Kippur (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
kippurbird) wrote2011-01-18 09:27 am
kippurbird) wrote2011-01-18 09:27 am
Entry tags:
Story? You can has story?
Title: Currently, Lord of Battle Lord of Death, but going to definitely change, oh yes.
Rating: Well, the imagery is sort of weird, but nothing too harmful.
Summary: Corrin, an army scout is sent to watch the revenants. Interesting things ensue.
Notes: This was me trying something completely different. In a completely different world. With no previously used characters. I have no idea where this is going. Though it stands at about 5100 words. :O
The corpses laid bloated like worms in a puddle after a heavy rain. Picking through the battle field with careful steps, the revenant scavengers checked the bodies of the dead. Pale skin with black or white hair each of them gaunt like skeletons they looked for hidden remains of life that could sometimes be found. The lost and left behind; the ones left for dead. As crows cried above them, they would take the almost dead, the dying, hopeless; pick them up and fade away into some other shadowed lands. Watching on the edges, Corrin rested on his heels, a spear across his knees. The revenants would not bother him, they cared not, or could not see the living.
Their ghastly work on the other hand, bothered him; but he had been chosen out of the few survivors of Lord Thallon’s scouts to watch.
“Someone must watch,” Thallon said as he gave the command for Corrin to go. “They must watch so that the glory of battle is always remembered as the devastating business that it is and tell it to those who believe other wise.”
“Why me?” Corrin wanted to ask, but didn’t. He did not question his Lord’s command out loud. Men were few and scattered but Lord Thallon still would punish those who questioned him unnecessarily.
As he set out though, his captain said, “It’s the young who remember it the best for they don’t have the scars and pains that us old ones do.”
And Corrin was young, only seventeen, the next youngest left alive being twenty-eight, and a veteran of several battles. This had been Corrin’s first. He hoped it to be his last. All real soldiers, he heard, wished for each battle they survived to be their last.
Rating: Well, the imagery is sort of weird, but nothing too harmful.
Summary: Corrin, an army scout is sent to watch the revenants. Interesting things ensue.
Notes: This was me trying something completely different. In a completely different world. With no previously used characters. I have no idea where this is going. Though it stands at about 5100 words. :O
The corpses laid bloated like worms in a puddle after a heavy rain. Picking through the battle field with careful steps, the revenant scavengers checked the bodies of the dead. Pale skin with black or white hair each of them gaunt like skeletons they looked for hidden remains of life that could sometimes be found. The lost and left behind; the ones left for dead. As crows cried above them, they would take the almost dead, the dying, hopeless; pick them up and fade away into some other shadowed lands. Watching on the edges, Corrin rested on his heels, a spear across his knees. The revenants would not bother him, they cared not, or could not see the living.
Their ghastly work on the other hand, bothered him; but he had been chosen out of the few survivors of Lord Thallon’s scouts to watch.
“Someone must watch,” Thallon said as he gave the command for Corrin to go. “They must watch so that the glory of battle is always remembered as the devastating business that it is and tell it to those who believe other wise.”
“Why me?” Corrin wanted to ask, but didn’t. He did not question his Lord’s command out loud. Men were few and scattered but Lord Thallon still would punish those who questioned him unnecessarily.
As he set out though, his captain said, “It’s the young who remember it the best for they don’t have the scars and pains that us old ones do.”
And Corrin was young, only seventeen, the next youngest left alive being twenty-eight, and a veteran of several battles. This had been Corrin’s first. He hoped it to be his last. All real soldiers, he heard, wished for each battle they survived to be their last.