Contest type:

Writing Battle Scenes -

This contest type means exactly what it sounds like, writing a battle scene for a story.

Weapon Type:

There is no weapon type for this contest

Rules:

1. Needs a short pre-story history
2. Needs character descriptions (What they look like, what their wearing, etc.)
3. Needs short character bios
4. Needs a setting
5. Needs to be at least five paragraphs
6. ONE ENTRY PER MEMBER

[B]Only post entries in this forum. Any discussion is to be done in the discussion thread which I'll set up in a second. Any discussion posts in here will be deleted, not moved.

[COLOR=green]Legal, technical and general hoo-hah:
- The judges decision (i.e. mine) is final.
- I shall accept no bribes, death threats or violent beatings from those of you who know me.
- The rules will be obeyed or there shall be Repurcussions (muahaha, etc.)
- The prize shall be decided, er, when I have decided.

[SIZE=7]ENTRIES TO BE IN BY: 30th April

Gemsykins:-

The three of them were walking down the woodland path.
"If I sudenly came under attack, I'd expect you to come and help me, you do realise that, don't you?"
"Of course Maddy."
"What makes you think that you'll come under attack? We're in the middle of nowhere!" Madeuz eyed him distainfully.
"You know, for the villages leader's son, you're actually pretty thick."
"Well, thats not necassary!" Lathor stumped off the path into the woodland.
"Oh, now look what you've done." Madeuz went to follow him. "Don't worry, I'll go get him. You carry on walking, and I'll meet you somewhere along the path."
"Cheers Marthen."
"No problem." He smiled at her, before walking off into the woods, following Lathor. Madeuz walked along on her own for while, imagining Marthen's smile. She smiled herself. He was quite good looking really, his blue shirt matching his eyes, his dark hair untamed,much like himself. She enjoyed him company.
"I hope you find Lathor alright." It was to no-one in particular, but suddenly, she sensed a change inthe atmosphere. She could here footsteps coming up behind her; a runner. She hoped dearly that it was Lathor and Marthen, but the chill dow her spine told her otherwise. She drew her sword and span round, meeting her attackers blade. Staring into his eyes, she chided him.
"It's rude to sneak up on people, you know that?" To her suprise, he answered back, showing off his blade skills as she deflected every blow.
"I've been told that a sneak attack is the only way to defeat you. That or two on one." They moved backwards across the path, heading towards the woodland.
"No, the only way to defeat me is a two on one sneak attack." She drove him back, awa from the woodland, suspecting more lurking behind the trees. She was right. Another one ran out.
"Souldn't be too difficult then." He ran at her while she was parrying with her first attacker. She dealt attacker number two a sharp smack in the stomach with her stout walking stick she always carried.
"But if you've heard all these things about me, surely you should know I won't give up without a fight?" Both attackers were now coming towards her, swords raised. he smiled a half smile - one of grim determination. I she was going to die, she was going to take the assasins with her.
"Bring it on." They charged her, one going for her feet. She jumped it neatly, landing close to the other, sending him backwards with her sword. The other came up behind her, hoping to kill her from behind.
"I don't think so." Spinning her sword round to face behind, she stabbed backwards, defending herself with her stick. A small gasp told her that she had hit her mark. She brought her sword round to face the front again, suprise on her attackers face.
"Your turn now." He came at her again. Putting up her two weapons in the form of a cross in front of her, she fought off his blow, twiddling her sword in a fancy manouvre. He paused, giving her time to send a blow at his sword hand.
"I love that trick. Dumb fools like you stop to watch the sword, instead of attacking." His reflexes kicked in, and he moved his hand to parry the bow in the nick of time. Maduez cursed under her breath. All she had done was created a gash on his hand. Throwing cauion to the wind, she charged, sword pointed at her adversary. She was suprised when the only reaction he made was a deathly gurgle and slumped to the floor.
"That was easy. Wonder what happened there." She checked to see if there were any more would be killers in the trees. Empty. She bent down, wiping her sword on the dead mans tunic.
"Guess a two on one sneak attack desn't defeat me." There was a pause. "And where were you when I needed help?" She looked up, Marthen and Lathor looking stunned.
"We didn't want to interrupt."
"Yeah, you looked so in control."
"Didn't want to spoil your flow." She sheathed her sword, regarding the pair with a new air. She looked as though she was about to laugh into a full scale rage, screaming at the pair of them about how useless they were, when they had talked about it merely moments before the attack. Instead, she simply said
"Honestly, men!" Before smiling coyly at them and walking off. Marthen and Lathor exchanged looks, unable to believe what had happened.
"Are you two going to stand there all day or are we going to keep moving?"

BatchGC:- I'm not entering, I just like showing off my writing!

Author's Note: This is actually an extract from one of my novels. The names, story, situation, etc., is copyright of me. If thou steals it, Thou shalt feel my wrath and be impaled on my BigStick™

There was the sound of a flame igniting in the quiet night, and the room filled with light as someone lit the room’s only lantern.
“Long time no see,” a voice greeted him. It was a familiar voice, riddled with satisfaction and malice.
“I’m disappointed, Thirin,” the thief spat, “The memorial service was a month ago and it’s taken you this long to track me down.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, traitor,” the reformant laughed, “I don’t waste all of my resources on tracking you down. Why bother when I know where you are for one day of each month? This month’s meeting was a bit empty, wasn’t it?”
“You’ve got a spy in the Guild, haven’t you?”
“Not a spy, just a man who can’t decide where his loyalties lie. I believe he even told Paocu about the bank job we planned. It doesn’t matter who he betrays, so long as he serves both sides.”
Jolku glared at Thirin. He had been expecting this for a while and then, just as he had thought that they weren’t coming, they had found him.

The reformants had once been a part of the Thieves’ Guild. It was comprised of roughly half of the thieves, all of whom blamed Jolku for the near-destruction of the Guild. The Vigilia investigation, the lives claimed by the Battle of Cresote, the conviction and execution of the Master Thief; the reformants found an incredible hatred for Jolku in these events, and were determined to punish him for them. At a meeting after the Battle of Cresote, Thirin and a few other thieves had tried to win support in their claims against Jolku. They were unsuccessful, so Thirin led his supporters against the Thieves’ Guild. A ruthless battle had ensued between those that did not blame Jolku and those who did. Jolku and his friends emerged victorious and the losers dispersed into the sewers. News came that the thieves that had left had created a new organisation, known as the Reformants. The Reformants were only allied in their common goal; to overthrow the Thieves’ Guild. Their principals, however, were varied. Some shared the wealth with each other, some killed their victims; the Reformants took the concept of Thieving back to the standards of the Ancient Times.

Thirin, leader of the reformants, grinned at him. His face, disguised by the shadow of his hood, portrayed a feeling of incredible glee. He stood and drew his sword.
“You were easy to track down,” he said, “And you still choose inn rooms with easy access.”
As these words passed Thirin’s lips, Jolku saw two thieves climb up onto the balcony and walk into the room. The two of them drew their swords. Jolku backed away, drawing his own sword.
“So you’re just going to kill me?” Jolku spat, “You’re a disgrace to thievery.”
“The only disgrace here is you,” Thirin said, now drawing his own sword and leading the two towards the retreating thief, “Risking the very existence of the Guild, just to go riding off with some elf woman and an admiral. I’ll bet you told him all about the Guild didn’t you?”
“He already knew,” Jolku replied, bumping against the door, “The Master Thief was his brother.”
“Why should we believe you?” Thirin asked, “All you’ve ever said and done has reduced the Guild to the cowardly state that it’s now in. Tonight, we are doing the Guild a favour.”

Jolku gave up waiting for the inevitable. He knew he couldn’t defeat these three at the same time, so the only option was to get out. Very quickly. The window seemed to be the best bet, as he would reach the streets rapidly and could make his way deeper into the city.

He raised his sword and swung it towards Thirin, who masterfully blocked it with his own blade. The reformant on the left brought his blade towards Jolku’s side, but the thief jumped to the right, watching with glee as the sword grazed the reformant leader.

Thirin growled with anger and knocked his ally out of the way, lunging at Jolku. Jolku stepped aside, the blade puncturing his cloak before puncturing the third reformant who had been approaching from behind. In the confusion, Jolku swung his own sword at Thirin’s arm, but the leader was quick to react and parried, sending Jolku’s sword flying across the room.

Without a word of warning, Thirin lunged at the young thief once more. Jolku’s lightning reflexes kicked into action and he leapt backwards, easily avoiding the blade. The thief leapt over the bed and retrieved his sword, rolling to the side as the second reformant’s blade pierced into the floorboards next to him. He leapt up and punched the man in the face, knocking him to the floor. He stepped over the shocked form of the henchman and parried Thirin’s advancing blade. Thirin pushed the two blades closer to Jolku, his eyes burning with fury. Jolku, overwhelmed by the older man’s strength, kicked out at his enemy’s legs, sending him to the floor. He jumped over him, ducking as the second reformant swung his blade at his neck. Jolku stood up fully, ignoring his two enemies and ran through the balcony doors.

The reformants’ ropes were there, hanging down into the street. He leapt at the first rope, swinging his sword at the second and third. They cut cleanly, coiling slightly as they fell to street level. The rope in his hands slid through the grip of his leather gloves and he gracefully slid to the cobbled pavement below. As soon as his feet touched the ground, he gave the rope a hard tug and it went limp in his hands, falling elegantly away from the balcony. Already he could see Thirin and his colleague aiming their bows at him. Spinning on his heels, he ran into an nearby alley, the two arrows ricocheting off the walls either side of him, and he disappeared into the night.

He had underestimated the Nitharods size. He had expected a test at first. To see how prepared they were. That is why he ad positioned his troops as he had. Very useful if against a small force but against numbers like he saw at the moment. He didn’t even want to think what would happen. A plan suddenly formed in his head. If he had prepared a defence against relatively small numbers he would have to shorten down their numbers. Although his plan put him at great personal risk he had done tasks similar to it before. This time he would just have to do it about twice as quickly.
He kicked off and Erieth Leaped into the sky. This is what Darien loved, Flying. He giggled gleefully as Erieth suddenly turned making him tilt at the most peculiar angel and then as he drew close to the rear ranks of the Nitharods the prospected of what he really had to do struck home and he went grim. Never before had he have to do a task as daunting as this. He may be not only a great tactician and a blade master such as the world had never seen. He may have the will to bind not only the Reyas to him but also the great dragon Erieth.
He had bound Erieth to his will about two years ago from the land of celandoria where dragons are as common as people. Or at least they were until he came to expect too much of them and took them to war with the Dark Lord. Now they were a dying race. Over those years dragons lost almost half of what they lost in that desperate battle. That is if you can call it a battle. Better to call it a slaughter. The dark lord himself came out to meet the attack with number around him he will never see again. How many minds has the dark lord corrupted? How many people could possibly want to live eternity in a world where the light of day never broke the night. The Dragons charge in that battle was met by the dark lord and shattered. None of the people around the dark lord died. They didn’t do anything at all. It was then that he realized what he lacked. How can you expect to beat the dark lord if the Reyas didn’t support you?
In this battle he knew he could stand. He may lose about three quarters of his army but he will win. He hardly realized he had landed as tactics streamed through his head. Spearmen at the front of the infantry holding their spears down. Wait for the charge and let them run into them. Have the archers in front of the infantry shooting at them until they are about 50 yards away then have them run back and your cavalry charge in. In the confusion you should be able to kill quite a few of the Nitharods before they know what’s happening. Then have the cavalry retreat. The Reyas should then blast them and then retreat. By that time the archers should be in a position to start firing again. Keep going round in a circle like that until you have given as much ground as you can possibly give and then finally have your infantry cut down the rest of the extremely confused shorten downed enemy.
Darien liked tactics like this. Mainly because he was extremely lucky. If anything went wrong whilst you were doing that such as someone fails to retreat then you might as well have not been there and just watch the people die defencelessly. However if they did work then it is amazingly effective. Darien would have ordered his troops to do that but they couldn’t afford to give any ground at all. Just behind this valley. No more than a mile away was the capital city of Kerlothen and if the Nitharods Got remotely close to it they would ransack it and burn it to the ground. Darien could not afford for that to happen. Even though it was only one city it had taken the lead in the defence. There were things there that they could not afford to lose. The battle around him was about to get going.



well, what do people think, it could do with a bit more work but it's getting there

bit of information for you on the story,
first off darien is very arrogant (if you didn't pick that up in that) this is made more obvious later
secondly this is a prologue (part of) darien dies at the end of it
thirdly darien is a fool, he has no idea what to do in battle (although he thinks he does) and uses tactics that in general don't work (again you might have guessed this)
forthly his "luck" is the competant generals bailing him out
fithly the nitharods are deamonic entities created by the dark lord

(there is more i could tell you about it but i can't be bothered)

most of this becomes evident in the main story set later on (obviously)

it sucks doesn't it, i should just give up now

p.s if you want me to answer some questions on it ask me on the otther thread, im sure theres lots in it that doesn't make sense

Hmm, this intrigues me. Time to take some steel wool to the rust upon my pen...

*Ahem*

The doors of the inn creeped open, and the three large shapes entered into the dark shadows. The fire, which had been roaring in fury an hour ago, was nothing more then dying embers in a sea of black ash. They walked quietly, passing from shadow to shadow, into the back room. The innkeeper, a short fat man with a long brown beard, slept on a long crate, with a tattered blanket bundled at his feet. He awoke just in time to feel the first blade plunged into him, before falling into the eternal blackness.

As they ascended the stairs, one of the shapes began to shudder slightly. He had evaded them for three weeks, dodging from each small town to the other, with them behind him, leveling the buildings as they passed. They had begun to worry they would not reach him in time, but that threat was now squashed, as he would soon be.

They walked more swiftly down the hall, paying little heed to the noise they were making. Though the doors had no definitive feature, they could feel the call of what he was keeping from them. By the time they reached the door, they were so frantic that what should have been a quiet entry turned into an earth shattering blow. They entered quickly, leaving one at the entrance to prevent any escape. Though the room was filled with flamelight, the pale glow made them seem even darker then before.

The two within the room slowly pulled their katanas from the sheaths at their side, pointing the tips at an overstuffed chair in the corner. It was quite an out of place piece for such a shoddy inn, and they were apprehensive of approaching it. A small tuft of brown hair stuck up above the backrest, awaring them of his presence. The only sound in the room was the steady breathing from behind the chair, a low deep breathing.

"You're time is up, Lazarus," one of the shapes hissed. Receiving no response, he continued. "I think it is only fitting that we shall torture you for three weeks, to honor your brave, but futile, stunt."
"I won't go without a fight, demon," Lazarus spat, standing up abruptly from the chair. His body was covered by a long trenchcoat, with a short knife grasped in his pale white hand. "You may kill me, but you will never get the talisman."
"How, may we ask, do you plan on defeating us?" the shadows answered, adding what could only be described as a slice of amusement. "Poke us to death with your little toy?"

With this, the frontmost shade lunged foreward, aiming his blade at Lazarus's throat. Lazarus leapt back, kicking the chair over at them. Hissing in rage, the two shades swung at the chair, reducing it to tinder. Taking slight relief in this, they looked back up at the man, only to find him missing. Within moments, both felt the bite of the blade in their back, a sneak attack from a seasoned theif. But the trick, which would've fell a normal man, did nothing more then anger the shades. As Lazarus attempted a second stab, the shade grabbed his arm and twisted, breaking the arm at the shoulder. Crying out in pain, he dropped the knife to the floor, before being thrown across the room.

As Lazarus grasped at his arm, the shades stabbed into his knees. Screaming in pain, he grabbed one of the shades, pulling towards him. "You can kill me if you wish, but you will never win." Reaching behind him, he pulled a small knife out of his pocket, and thrust it into his chest. Gasping in pain, he slowly bled to death upon the stony floor.

The shades searched the corpse, the room, and the entire inn, but they could not find the talisman. Screaming in rage, they cast the entire villiage into flames. As they cast their destruction everywhere, a small cat watched from a nearby hill, clutching a small medallion in it's mouth. Staring for a moment, it scurried off into the woods.

***

Not my best work, but not too bad for 45 minutes on a rusty mind.

*waves Awod™ and admires the magic*

I hereby close and end this competition. Results will be posted over the weekend, along with the next contest!