Eczman20
06-25-2005, 11:10 AM
First two paragraphs of a prologue:
The sun, setting on the horizon, had painted the sky a bloody red, and turbulent black clouds thundered in the distance. A glittering sea of sand and burning rock stretched into the distance in all directions, the fiery waves of desert abated only by the roaring downpour that the swirling black clouds unleashed. However, even the monstrous sounds of the approaching storm were drowned out by the feverish cries and screams of the battle. The arid plains seemed awash with men as great hordes clashed together. Thousands upon thousands lay dead upon the baked ground yet many more remained fighting in a titanic battle. Countless horsemen streamed around a great body of men, archers filled the sky with arrows and catapaults hurled enourmous rocks into the air, thudding down upon the battle with sickening crunches. Slighly apart from the main battle stood two groups of men, swathed in black, hurling immense forces each other, the air between them sizzling with power. Occasionally a stray soildier would stumble into the crackling air, immeadiately turning into ash.
Aran ducked with a sudden jolt as a sword whirred inches above his head. Rolling away, he came up to see his attacker lose his head to a great moon shaped axe, and he stumbled as he stared at the man in horror. He could feel men all around him. Frantically twisting, he blindly stabbed at the press of bodies surrounding him and felt his rusty sword meet slight resistance as it slid into the stomach of a nearby soldier. He yelled in triumph. Abruptly, a look of dismay entered his face and his cry cut short as he struggled with the sword which caught in the man, desperately trying to pull it free. As the man fell, he pulled Aran with him. Landing among the mutilated bodies of the dead, strewn all over the ground, he scrambled onto his knees. As he frantically tried to find a sword among the mess he could feel a sticky carpet of blood cling to his clothes. Suddenly, he retched, hit by the appalling smell of rotting flesh. Rolling about, he tried to regain his feet but suddenly felt a heavy boot stamp down on his head from the above battle. Slowly a blackness seemed to engulf him. As he limply resigned himself to it, he slowly fell among the bloody carpet of bodies on the floor, his eyes closed.
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What you guys think?
The sun, setting on the horizon, had painted the sky a bloody red, and turbulent black clouds thundered in the distance. A glittering sea of sand and burning rock stretched into the distance in all directions, the fiery waves of desert abated only by the roaring downpour that the swirling black clouds unleashed. However, even the monstrous sounds of the approaching storm were drowned out by the feverish cries and screams of the battle. The arid plains seemed awash with men as great hordes clashed together. Thousands upon thousands lay dead upon the baked ground yet many more remained fighting in a titanic battle. Countless horsemen streamed around a great body of men, archers filled the sky with arrows and catapaults hurled enourmous rocks into the air, thudding down upon the battle with sickening crunches. Slighly apart from the main battle stood two groups of men, swathed in black, hurling immense forces each other, the air between them sizzling with power. Occasionally a stray soildier would stumble into the crackling air, immeadiately turning into ash.
Aran ducked with a sudden jolt as a sword whirred inches above his head. Rolling away, he came up to see his attacker lose his head to a great moon shaped axe, and he stumbled as he stared at the man in horror. He could feel men all around him. Frantically twisting, he blindly stabbed at the press of bodies surrounding him and felt his rusty sword meet slight resistance as it slid into the stomach of a nearby soldier. He yelled in triumph. Abruptly, a look of dismay entered his face and his cry cut short as he struggled with the sword which caught in the man, desperately trying to pull it free. As the man fell, he pulled Aran with him. Landing among the mutilated bodies of the dead, strewn all over the ground, he scrambled onto his knees. As he frantically tried to find a sword among the mess he could feel a sticky carpet of blood cling to his clothes. Suddenly, he retched, hit by the appalling smell of rotting flesh. Rolling about, he tried to regain his feet but suddenly felt a heavy boot stamp down on his head from the above battle. Slowly a blackness seemed to engulf him. As he limply resigned himself to it, he slowly fell among the bloody carpet of bodies on the floor, his eyes closed.
----
What you guys think?