Etzador
02-14-2006, 06:48 AM
OK this is the introduction to a story I wrote. It's only a draft and i'm not the best of writers. But I'd apreciate any advice. It's also not exactly Warhammer related, but i hope that doesn't matter.
---Updated version is at the bottom of the pageish---
Introduction
Upon the horse sat a young man, of sixteen summers or so. He had blonde hair, which whipped past his face as he rode, with deep brown eyes, the type of eyes that look wise, yet friendly too. He was well built, wearing simple garments, which suggested at his poverty. His most distinguishable feature was a scar, which stretched down from his temple, to his cheekbone. Other than that he was in perfect condition. Over his shoulder he slung a longbow and quiver, this was his pride and joy, he had crafted it himself a few months ago, since that time he had quickly escalated in skill. At first it had been a frustrating ordeal, missing the entire targets from short distances, but one day something clicked, and all of a sudden he could hit a bull’s eye, and since then he had lengthened his range considerably. This mans name was Etzador, and he had no idea of the fate which lay before him.
The sun was beginning to sink below the horizon; a few feeble rays of light gave the landscape before him an orange glow. Golden-yellow leaves floated gracefully from the boughs of the trees and a warm breeze gently ruffled his fair hair. Etzador longed to stay in this spot forever, he felt totally at peace here. He loved the way that the undemanding dirt path wound away into the distance, the way that the humble mounds gently nudged the landscape into absorbing patterns, the way that the trees dotted the landscape, adding texture and decoration to the sight. But most of all, Etzador loved the backdrop, in the distance the ice capped mountains rose above everything, they seemed like an authority upon the countryside for miles around, frowning upon every bad deed committed in the serene location.
Etzador spurred his horse into action, and they galloped through the scenic stretch of heaven, the speed of the flight making his eyes water. Birds erupted from their nests in the dwindling leaves as he sped by and the very grass quivered as they passed, as if it were overwhelmed at their combined speed and power.
As the sun set, a cheerless farm, which was also Etzador’s home came into view. It was as if fate was saying; welcome back to hell. This was the only civilisation for miles around; Etzador felt his deepest sympathy for any traveller who happened to wonder across this foul abode. His foster parents had wanted a secluded location, for their son’s safety, but this simply depressed Etzador. He longed to see the fabled cities of old one day and wished that perhaps in the future, the cities could be renowned because of his own great deeds too. But those hopes faded many-a-summer-ago. He wasn’t that great an archer, thousands were better than him, but it was an entertaining hobby, and it kept his mind off of the filthy life at home. On the left was a stone barn, Etzador’s training had started as an excuse to get away from that dank place, he’d often had to clean muck out from the pigs’ pen, or mend the thatched roof in the rainy periods. His foster parents wanted him to “get some exercise”, instead of wondering around the farm and getting in the way. But once he realised his arching potential he hadn’t missed a day of training, rain or shine. On the right was a wattle and daub house, beams zigzagged the exterior of the building to give it extra support. Yet these beams seemed to make little difference, as the rickety shack looked as though a gust of wind could upturn it. As worthless as the house was, it was still home, so with a sigh Etzador left the plains of his dreams, dismounted, and led his horse by the reins to the barn.
Inside the barn was worse than the outside, it was damp and gloomy, the walls were caked in dirt and any form of cleaning just ended up plaguing the rag with filth. Etzador ushered his steed into the stable and locked the gate. He patted her head; she had jet black fur, with a pure white diamond on her forehead. Hence her name - Diamond. Etzador kissed her forehead and turned to leave; he pushed the two barn doors together and placed the bar in to keep it shut tight. As he trudged towards the house he gave a final look around,
“Until tomorrow”, he said to the world, as he stepped inside towards a certain boredom.
---Updated version is at the bottom of the pageish---
Introduction
Upon the horse sat a young man, of sixteen summers or so. He had blonde hair, which whipped past his face as he rode, with deep brown eyes, the type of eyes that look wise, yet friendly too. He was well built, wearing simple garments, which suggested at his poverty. His most distinguishable feature was a scar, which stretched down from his temple, to his cheekbone. Other than that he was in perfect condition. Over his shoulder he slung a longbow and quiver, this was his pride and joy, he had crafted it himself a few months ago, since that time he had quickly escalated in skill. At first it had been a frustrating ordeal, missing the entire targets from short distances, but one day something clicked, and all of a sudden he could hit a bull’s eye, and since then he had lengthened his range considerably. This mans name was Etzador, and he had no idea of the fate which lay before him.
The sun was beginning to sink below the horizon; a few feeble rays of light gave the landscape before him an orange glow. Golden-yellow leaves floated gracefully from the boughs of the trees and a warm breeze gently ruffled his fair hair. Etzador longed to stay in this spot forever, he felt totally at peace here. He loved the way that the undemanding dirt path wound away into the distance, the way that the humble mounds gently nudged the landscape into absorbing patterns, the way that the trees dotted the landscape, adding texture and decoration to the sight. But most of all, Etzador loved the backdrop, in the distance the ice capped mountains rose above everything, they seemed like an authority upon the countryside for miles around, frowning upon every bad deed committed in the serene location.
Etzador spurred his horse into action, and they galloped through the scenic stretch of heaven, the speed of the flight making his eyes water. Birds erupted from their nests in the dwindling leaves as he sped by and the very grass quivered as they passed, as if it were overwhelmed at their combined speed and power.
As the sun set, a cheerless farm, which was also Etzador’s home came into view. It was as if fate was saying; welcome back to hell. This was the only civilisation for miles around; Etzador felt his deepest sympathy for any traveller who happened to wonder across this foul abode. His foster parents had wanted a secluded location, for their son’s safety, but this simply depressed Etzador. He longed to see the fabled cities of old one day and wished that perhaps in the future, the cities could be renowned because of his own great deeds too. But those hopes faded many-a-summer-ago. He wasn’t that great an archer, thousands were better than him, but it was an entertaining hobby, and it kept his mind off of the filthy life at home. On the left was a stone barn, Etzador’s training had started as an excuse to get away from that dank place, he’d often had to clean muck out from the pigs’ pen, or mend the thatched roof in the rainy periods. His foster parents wanted him to “get some exercise”, instead of wondering around the farm and getting in the way. But once he realised his arching potential he hadn’t missed a day of training, rain or shine. On the right was a wattle and daub house, beams zigzagged the exterior of the building to give it extra support. Yet these beams seemed to make little difference, as the rickety shack looked as though a gust of wind could upturn it. As worthless as the house was, it was still home, so with a sigh Etzador left the plains of his dreams, dismounted, and led his horse by the reins to the barn.
Inside the barn was worse than the outside, it was damp and gloomy, the walls were caked in dirt and any form of cleaning just ended up plaguing the rag with filth. Etzador ushered his steed into the stable and locked the gate. He patted her head; she had jet black fur, with a pure white diamond on her forehead. Hence her name - Diamond. Etzador kissed her forehead and turned to leave; he pushed the two barn doors together and placed the bar in to keep it shut tight. As he trudged towards the house he gave a final look around,
“Until tomorrow”, he said to the world, as he stepped inside towards a certain boredom.