Post by Gunther Rall on Aug 25, 2006 1:41:49 GMT 1
this is the prologue of the story which my poem i posted goes with
let me know if you like it and if you want me to post more
Prologue
A lone figure wandered through the field of long grarse, seemingly lost as he looked about, bewildered and confused. Shaggy brown hair hung down in front of steely gray eyes in his battle-hardened face. A scar ripped from his forehead above his right eye, down across the ridge of his nose, and out through his left check. His eyes showed much experience in war and conflict. Perhaps they revealed too much about the stranger from the mountains. The figure stood over six feet tall and wore a light shirt, trousers, leather boots, a heavy leather vest, and a long black hooded coat to hide his visage from prying eyes. A quiver full of arrows and a bow of iron wood was strapped over his shoulder by a single leather strap encircling his lanky frame, and a sword hung from a tattered leather sheath on his belt and swayed with his uneven step as he staggered through the seemingly endless field. He looked at the bright red sun sinking into the horizon ahead of him and stopped to watch it as it slipped behind the distant forest, casting growing shadows of distant trees around the lone stranger.
“Two days journey west of here,” was what the old man at the Fallen Stone Inn had told him. He had asked for directions to a small village which was said to be haunted by the spirits of those who once inhabited the village. The small clan of shepherds and hunters had been killed by a disease brought by travelers from the east, seeking shelter from a fierce thunderstorm. The travelers had grown immune to the disease but the small village was easily defeated by the illness from afar. It was said that they had left only their spirits to tell their tale of sorrow.
“They say anyone who goes there never returns,” the old man had warned the stranger. “It is a cursed place. I warn ye not to go there, my friend.”
“Save your warnings for someone who cares, old man,” the stranger coldly responded.
“I meant no offense, sir, begging your pardon,” the old man avoided the piercing gaze of the traveler.
“You are forgiven,” the man replied as he disappeared through the door into the darkening evening, headed for he desolate village.
“God-speed, my friend, and may God protect you as you travel!” the old man called after him into the darkness.
He never helped me before…I don’t really think he cares now, the man thought to himself as wandered off into the darkness.
let me know if you like it and if you want me to post more
Prologue
A lone figure wandered through the field of long grarse, seemingly lost as he looked about, bewildered and confused. Shaggy brown hair hung down in front of steely gray eyes in his battle-hardened face. A scar ripped from his forehead above his right eye, down across the ridge of his nose, and out through his left check. His eyes showed much experience in war and conflict. Perhaps they revealed too much about the stranger from the mountains. The figure stood over six feet tall and wore a light shirt, trousers, leather boots, a heavy leather vest, and a long black hooded coat to hide his visage from prying eyes. A quiver full of arrows and a bow of iron wood was strapped over his shoulder by a single leather strap encircling his lanky frame, and a sword hung from a tattered leather sheath on his belt and swayed with his uneven step as he staggered through the seemingly endless field. He looked at the bright red sun sinking into the horizon ahead of him and stopped to watch it as it slipped behind the distant forest, casting growing shadows of distant trees around the lone stranger.
“Two days journey west of here,” was what the old man at the Fallen Stone Inn had told him. He had asked for directions to a small village which was said to be haunted by the spirits of those who once inhabited the village. The small clan of shepherds and hunters had been killed by a disease brought by travelers from the east, seeking shelter from a fierce thunderstorm. The travelers had grown immune to the disease but the small village was easily defeated by the illness from afar. It was said that they had left only their spirits to tell their tale of sorrow.
“They say anyone who goes there never returns,” the old man had warned the stranger. “It is a cursed place. I warn ye not to go there, my friend.”
“Save your warnings for someone who cares, old man,” the stranger coldly responded.
“I meant no offense, sir, begging your pardon,” the old man avoided the piercing gaze of the traveler.
“You are forgiven,” the man replied as he disappeared through the door into the darkening evening, headed for he desolate village.
“God-speed, my friend, and may God protect you as you travel!” the old man called after him into the darkness.
He never helped me before…I don’t really think he cares now, the man thought to himself as wandered off into the darkness.