Post by ForgottenExistance on Mar 8, 2013 13:48:17 GMT -5
Alright, so this is my first time writing a fanfiction. It's practice for Writer's Craft, so I'll be changing my style a little here and there. Go easy on me! XP I appreciate constructive criticism though!
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The sound of the door opening inside the small wooden shack broke the silence of the building, and opened the single room to the light of the outside world. The building was revealed instantly, casting the cozy home into the warm, natural light from outside, save for the single silouhette in the doorway. The room was pleasant, with a single bed with wool for padding, and a pair of stitched blankets for warmth, opposite the wall that the door opened from. Next to the bed was a wooden desk, with small, rough carvings of different scenes along the edges, but was mostly solid in the center where someone could write on without worrying about their quill going through the parchment due to imperfections in the wood. A simple chair with half of a back served as the perch for whoever used the desk, and was positioned in front of the desk to waste as little room as possible. A fire pit in the center of the room had a spit rod sitting on top of it, to dry or cook food if need be, though the fire was doused at the moment; the wood in the pit was fresh and ready to be lit. Stone surrounded the fire pit, to prevent any embers from catching on the wood, and also was raised enough to ensure no one could accidentally step into the pit itself. A larger slab of flat stone was nestled into the wood next to the bed, and had a few old burn marks into the surface of it, mostly all in a semi-circle or circular pattern. There were no decorations or windows, no weapons mounted anywhere, no heads stuck on the walls. The only other piece of furniture that would be considdered not in use was the single wood and iron chest that rested at the foot of the bed, securely locked and fastened.
The feminine figure in the door surveyed the room for a few moments before crossing the threshold and walking into the building with silent confidence. The female stopped at the chest and turned around to face the sunlight, squinting a little as she ensured that nothing had changed since she had last left. With the sunlight on her, the female was obviously pale, with fair skin that was only broken by a few small scars along her jaw line and neck, and more than a few on her slender arms. Her hair was long and blonde, slightly curly and left loose behind her shoulders, save for a single slim braid that fell over her left temple. A solitary raven's feather was left tied in the braid, hanging downwards in a manner that suggested that it was forever frozen at the moment before falling, though was actually secured. Her soft hazel eyes remained squinted against the sunlight for a few moments before they adjusted, and relaxed into their usual shape. Her eyes never remained still though, they shifted from object to object with determination, ensuring that everything was exactly how it was before. When she was satisfied, she nodded to herself, then reached her right hand over to her left and started unwrapping the white cloth she had wound around her palm and forearm there. She pulled and unwound until her arm was bare, then repeated the process with her opposite hand, until the scarred flesh of both her arms were revealed. Most of the cuts and bites were healed over and long-since faded, though others that were more severe remained obvious and raised. Bundling up the wraps, she threw the wad of cloth over her shoulder so it landed on the bed.
The female sighed softly and straightened out her green shirt, setting it properly over the white wolf fur mantle she had on her shoulders. She made sure it was aligned properly with her fit pants, then kicked her hide boots off and pushed them back against the chest. As the boots hit the chest, another figure walked through the doorframe. It sauntered over into the building and walked on all fours over to the stone slab on the ground. The dragon was covered in glossy black scales, the only distinct appearance of the dragon was the slightly lighter shade of scales on it's hide, giving the dragon the look of a manta-ray's colour pattern. Turning her head to the fire pit, she spat a bolt of vibrant blue flames into the wood of the pit, which quickly caught and set the room in the warm orange glow of the fire. Her long black wings folded up against her back, and she lowered her head before letting loose a stream of fire onto the stone slab. She spun around a slow circle, burning the stone the whole time, before finally settling down on the now-warm stone. The Night Fury lowered her head onto her foreleg, content to rest around lazily as she watched her human.
Though the human had no real reaction to the dragon entering her home, she gave a little smile at the appearance, and admitedly gave a small chuckle at her companion's fire show. She quickly walked around the fire pit and rounded the door, quickly shutting it before turning to the lit room in admiration. She walked back over to her chest and knelt down, taking a key from her pocket. She held it up in the firelight for a few moments, looking over the iron design of it for a few seconds before she quickly slid it into the lock and turned it, the latch snapping back with a loud click. The girl hesitated for a few moments before she pushed the trunk open, and reached inside. Shuffling for a moment, she stood with a leatherbound book in one hand, and a small wooden carving in the other. She walked over to her desk without a word and set the book down in the center of her desk, then the wooden carving just above it on the desk.
The human stood there for a few moments, staring down at the book and the carving hesitantly, and a little worriedly. It was a good minute later before she reached down and flipped the book open to its first empty page, watching the firelight flickering over the blank page. She reached up and pulled her inkwell down to the side of the book, and slid her chair out for access. She slowly eased her way down into the chair, and pulled herself forwards into a comfortable position. She hesitated a few moments before she reached up and pulled her quill from the upper level of her desk, giving it a quick dip into the inkwell. She brought the quill to the empty page, and stared for a few moments at the page. She didn't notice that her companion had gotten up and walked over quietly. When the dragon pushed her muzzle against the human's arm, she blinked and looked over in surprise, caught off guard for once. The dragon murrled quietly in her reptillian manner, looking concearnedly at her human. After a few moments, the human gulpped, then gave an axious smile and nodded, "Yeah, I'm fine...thanks," she said quietly before turning back to her book. She took a deep, shakey breath, then started dragging her quill against the page, with her dragon watching supportingly over her shoulder
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Ingrid Asgeir the Swift
The written documentary of the Hunters of The Night
The written documentary of the Hunters of The Night
"We are the silent guardians, the watchers in the darkness. We see all. We live by what nature provides, and with this skill, we fufill our purpose; to defy our enemies with the fury of the wilds. We rangers have been the guardians of our homes, our families, our legacies for generations...and now, it is your turn. Go now, my dearest daughter, and let the protective embrace of the night engulf you. Odin guide your bow, and darkness protect you."
Those were the last words I remembered my father telling me clearly, the closest thing to a goodbye I've ever gotten. Everything since then was...blurred, and rushed. I feel as though I should honor him in my own way, now that he's gone. I can't say that I'm all that sad...you can't mourn someone you barely had the time to know. But he was my father, and I loved him. And now, the best way to respect him is to write this doccumentation of what I remember of him.
If I'm going to make sure that people remember him, I'm going to have to start from the beginning. Write everything that I remember about him, and everything I've ever learned from him. This way, if I die, then someone else will be able to learn about the last Hunters of The Night...and maybe, if I'm lucky, then someone will don the mantle of the Hunters after I'm gone. This way, my father will never be forgotten, and his ways will live on, even if they're not continued.
The other vikings always ask me why I'm so dedicated to fighting, to making myself better... They'll never know what it's like to be thrown into the wilderness when they're barely out of their childhood yet, or what it's like to have to lead a charge on a Zippleback nest when they're only fourteen. But hopefully, this book will ensure that no one else has to endure such a brutish method again, and the Hunters of The Night will one day become somthing better.
When they ask me what my story is...I don't tell people. I don't need to tell people because they don't need to know. But I realize that if I died in my sleep, then there would be no one but Tempest to remember who I really was. This book will serve as a way to remember who I truely am as well, and maybe show someone else who I am.
So they ask me what my story is? Well...this is my story.
Those were the last words I remembered my father telling me clearly, the closest thing to a goodbye I've ever gotten. Everything since then was...blurred, and rushed. I feel as though I should honor him in my own way, now that he's gone. I can't say that I'm all that sad...you can't mourn someone you barely had the time to know. But he was my father, and I loved him. And now, the best way to respect him is to write this doccumentation of what I remember of him.
If I'm going to make sure that people remember him, I'm going to have to start from the beginning. Write everything that I remember about him, and everything I've ever learned from him. This way, if I die, then someone else will be able to learn about the last Hunters of The Night...and maybe, if I'm lucky, then someone will don the mantle of the Hunters after I'm gone. This way, my father will never be forgotten, and his ways will live on, even if they're not continued.
The other vikings always ask me why I'm so dedicated to fighting, to making myself better... They'll never know what it's like to be thrown into the wilderness when they're barely out of their childhood yet, or what it's like to have to lead a charge on a Zippleback nest when they're only fourteen. But hopefully, this book will ensure that no one else has to endure such a brutish method again, and the Hunters of The Night will one day become somthing better.
When they ask me what my story is...I don't tell people. I don't need to tell people because they don't need to know. But I realize that if I died in my sleep, then there would be no one but Tempest to remember who I really was. This book will serve as a way to remember who I truely am as well, and maybe show someone else who I am.
So they ask me what my story is? Well...this is my story.
