HomeStory Time - Thaw
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Story Time - Thaw
by DeeKay_of_Acre Sat Oct 22, 2011 10:41 pm
A couple of you might remember this, but for those of you that don't; I am a writer. The short story behind this is that I got bored and remember Rein wanted an introduction piece... So I did one.
...As is traditional with my short story stuff, I haven't reread and edited this yet, and likely never will. It's a good system.
It was a dank morning, the drizzle from the night’s storm still pittered upon the frozen ground and snow-laden trees as the company trotted onwards. Men at arms all, each was clad in plate and chain of tarnished steel, while what once were magnificent tabbards and heraldic banners hung like sodden rags from their bodies. Onwards they plodded, through the slush of winter, their horses hooves occasionally sinking ankle deep into patches of icy wet mud.
It was a miserable pace, dead set against a vicious chilling wind that stole the warmth from their mouths and froze the tears of exertion from determined eyes, freezing their faces in a single expression of duty. These were men with purpose, trudging through the northern wastes in search of some foreign objective or goal long since forgotten.
At the head of the company rode two men. The first was seated atop a magnificent grey, steel boots clinking against saddle and stirrup as he stared onwards, seeing not the white wastes, sprinkled with the dismal rain that had plagued them for a fortnight past, but rather his ultimate goal, a vision of the future fully known only to him. At his side was a worn steel sword, the blade intricately engraved with a family name and the edge sharpened to a sheen. The sword was old, but it held an edge. The man atop the grey stirred slightly, causing a slight jingle as he turned a wilful eye to his companion.
If the man mounted on the steel grey was to be called majestic, even in his tattered form, then his companion was common. He rode a charcoal steppe horse, bred to be sure-footed upon the northern paths rather than for the great battles and glorious charges that his companion knights and their mounts promised. He was dressed in rags, a tattered white cloth tunic that could at one point have been a rather splendid garment, robbed of it’s splendor by the travel. He did not clink as the others did, but rather snapped, his rough leather boots knocking against the side of his dead-eyed mount, betraying his insecurity atop the beast. He was plainly not a man of the lance. Across his back lay his true calling, a great faded longbow, absent of it’s string. Uncounted notches were carved into the superficial wood, each denoting the life of another unfortunate. The bowman’s expression was one of distaste, for he held no love for the north.
Catching the movement of the man atop the grey, he turned also, absently rubbing ice from his moustache. He cleared his throat and from numb lips spoke, “...Something troubles you, my king?”
The grey rider snapped his eyes to the bowman, his face unreadable, “Prehaps... Or prehaps not. It is those we ride to meet.”
The bowman nodded at that, “Indeed. Those that were once our brothers of us, welcomed no longer by the church.”
“I can’t help but wonder...” The grey rider trailed off for a moment before continuing, “...Are we doing the right thing? Of all the enemies to clash with, why would the church see fit to waste us chasing down these traitors?”
The bowman laughed suddenly, a musical note against the howl of the wind he raised his voice against, “It is our duty, my king. What else do we know? To dispatch the Church's justice against these heretics is a great honour.”
The rider closed his eyes for a moment, turning back to his saddle to mull over his companions words. After a moment, he spoke up against, his voice barely loud enough to be heard over the wind, “We shall hunt down these traitors, and also the unbelievers that harbor them. That is enough for now, old friend.”
Snapping his heels to the charcoal’s flanks, the bowman forced a trot out of the stubborn creature, “For now. Come, we’ve got a fair distance to go... If I am to lose my ears to the cold duty of the church, so be it!”
The king lifted his head, opening his eyes to again stare onto that unseen vision, “...So be it.”
He raised a hand and snapped his heels together, releasing his grey warhorse into a canter. The bowman struggled for a moment to achieve the same before laughing and catching up to the grey rider.. As one, the company that followed them also caught speed, and the roar of hooves against frozen dirt could be heard for miles around. A moment later, they were gone, the echo of their words held in the memory of the trees, spoken aloud by invisible tongues in the snowy mist, punctuated only by the steady drizzle, pattering upon frozen dirt and icy wet mud.
‘Duty’
‘Justice’
‘Honour’
...As is traditional with my short story stuff, I haven't reread and edited this yet, and likely never will. It's a good system.
It was a dank morning, the drizzle from the night’s storm still pittered upon the frozen ground and snow-laden trees as the company trotted onwards. Men at arms all, each was clad in plate and chain of tarnished steel, while what once were magnificent tabbards and heraldic banners hung like sodden rags from their bodies. Onwards they plodded, through the slush of winter, their horses hooves occasionally sinking ankle deep into patches of icy wet mud.
It was a miserable pace, dead set against a vicious chilling wind that stole the warmth from their mouths and froze the tears of exertion from determined eyes, freezing their faces in a single expression of duty. These were men with purpose, trudging through the northern wastes in search of some foreign objective or goal long since forgotten.
At the head of the company rode two men. The first was seated atop a magnificent grey, steel boots clinking against saddle and stirrup as he stared onwards, seeing not the white wastes, sprinkled with the dismal rain that had plagued them for a fortnight past, but rather his ultimate goal, a vision of the future fully known only to him. At his side was a worn steel sword, the blade intricately engraved with a family name and the edge sharpened to a sheen. The sword was old, but it held an edge. The man atop the grey stirred slightly, causing a slight jingle as he turned a wilful eye to his companion.
If the man mounted on the steel grey was to be called majestic, even in his tattered form, then his companion was common. He rode a charcoal steppe horse, bred to be sure-footed upon the northern paths rather than for the great battles and glorious charges that his companion knights and their mounts promised. He was dressed in rags, a tattered white cloth tunic that could at one point have been a rather splendid garment, robbed of it’s splendor by the travel. He did not clink as the others did, but rather snapped, his rough leather boots knocking against the side of his dead-eyed mount, betraying his insecurity atop the beast. He was plainly not a man of the lance. Across his back lay his true calling, a great faded longbow, absent of it’s string. Uncounted notches were carved into the superficial wood, each denoting the life of another unfortunate. The bowman’s expression was one of distaste, for he held no love for the north.
Catching the movement of the man atop the grey, he turned also, absently rubbing ice from his moustache. He cleared his throat and from numb lips spoke, “...Something troubles you, my king?”
The grey rider snapped his eyes to the bowman, his face unreadable, “Prehaps... Or prehaps not. It is those we ride to meet.”
The bowman nodded at that, “Indeed. Those that were once our brothers of us, welcomed no longer by the church.”
“I can’t help but wonder...” The grey rider trailed off for a moment before continuing, “...Are we doing the right thing? Of all the enemies to clash with, why would the church see fit to waste us chasing down these traitors?”
The bowman laughed suddenly, a musical note against the howl of the wind he raised his voice against, “It is our duty, my king. What else do we know? To dispatch the Church's justice against these heretics is a great honour.”
The rider closed his eyes for a moment, turning back to his saddle to mull over his companions words. After a moment, he spoke up against, his voice barely loud enough to be heard over the wind, “We shall hunt down these traitors, and also the unbelievers that harbor them. That is enough for now, old friend.”
Snapping his heels to the charcoal’s flanks, the bowman forced a trot out of the stubborn creature, “For now. Come, we’ve got a fair distance to go... If I am to lose my ears to the cold duty of the church, so be it!”
The king lifted his head, opening his eyes to again stare onto that unseen vision, “...So be it.”
He raised a hand and snapped his heels together, releasing his grey warhorse into a canter. The bowman struggled for a moment to achieve the same before laughing and catching up to the grey rider.. As one, the company that followed them also caught speed, and the roar of hooves against frozen dirt could be heard for miles around. A moment later, they were gone, the echo of their words held in the memory of the trees, spoken aloud by invisible tongues in the snowy mist, punctuated only by the steady drizzle, pattering upon frozen dirt and icy wet mud.
‘Duty’
‘Justice’
‘Honour’
Last edited by DeeKay_of_Acre on Sun Oct 23, 2011 11:25 am; edited 1 time in total
DeeKay_of_Acre- Marshal
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Re: Story Time - Thaw
by Silicium_of_acre Sat Oct 22, 2011 11:40 pm
Great work dk i really liked the bowman part.
Silicium_of_acre- Crusader Novice
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Kondradus_of_Acre- Lord of Acre
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Cropzy- Crusader Regular
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Re: Story Time - Thaw
by Jeez_of_Acre Sun Oct 23, 2011 9:14 am
-being a fervent reader-
*orgasm*
really ice writing ... so, when will the filming be done?
*orgasm*
really ice writing ... so, when will the filming be done?
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Re: Story Time - Thaw
by DeeKay_of_Acre Sun Oct 23, 2011 11:24 am
Heh, the film'll have to wait... It's a fairly simple scene to shoot... Five lines and a bunch of pan shots, but... yeah.
And that's all, Crop. No need to expand any further, story over. Maybe I'll do another one later, maybe not.
And that's all, Crop. No need to expand any further, story over. Maybe I'll do another one later, maybe not.
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Re: Story Time - Thaw
by Kondradus_of_Acre Sun Oct 23, 2011 11:27 am
dude that would be enough to get me to join the faction fo rizzle! just the ending leaves you to your imgination and see where it takes you.
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Re: Story Time - Thaw
by King Reinhardt Sun Oct 23, 2011 1:23 pm
s1137.photobucket.com/albums/n515/KingReinhardt/
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Re: Story Time - Thaw
by DeeKay_of_Acre Sun Oct 23, 2011 1:49 pm
...A grassland background? That's lazy, even for you.
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Re: Story Time - Thaw
by King Reinhardt Sun Oct 23, 2011 2:07 pm
DeeKay_of_Acre wrote:...A grassland background? That's lazy, even for you.
It's not a fucking grassland background. It's unfinished, and I didn't put it in the server. When I need to put it in the server, when I'm fucking around with the code again, I'll put it in.
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Re: Story Time - Thaw
by Timotheus_of_Acre Sun Oct 23, 2011 3:46 pm
Im fucking fuck and fucking for fucking sake and then fucking fuck ill fucking sleep!
Classic Rein style
Classic Rein style
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Re: Story Time - Thaw
by King Reinhardt Sun Oct 23, 2011 4:28 pm
Timotheus_of_Acre wrote:Im fucking fuck and fucking for fucking sake and then fucking fuck ill fucking sleep!
Classic Rein style
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