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Thread: A Sharpened Sword

  1. #1
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    A Sharpened Sword

    A/N: So, Yeah... This here is something I've been working on. People keep telling me I'm writing a book, so I guess I am. Do take note that his here is a prologue and that I'm absolutely terrible with titles. Ask me to Write something and I can probably do it. Ask me to make a good title and I'll relply "You're as good as I am."

    Prologue

    The faint sounds of war could be heard in the distance. Battles being fought in every region of the world. The era of warring states had begun. A world where none could live peacefully. The world was torn between nations, villages and clans. Though at the top, two clans had been allied for many years, the two clans who were revered as the strongest, in their own respective fields.

    The one specializing in spiritual warfare, the Moonstrider clan. And the one specializing in sheer warfare, the Nightstrider clan. Out of all the clans ravaging the land, these were two of the few to have made peace, as well as settle down as a village.

    In the horizon, the sun could be seen rising up, radiating the first rays of sunlight. The orange and red morning sky seemed fitting for the scenery taking place on one of the many battlefields to come that day.

    A sharp gleam of sliver flashed through the early morning rays, a gleam that was quickly silenced by a red streak flying through the air. Red liquid lashed against the shining blade, coating the tip almost completely as its victim fell to the ground, a head rolling along the grassy plains as the sword-wielding figure moved onwards to his next target.

    A figure clad in black flew through the battlefield, his victims letting loose loud shrieks of pain, only to be silenced as their limbs fell off of their bodies. Heads rolled on the earth, hands went flying through the morning sky, torsos were shredded apart, all this violence being brought with a single flick of his wrist.

    The enemies still standing before the dark clad warrior were barely numbering ten. Most of their own forces were either dead on the ground or squirming before the might of a single swordsman. All of his enemies were supposedly the strongest of a rivaling clan, yet he alone stood against them, striking each and every one of them down, leaving none alive in his wake.

    A blood soaked blade was struck into the ground as hands flew through seals, hands which were coated in the blood of his fallen foes. As the figure's hands stopped weaving through hand signs, he brought one of them up to his mouth, holding two fingers up while the rest were down. A bright spark formed near his cloth covered mouth, only to be engulfed as a large ball of fire rushed forth from his mouth, quickly burning anything in its path. Charred flesh could be smelled in the air, loud screams erupted from those still alive, yet they were soon silenced as everything was seared and burned away, leaving only a small army's worth of skeletons, most of which had cracks along their arms and skulls.

    Hands weaving through another set of seals were seen in the morning sun. This time coming to a halt in front of the figure, both intertwined together in front of his chest. At first, nothing happened. Yet, with the passing of time, a strong wind blew past the region, funneling away the scent of death.

    The figure's breath came out in ragged gasps. Even for him, manipulating an element whose presence was merely secondary, was a taxing job. Black medium-length hair fell before his closed eyes, sweat coating most of his clothed body. Black pants rested snugly to his thighs, though ending as loose slacks near his feet. A tight singlet ran across his chest, though slightly modified with an added piece of cloth to cover everything below his nose. A black headband went across his forehead, with a metal piece protecting the center of said forehead. Along his back, a midnight black sheathe was placed, being held up by a leather strap entering the back of the man's singlet. And before him, still fastened in the ground, was a black hilted blade with a red gem stationed in the middle where the blade met the hilt, a thin dark grey guard rested around the red gemstone, making it all the more difficult to properly wield the sword. The blade being made of a combination of silver and iron, reinforced with titanium over the ages to solidify it.

    Letting loose a small sigh, the boy opened his eyes, revealing dark red irises with three black markings circling around within. Pushing the sword further down, the figure slowly pulled it out, having let the earth itself clear away the blood covering most of the shining blade. Flicking his sword over his head, the boy placed it within the black sheathe, moving forwards, away from the crisply burned land before him. Making his way home, to rejoin those who would wait in the midst of war.

    The scent of blood could be felt on the air for the rest of the day. While the feeling of adrenaline was replaced with both dread and sorrow.
    He was tired of war. It had to end. Somehow.

    And so, the black clad figure headed on home, leaving the charred bones and the pools of blood for the earth to consume.

  2. #2
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    I felt like I see a movie on television, thanks for your text conciliator

  3. #3
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    Omferas hit the nail on the head,it reads more like a movie script than a short story. I am not a "Dialog" fan as it is used as a paragraph filler when the writer runs out of story flow. You have an interesting story line that requires broadening.

  4. #4
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    Thank you so much. I feel like this here could work as a move, but then again, let's start with books before going over to something like movies. Though I do highly appreciate how people seem to like this. I have my doubts, I'm not good with titles, and the self-doubt that comes with wanting to post something for others to see is scary. But if we, the community, can't upload anything. Then who will?

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