I was at home and board so i desided to try my hand at writing. this is what i have so far come up with, just the opening. Please read, enjoy, and let me know what you think 
Even the stars hid themselves from it. Hope faded as darkness grew, its inky black roots creeping over every soul. Yet hope, however small it may be, was there, far off but still within the grasp of those who sought it.
The crimson thorns of evil scrapped into the shields of those who sought that hope. Those last desperate few who fought off the waves of daggers, swords and spears were being choked.
As the last stand fell back from the smothering growth of evil, hope seemed further than any could reach. Then it came, a great wall of glinting silver wrapping itself around those who still reached for it, cutting evil back from that last safe refuge.
His arms moved in elaborate circles as the silver of the great blade moved with his command, slicing a path through the jungle of evil. Hope had come. Hope had helped.
The great fighters, the last survivors, those who sought refuge and hope followed the path, the looming stems of darkness held at bay.
They followed, days turning into weeks, and weeks to years and still they followed hope. Upon that last island of safety they travelled, until 100 years later they found the safety they had preyed for. And so the blade of silver light protected them, so long as the mysterious sorcerer known only as hope, lived.
“Surely that’s not true?”
The bearded man’s eyes cut from the dying fire where they had been lost whilst the story was recited.
“Why would it not be true? Why shouldn’t it be believed?”
His eyes dropped in shame, how did the old man always make him feel guilty? He chanced another glance at that bearded face; the smile seemed too wide to be natural, the shadows dancing across the wrinkles around his unblinking eyes. Elvig felt a cold wave hit him despite the heat of the old man’s hut. Elvig remained silent, expecting the beard to move and the quiet but powerful voice to sound. When he realised the old bard had said all he wanted to, he climbed out of the chair placing the small cup gently onto the oak table. Upon reaching the door he threw one last glance at the bard to see him gazing into the embers once more.
His oilskin coat did its up most to keep him dry against the steady wall of water falling before bouncing on the ground and coming up to greet him again. Elvig didn’t see the point in running, it would take him a good 5 minutes to run the distance between the bards hut and his mothers shack at the far end of Middling, by which time he would be soaked through anyways. Leaning forwards to help his body up the winding hill street he saw it, just sitting there under the gushing water on the street.
*
Most people don’t like rain this heavy, but it was one of those odd few who did. It meant his victims could not see him coming behind sheets of water, nor hear his foot steps above the drum of rain. From inside his cloak he threw down a pile of gold coins before pulling out the dark pebble, now held aloft in his bony palm. It glided backwards from the coins, disappearing into the concealing gloom.
There he was. The mark came scurrying along, leaning forward against the uphill struggle. Just a few more yards until he would see them. What if he missed them? 10 yards. It might be weeks before he was ready again, then he would have to face the master empty handed. 5 yards. No, he would see the coins, he was certain of it. Just 2 yards from them. He clutched the pebble in his fist.
Elvig glanced around. Why were there coins on the road? Had some wealthy traveller dropped them by mistake? His insides screamed out ambush, but surely they would have attacked already, he had been standing for near enough a full minute. He dropped down and scooped up the coins. At first he didn’t notice, but as he put his foot forward to walk on, the gold coins now safely in his pouch, he didn’t move, he carried on walking, his legs moving normally, but he was not going anywhere. Panic hit him as he realised his feet were around an inch of the ground, so no matter how hard he ran, he never moved. He reached into the pouch desperately trying to get rid of the source of the curse. He sensed it before he saw the other person. Now gliding towards the stricken Elvig.
A hideous screeching laugh sounded from its lips as he saw his victim struggle to reach the ground. He had him. At last master would be pleased. Pointed teeth glinted from under the hood.
thanks for reading
Even the stars hid themselves from it. Hope faded as darkness grew, its inky black roots creeping over every soul. Yet hope, however small it may be, was there, far off but still within the grasp of those who sought it.
The crimson thorns of evil scrapped into the shields of those who sought that hope. Those last desperate few who fought off the waves of daggers, swords and spears were being choked.
As the last stand fell back from the smothering growth of evil, hope seemed further than any could reach. Then it came, a great wall of glinting silver wrapping itself around those who still reached for it, cutting evil back from that last safe refuge.
His arms moved in elaborate circles as the silver of the great blade moved with his command, slicing a path through the jungle of evil. Hope had come. Hope had helped.
The great fighters, the last survivors, those who sought refuge and hope followed the path, the looming stems of darkness held at bay.
They followed, days turning into weeks, and weeks to years and still they followed hope. Upon that last island of safety they travelled, until 100 years later they found the safety they had preyed for. And so the blade of silver light protected them, so long as the mysterious sorcerer known only as hope, lived.
“Surely that’s not true?”
The bearded man’s eyes cut from the dying fire where they had been lost whilst the story was recited.
“Why would it not be true? Why shouldn’t it be believed?”
His eyes dropped in shame, how did the old man always make him feel guilty? He chanced another glance at that bearded face; the smile seemed too wide to be natural, the shadows dancing across the wrinkles around his unblinking eyes. Elvig felt a cold wave hit him despite the heat of the old man’s hut. Elvig remained silent, expecting the beard to move and the quiet but powerful voice to sound. When he realised the old bard had said all he wanted to, he climbed out of the chair placing the small cup gently onto the oak table. Upon reaching the door he threw one last glance at the bard to see him gazing into the embers once more.
His oilskin coat did its up most to keep him dry against the steady wall of water falling before bouncing on the ground and coming up to greet him again. Elvig didn’t see the point in running, it would take him a good 5 minutes to run the distance between the bards hut and his mothers shack at the far end of Middling, by which time he would be soaked through anyways. Leaning forwards to help his body up the winding hill street he saw it, just sitting there under the gushing water on the street.
*
Most people don’t like rain this heavy, but it was one of those odd few who did. It meant his victims could not see him coming behind sheets of water, nor hear his foot steps above the drum of rain. From inside his cloak he threw down a pile of gold coins before pulling out the dark pebble, now held aloft in his bony palm. It glided backwards from the coins, disappearing into the concealing gloom.
There he was. The mark came scurrying along, leaning forward against the uphill struggle. Just a few more yards until he would see them. What if he missed them? 10 yards. It might be weeks before he was ready again, then he would have to face the master empty handed. 5 yards. No, he would see the coins, he was certain of it. Just 2 yards from them. He clutched the pebble in his fist.
Elvig glanced around. Why were there coins on the road? Had some wealthy traveller dropped them by mistake? His insides screamed out ambush, but surely they would have attacked already, he had been standing for near enough a full minute. He dropped down and scooped up the coins. At first he didn’t notice, but as he put his foot forward to walk on, the gold coins now safely in his pouch, he didn’t move, he carried on walking, his legs moving normally, but he was not going anywhere. Panic hit him as he realised his feet were around an inch of the ground, so no matter how hard he ran, he never moved. He reached into the pouch desperately trying to get rid of the source of the curse. He sensed it before he saw the other person. Now gliding towards the stricken Elvig.
A hideous screeching laugh sounded from its lips as he saw his victim struggle to reach the ground. He had him. At last master would be pleased. Pointed teeth glinted from under the hood.
thanks for reading
