|Topic Review (Newest First)|
|08-09-10 10:28 AM|
Hey, thanks for the advice!
I never really noticed how much I repeated the same 3 words!
|08-07-10 05:42 PM|
As an aspiring professional writer there are a few litttle things that i've noticed here which i think you might want to adress.
Originally Posted by TheJolt View Post
Watch your repetition, you've used a lot of him, he, and his throughout the story which adds an air of mystery but will get very repetative and start to read a little like a shopping list. Above is the worse case in your story. In 4 and a half lines you have used 6 hes, 6 his and 3 hims.
Originally Posted by TheJolt View Post
maybe something like "fiery light flooded from the well of loathing within his soul."
You also don't mention a change of scenary after you have introduced the sparring ring, consequently it isn't obvious wether the warrior is still in the training ring or not. I assumed not but the lack of backing automatically makes the reader envision each battle as being in the same place.
Aside from that i really like the whole theme of the story, the proving of worth to the emperor and such. Your pace during the combat sequences is also very good and drags the reader in. Keep it up.
|08-07-10 11:52 AM|
|08-05-10 06:26 PM|
Hey Hey Hey, that is pretty good! I like it, nice job.
|08-05-10 04:02 PM|
Super short story.
This is my shot at a super short (Under 500 words, more than 400)
By the way, anyone who was Reading 'Upon the flaming fields' I am very sorry for it dying, I just couldn't keep up. Sorry guys
Well here it is....
“Do you consider yourself worthy?”
“Then show me.”
He danced around the sparring ring like a natural born fencer. His training blade flashed and sliced, whirled and parried. His feet moved with the lithe agility of a ballet dancer, but his form was muscled like a weight lifter. He struck swiftly, striking his foe a trio of blows. His mastery of blade was evident.
“Good, but I need more.”
The ork swung wildly with a filthy, crude axe. He parried with the skill of a warrior, like he had trained to do so long ago. His blade crackled with power a million times the superior to his training blade. He swung once, twice, three times. All the blows met their mark; the ork reeled back, holding the stump of its left arm.
But it was made of sterner stuff.
It came at him again, its axe throwing his blade to the ground. He leapt out of the way of a decapitating blow, rolled from a swing that would have bisected him from brain to balls. He lost sight of his blade in the swirling one on one. He grabbed for his bolt pistol, as he done so the ork smashed him from his feet. He hit the ground hard, mud squelched under his black armoured bulk. He lifted his bolt pistol.
The ork bellowed in triumph as it stalked towards him, intent on the kill before it. He fired.
The ork toppled over, its slack jawed head was naught but a mess of bone, brain and blood. His mastery of bolter was evident.
The daemonette danced around him, laughing wickedly. Its bladed limbs lashed out, slicing into his flesh like a razor. It hissed and stabbed into his shoulder joint, breaking his collar bone.
He roared in pain, crackling energies gathered in his hands, blue lightening fizzled down his entire body. His black armour began to smoke, unnatural energies singed his skin and hair.
The daemonette recoiled as he looked it in the eye, fiery light emitted from his eyes. He raised his hand and made a fist. Every bone in the daemonettes body was ground to dust, every artery burst and every cell starved of oxygen. It fell in a crumpled heap. And so did he, his powers drained him, and for the last time he spoke.
“Enough?” He asked, then he died.
“Enough for three services as a Marine,” Boomed the voice, “Come; walk by my side, your kind is needed in the final war, by my side.”