# Death and Dishonour Competition Writing Sample



## Talonmaster Raptoris (Jul 5, 2008)

GIVE CRITISICM!!!!!!!!!!

It was nearing dawn. The silvery disk mannsleib was at its zenith, faint light piecing the dark clouds that hung over the town of Maja Uvemey. The town’s scarce lanterns smeared orange light over the heaving cobblestone streets providing little light for the citizens, unnecessary though it was. As accustomed to this time of year, most of the townsmen stumbled home roaring drunk after a night of merry-making.

Ayden longed to join them. He wished to drink himself into a stupor and forget himself and the world around him, to forget that chaos ran unheeded through the land. But antonymous to his wish, he stood on the western hills of the hamlet, trembling in the biting chill. He shivered in the predawn cold, his breath a wisp of vapor in the cold. He pulled his fur lined mackintosh closer to his lanky frame, trying to salvage some meager warmth from the icy breeze.

Ayden hated Kislev. He had been posted in this desolate country, for five of the most unbearably miserable months of his two decade long life. Well, this and living with his grandfather. Cur, he thought bitterly it was the old whelp’s fault he was here anyway. He remembered the day he had gotten kicked out of their house. His grandfather had said to him:

“Ayden, you’ve done nothing with your sorry excuse for a life until now, I’ve putt a roof over your head these months while you sit idly watching opportunity upon opportunity pass you by. Now I’ve been patient, but your disrespect will no longer be tolerated. I’ve signed you up for the state garrison in two weeks. Maybe then you’ll learn the virtues of a real man”. So he had left for the Averheim camp, and two months later was shipped of to the north.

He gripped his halberd tighter as a crisp breeze flourished across the hill from the artic bay, carrying with it a tinge of salt as a result of the nearby ocean. That was one of the few advantages of the frozen slum, living by the sea. He had always wanted to be a sailor, but forced into soldier Dom he no longer had that option. Once again, Ayden found himself cursing his grandfather.

The unearthly wind ruffled his hair and coat, questing for gaps in his armor trying to rob his body further of heat. A veteran of three battles, he had seen the monstrosities those woods could send forth. Every groan of timber, every snap of a branch made him more paranoid by the second his hooded eyes scanning the trees for any discrepancy that might merit a battle.

He was just about to relax, when a twig snapped behind him, shattering his repose and the silence. Ayden wheeled around, halberd held high. Abruptly, a searing pain jarred between his shoulder blades in a precise position, igniting the nerves and sending him reeling to the ground. The hoarfrost treated him harshly, his head smashing against the ground with an audible clunk. He watched in mute horror as ornate ebony and gold boots stepped beside him inched from his face. A strong hand gripped his side and turned him on his side, sending a fresh wave of pain through his spine.

His attacker stood before him, face shrouded by the nighttime shadows. In his hand he held a lightning edged sword raised up in a striking stance, blade gleaming in the moonlight. Without further ceremony, the warrior plunged it into his throat. He gurgled as blood haloed from the fatal wound, tasting copper as he choked on his own life fluids. As his vision tunneled, and darkness closed, he wondered if he would see his father in some afterlife, and if his fate was an honorable one.




Aelanos Ta’rion twisted his sword free of the dying sentry’s body, spraying more blood from the already profusely bleeding wound. He wiped the crimson fluid on the frost, disgusted that such weakling blood would taint the unblemished steel of his sword Harrowclaw. Raising it into the light, he flashed the blade three times, the signal for attack. With inhuman guile, his Twilight Fellstalkers slipped from their positions in the wood, and advanced unnoticed down the slope, assassinating any sentries in their way.

Screams began to rise from the town, bringing malevolent amusement to his gaunt features. The archery barrage had already commenced, sending a hail of barbed arrows down on the townspeople. They flitted down the hill silent as phantasms, coming to stop when they reached the rime covered west wall. Three other Dark Elves stood around a weak section in the wall, the masonry eroded and heaving. One he recognized as Scarletta, a Fell Sister of Klar Karond, and the other two he assumed were sorceresses here to perform their craft.

“Are they prepared”?? He asked flatly, pointing to the sorceresses.
“Of course” she replied
“Then I implore you why the gate is not open”? He said, voice dripping with sarcasm. Her eyes burned like violet embers, but her face remained impassive.
“Because my sisters and I were waiting for your sluggish so-called warriors to arrive behind schedule as usual” He smiled in dark humor.
“You wound me, but I have duties to perform, so if your sisters don’t mind….”
“Very well” she snapped, and turned to her coven. They began to chant, and slowly came to crescendo of arcane syllables, and with a sharp intake of air, a helix of cobalt flame erupted into the wall shattering it like glass, opening a large fissure in the wall.

His soldiers poured through the wall like termites into wood blades drawn, and shields raised. They broke ranks and plunged into the slaughter ripping into the ranks of citizens. He charged into the fray, bringing Harrowclaw down on the shoulder of a human, his veins belching ochre paste on the street. He laughed at their pathetic ness and eviscerated three more, their screams giving him great pleasure. His warrior continued their butchery only killing enough to slake their bloodlust, and captured the rest as slaves, leaving a contrail of cadaver, limbs and gore for all to witness.

Glancing down at his most recent victim, his fine ears heard a small sizzling as blood flowed from the stab wound at his heart. Yes, he thought wickedly, blood melts snow.


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## thunderclaper (Sep 12, 2008)

quite good


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## thunderclaper (Sep 12, 2008)

if i where to give it a mark out of 10 it would get a good 8.9 talon
my favourite line was "He gurgeled as blood haloed from the fatal wound, tasting copper as he chocked on his own life fluids


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