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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)
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....


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 d’nen

..... 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 Big Smile Smilie
I believe it means;

Tale of the Silent Forest

Dwarves have some respect, though stubborn, as they know of the Elf-Friend Gimli.....

I agree Thorin. On such a site you should perhaps see many little contributions of prose . And I enjoyed very much all of yours here. I could feel the despair and bravery in the face of futility, noble hearts that decided to leave something, a emotional 'print' that could be seen in the eyes of those that followed somehow.


                                        The Girl from Rohan


"Bravery is an act of moving forward in the face of abject fear" The tall blue eyed twenty year old maiden pulled nervously on the waist long moon blonde braid that hung over her shoulder.

 She was afraid. So very afraid, she who had longed all her life since the age of seven to do something great and lay worthy , something talked about by the greatest of Elves, Men and other free people of an evening before a blazing fire and good things to eat and drink.

 When she was just falling asleep on her ornately carved bed the day after she turned seven the girl had been startled back into wakefulness by the sound of the heavy oak door slamming shut followed by cries of joy and laughter. Someone unexpected had arrived , the child could tell by the overwhelming joy in her mother's voice and that of her usually silent father Captain of the Guards . And then came into the air the sound of a higher voice, a beautiful melodic voice though well modulated and a little sedate and cool even. The child sat up, heart pounding and listened with all her might. She was forbidden to arise from her bed once tucked in unless her life was threatened or someone was hurt and needed assistance. She longed to disobey just this one time but honor prevented her. Her friends thought her a little icy, a little high minded even if she was of pedigree and often the child found herself playing alone.

 After the expected bustle to provide food, drink and beds for the at least two downstairs voices dropped and the child realized it was probably for her sake. For at least an hour after the little girl tried hard to glean some of the conversation but it was hopeless and sleep overtook her at last.

It was in the light of the followng morning that the child , dressed , hair groomed, jewels arranged artistically upon the sleeves of her blue gown and now down stairs stopped short when she saw who the visitors were.

There, in real flesh and blood, royally dressed and eating quietly while her father read from a scroll was the stuff legends were made of in the Riddermark. For there sat her great aunt Aeowyn, still remarkably beautiful and regal and beside her was two soldiers she had brought back with her from her visit to Rivendell.

 At the child's gasp of wonder and awe, all faces turned toward her. 'Come little Aeowyn, come and meet your great aunt , her Elven companions and eat with us. There is your place reserved across from your great aunt." Mother was bringing a tray of freshly baked pastries to the table. Aeowyn smiled down at her little name sake. 'You know you look remarkably like I remember my brother looking at your age. And such silken hair. How are you little one?
"I, I do well great auntie. I , did you really and truly kill the evil Witch King with a sword, did that truly happen?' The words burst forth like a small catapult from the girl's ruby lips and the table of friends exploded into happy laughter. "Yes that is true, though my dear friend Merriadoc the Hobbit, or Halfling did his share else I would have followed my uncle King Theoden to the halls of our forefathers that very day for the power and evil of that wraith was beyond comprehention.'

 For two hours the child asked questions and her great aunt answered quietly and little Aeowyn's parents exchanged proud smiles and the elves beamed on the beautiful child in their midst.

 "I wish I could do a mighty exploit like you, it fills my mind nearly day and night, it torments me' concluded the child as the table began to be cleared of the morning meal.

 There has been peace a great while now child and only pockets of resistance to the rule of the Kings has been felt in the more eastern parts of the lands. But do not wish for such an evil thing Aeowyn, just living , just getting through all the ordinary trials of life takes enough courage. i would not wish back those days of fighting and weariness and grief for anything.'

 But long after her great aunt had departed the child could not shake the things she had heard. And as the years passed something in her heart resisted marriage and a home of her own. She stayed mostly with the beautiful fine horses that filled the stables of the soldiers, always being tried and tested to be war ready in case such a thing was needed at any time. Grooming the horses, riding them alongside the men who had long given up trying to disuade her,Aoewyn grew in beauty and skill and any of the men would have been proud to take her for wife, well at least any of those more highly born, for it was the rule no one who was not of kin stature or at least a proven man of valor and courage could even ask.

Although one soldier and a kinsman Thedamer the Tall had become a good friend and tugged at the heart strings of the now young woman,the longing to prover herself kept her demenor like hoarfrost so that he said little of his feelings.

And now, at the age of twenty here was Aeowyn the second lost from her kinsmen under the mountain and rumours of orcs banding in small groups along the west side of the mountain had come to the Riddermark and alarmed the people. Against every argument the maiden had gotten her way and dressed like a boy accompanied the sixty men and horses on the hunt to destroy the lairs and the orcs too if possible. Lost in thought the young woman had taken a wrong turn and before anyone noticed and could turn back they were assailed by about eighty roaring orcs who had cunningly followed behind and gave no warning but just ripped the men from their horses and killed with joy.

 The maiden had heard the din and dismayed to find herself alone had turned back, but her horse, well trained though he was shied and cried out when an orc came into site. He tried backing away to protect his mistress but he was felled by an orc blade hurled at him. He landed screaming, nostrils flaring on his side and before the orc could harm the steed further Aeowyn , terrified , whispered, good bye dear friend and killed him quickly, then leapt from him.

Orc and maiden stood still staring at one another. Aeowyn had never seen anything so hideous, filthy and evil and her legs buckled and she felt it hard to take a breath. This was the thing she had longed for all her life since seven and now that the moment had come home was all she cried out for in her numbed mind.

 The orc smiled and lifting his hideous head let out a scream so blood thirsty the girl brought her short knife to her own throat , she would not let this thing have the satisfaction of slow torture and worse.

Then the words of great aunt Aeowyn came slowly as if in slow motion across the still frozen senses of her name sake.
"Bravery is an act of moving forward in the face of abject fear.' And with those words  the maiden moved toward the orc. She felt in a dream but a tiny voice somewhere said' if I must die let me die in a way that will give me honor and be worthy of a song.

The orc reached out and swiftly cut the woman's arm and she cried out. And then she stared at his eyes and while he still laughed and screamed she aimed between them and let her knife fly. The creature stared at her for several seconds and with a whimper fell backwards and made no more sounds.

Then Aeowyn remembered her comrades and ran swiftly through the woods to where the battle was raging. Only half of the soldiers remained alive and with wisdom and great skill they fought the enemy. She joined in and after a while only three orcs were left and they turned and fled, two without weapons. Horses once proud and beautiful and free now lay all across the ground , some with still horrified expressions in their noble eyes.

The rest of that day and into the night bodies were buried and marked that the people could come back and do right by their kin, and the proud horses dragged into a clearing and burned with their costly trappings amidst bowed heads. Thedamer said words of great beauty over the fallen men and steeds and it was then that Aeowyn looked up , her eyes dry, her face white from shock and as she listened the tears finally fell and a sudden longing for home and her own house and for this man burned in her usually cool breast. After the all was done and those on horseback each took another with them , leaving only a few soldiers alone the sad procession made careful way, always looking out for the enemy and at least on the third day came home. Much wailing and sorrow filled the air as the people saw the few come back and Aewynn's parents wept with sorrow and joy that their only child came home.

 The months following saw the nearly entire army of those mighty proud people , joined with those from Gondor and other places routing the enemies until once more in the winter of that year peace came again. Aeowynn and her new husband talked of many things, but to the maiden talk of mighty exploits held no golden aura. She was busy readying   her home for the first heir that would come into the world.

amazing story leelee

ta;, that is very kind. I admit I have no time really so I just write down what I write, end of story. when i get some real time, in the fall maybe i shall do a great deal of research and then write a proper story.

Turin, your story evokes a great sadness that our professor was so apt at. thankyou.

I do believe I'm going to try my hand at writing a short horror tale.

I'll post it in this thread once I am done Smile Smilie


My way of writing could best be described as chaotic. I might write several chapters of a story and then stop to read it. Usually at that point I simply delete most of it and restart from a previous point. Most of all I never write down any notes regarding my writings because the story lives and constantly evolves inside my head and usually when I've taken the time to write notes they will be completely obsolete the next day ^^


Edit: It turns out Im not one for short stories Smile Smilie I will make it a journal entry instead.