black flash of mohawk, he raised himself up from his knees, sheathed his dagger and proclaimed to nobody, and yet everybody,
"nana, i will avenge your death, in yrch will feel my wrath, my sword will not stay sheathed untill HE is dead"
he turned to take one last look at the pool, a tear escaped him, and fell into the murkey liquid at his feet, the water cleared, Moredhil closed his eyes and nodded, he knew what he had to do, he chuckled a little at his own sentimentality, and left the glade, a grim look of determination etched on his face, silence fell back upon the glade, a small candle illuminated a pool of crystaline water, within the water was a crimson tear, frozen for eternity
so what do you think? this was thought up as i wrote, an impules piece if you will, so any comments and ideas would be welcome
..... Silence hang heavy in the glade, a small candle lit the face of a young elf kneeling before a pool of crystaline water, a heavy mop of jet black hair draped elegantly over his cloak, which was a dark brown save for the edging, illuminated in bright gold and silver. he pulled his hair forwards and touched it lovingly and looked down at his face reflected in the small pool in front of him, he said, as he drew from his belt a small, curved dagger,
"how could i let you be mudered, naneth, i should have been there, should have been protecting you!"
he played with the knife in his hands, testing the blade with his thumb, a small trickle of blood played down from his thumb, causing ripples to appear in the pool, the once clear water becoming murkey and crimson, he raised the dagger up to eye level, glared determindly into his own reflection,
"now is the time, this IS the right thing to do"
the blade worked quickly, slicing through without any catching, the severed lock of hair fell limply to the floor, he continued working and before long he had removed the most part of his hair, save a black flash of mohawk, he raised himself up from his knees, sheathed his dagger and proclaimed to nobody, and yet everybody,
"nana, i will avenge your death, in yrch will feel my wrath, my sword will not stay sheathed untill HE is dead"
he turned to take one last look at the pool, a tear escaped him, and fell into the murkey liquid at his feet, the water cleared, Moredhil closed his eyes and nodded, he knew what he had to do, he chuckled a little at his own sentimentality, and left the glade, a grim look of determination etched on his face, silence fell back upon the glade, a small candle illuminated a pool of crystaline water, within the water was a crimson tear, frozen for eternity
so what do you think? this was thought up as i wrote, an impules piece if you will, so any comments and ideas would be welcome
I believe it means;
Tale of the Silent Forest
Dwarves have some respect, though stubborn, as they know of the Elf-Friend Gimli.....
Tale of the Silent Forest
Dwarves have some respect, though stubborn, as they know of the Elf-Friend Gimli.....