# my 1000 words beginning. how does it seem to you?



## riderus (Jul 1, 2013)

Hi!

Here's a draft, and if you told me what you think of it I'd be grateful!

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_Drizzling was melted on clothing fur, as bareheaded men and oxen waded through the mud. In this presence of the northern, there were the ten dragging some hundred unfortunates, who had to exchange their freedom for the freedom of oxen.

In the wild, the ten were the masters, regularly taking care of their faces' hirsute ornaments. Their hoods were replaced by the strength of the iron, which was shaped in forms of beautifully crafted art helmets. After all, their helmets, swords and axes were honestly earned. No, noone could resist them. They would overcome any army, and take their prey. At the beginning, when they yawled together and left their places, there were a hundred of them.

Once again, it started to drizzle.

Some of the few hundred bareheaded put several items of fur so as to take care of their head. At the moment, that fur provided for them to be distinguishing from the non-human beasts of burden.

Looking from the height from where it drizzled, one could clearly measure the number of those who were pulling the pray's sleighs. One could also estimate the number of the owners of the prey, which were divided into several tactical groups to control their yoked humans and cattle. A couple of them were drunk and were laughing amused. They liked the mead that they had welcome after leaving the makeshift sauna in which they mercilessly flogged each other using birch branches. The snowing was becoming heavier but they did not seem to mind about anything anymore.

One, called Rodhart, who gave his hood to an elder slave, was no longer free to take care of his fields and forests, and his cattle and horses. Now, from sunrise to sundown, from rain to snow and hail, from great famine and excessive thirst, he could only admire the manes and musclef of the ten horses driven between his sharp-looking eyes and the dullness of the rest of the slaves.

Down, from where he willingly set out, there was his place. To get from here to there it would have taken a day's journey on foot, which meant from sunrise to sundown. There his property lay. From there, the heart of the Empire could have been reached in one hundred days' journey. 

That great Empire near his country taught him and his people that one always ought to learn. His slaves knew that they could always expect hunting and ploughing, bows, arrows and axes. His master blacksmiths, former traders from the eastern lands, his blacksmiths taught how to make his blinding and most sharpened spears and swords and axes and anything that could cut air too, as well as how to design the beautiful helmet. For the practical use of those, it was the most mighty Empire that would always find the best way.

Therefore, Rodhart was powerful. 

His nation was surrounded by other nations. And those tribes were apparently surrounded by the fear of the sky falling back to the ground. His nation also heard rumour of such a possibility. The druids, the people of the forests and the groves, knew all the sacred sources, and streams of fresh water. They were reknown for their learning which was the direct result of their giving in to the misterious meanings of some of the always bloming nature's diverse characters.

''O, King! Sky will not fall! We, your druids, know that all the streams are murmuring in its direction! But!, O king! Shall we therefore bring our deeds to a halt, and no longer believe that it shall begin to fall? It shall fall, o king! Coming are the hundred!''

The heavy, iron times came, carrying the battles' scents: pants, shirts, fur boots. The farmers' crops failed. People have turned to mud and hunting. Horses whose loins grew full of bruises, wore the heavy weapons. 

Rodhart took hundred men skillful to everything that the sword, the spear and the ax meant. His hundred fighters, determined to  learn and carry out his intentions were giving him no peace.

''Men! Druids have said that the fertile land, the land of pray, from which our enemies are coming to us - is not far! Vethart, the son of Brothart, whom you all think highly of, along with me, you know that I've sent over the hill where we will meet our attack, dismount and ease our horses! The sun goes down, and he still has not returned! What do we do?'', echoed Rodhart's voice all over him, dragging the young tree branches of the large trees on the edge of the wood.

'' Let's wait!'' Apthart the son of Kuthart, did not wait for his king to even turn his head toward him, but he was already to the kings left, continuing:

''The son of Brothart has already collected two dozen ax, and is waiting for our horses to load it! He has put thirty swords in his belt! It must be so! Let's go to the mountain!''

The warriors could not wait for the opportunity to drive their horses to leap, not uttering anything. They expected the well known king's look, the look that would always give them the foretaste of the celebration following a glorious victory.

''Kuthart has a famous son! Come here Aphart at my right hand!'', the king approached Kuthart, handing him the honor.

Aphart's horse felt a blow to his right loin and the gold bridles retreated his head to the right. The son stopped the overeager horse placing him ahead of his king, and stood motionless.

''Brethren! I stand in front of our king which I - no longer - recognize! Did you hear?''. Rodhart drew the polished sword and swung towards his traitor's horse, the accompaniment overhead him though. Behind the king, as swift as thunder two of them dismounted, and each of them scored his arms underneath the white mane of the king's horse. The horse, by his undetermined movements innitiated the possibility of the forthcoming death of the king, and tumbled across the ground, trapping the king's right leg.

''Dear guards of mine ...! Come on ...!'', called the lightheaded Rodhard to the Ten troops who'd joined the others, and who none of this unit hadn't seen to that day.
Each guard and at the same time drew his sword and ax, and solved the issue of the king's safety. Twenty fell. 

From the direction of the hill rode the Eleventh and, at a gallop, focused his arrow towards the Aphart's right shoulder. All that the infirm Aphart could sense on his palm now was the arrowhead and the warmth his own blood. He relied on his horse's neck, awaiting one more arrowhead, this time right below his left shoulder.

King Rodhart was on his feet, and watched the eleventh who was tightening his bow while nearing the unit whose singularity, it seemed, had now been restored.

''My king...! Commands!'', said the eleventh after having lowered his head to his sovereign, and loosening his bow which was now pointed toward the ground. Moments later he took a good look of his king, and pointed the once again tightened bow, at the sky. _

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Any links to estalished fantasy websites and/or fantasy publishers accepting unsolicited manuscripts, for me to quiery, you may be aware of? Thanks in advance! Do get in touch!


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## Steerpike (Jul 1, 2013)

Riderus:

Welcome to the site. Pieces for critique has to go in the Showcase forum, however, and you have to make five posts before you can post there. It's a minimal requirement, but it keeps people from just signing up to get feedback and then leaving the site without ever returning the favor or contributing in any other way. Once you meet the minimal requirement for access to that forum, you can post this there for feedback.

Thanks for your understanding, and I hope you enjoy the site.


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