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Kazim
26-01-2010, 21:21
Hello :)

In my spare time recently I wrote a prologue to (hopefully) a short story about the life of a warrior priest. I'm not a great writer, but I figure the only way I will improve is if I can get some feedback. So seriously, rip it apart. I really want to get better at this. Ok, here goes.

Initiate
Prologue: The Eye of the Storm
Corpses littered the plains. The cold beauty of Kislev had all but vanished, replaced by the brutality of war. The snow was stained red, as far as they eye could see. Karius carefully stepped over the mound of flesh that used to be inhabited by a captain of the empire. With a sigh he briefly recalled how nervous the man had been before the battle. He looked into the soldier's eyes; they were once so full of life. Now they were blank and blind, twenty one summers of life cruelly cut short. He sighed again; such scenes were repeated too often for his liking. Finally he was able to wipe those thoughts away from his mind. Now was not the time for brooding, his concern should be for the living.

He glanced around once more; the scattered survivors looked to him for support. What was he supposed to do? The grand army of the empire was all but shattered destroyed, the general slain along with his officers in the last attack. They had fought well at first, but against the unrelenting tide of chaos it was ultimately hopeless. As a reflex his numbed fingers grasped at the pendant around his neck. Faith filled his heart. His eyes blazed with fury. No, he thought. With faith, all things are possible. The fatigue in his body vanished in an instant, replaced with boundless energy. He was a warrior priest of Sigmar, and he would not go down without a fight!

He bellowed orders, assembling the soldiers before him. They staggered into formation but they had a mission, and they would not fail. The battles of the last few weeks had turned scared boys into hardened soldiers, but they were close to breaking point now. Their courage was shaken; the night had seen too many comrades’ dead, too many horrors unleashed. Just one more push, he had to make them go into battle one last time, or all was lost.

‘Soldiers of the Empire, I will not lie to you. Our chance of surviving the coming storm is slim, our strength has faded, and victory seems beyond our grasp. We could run. We could flee. But at what cost? We have come so far, we have lost so many friends. Too many friends... But if we give up now, it will all be for nothing!’ Karius had their attention now. ‘Those of you who are losing hope, remember your comrades. They died for our cause and in doing so they have shown courage above and beyond those bastards on the hills. Do you think the Empire was made in a day? No. It was forged against the bloodied anvil of battle; our Lord Sigmar prevailed against countless foes for it. Our friends have given their lives for it, and I am prepared to do the same. Are you?’ Backs straightened, eyes gleamed and swords were held tightly in bloodied fists. Karius could not shake the familiar feeling of guilt. For his actions would see more men dead before the day was done.

Trumpets sounded, the northmen had returned. They had been beaten off once by the warm blooded heroism of the men of the empire and they were determined that it should not happen again. The two battered armies faced off against each other, each warrior picking out an adversary in the coming battle. There would be no tactics, no grand stratagems or carefully laid plans. There would only be the clash of steel and the spray of blood. Karius spotted the leader of the army and scowled, there would be a reckoning. ‘Sons of Sigmar! For the Empire!’ and with that, the slaughter began in earnest. Vultures and other, darker predators gathered at the promise of a coming feast. But before the armies clashed, Karius clutched his pendant, and remembered.


Thanks for reading :) Comments would be appreciated. I will try and write chapter one up before the end of the week.

Kazim