So, i have been thinking recently that i would like to begin writing a fantasy novel in the vain of george martin and R.A. Salvatore. This is what i
have so far.
Please be brutally honest.
He awoke with the warm irony taste of blood still lingering in his dry mouth. Slowly he pushed himself to his feet brushing off the growing sheen of
frost, not truly realizing how groggy he was until he was standing fully erect. His head spinning, he surveyed the carnage around him; a battlefield
it seemed. The carnage displayed here was immaculate. Impaled corpses lay strewn about the sparkling ground, blood freezing in pools. The ravens had
clearly been at these poor men. How long had he been out here he wondered silently. At his feet lay what appeared to be the burnt out remnants of an
old torch and beside that a dagger inlaid with gold and a few shabby gems. “What the hell happened here” he said, still taking in the
gore that surrounded him. Then like a whisper: “pick them up.” “Who’s there?” he shouts, but no one is there to answer. “What happened
here? Who am I? Answer me dammit!” He screams at the top of his lungs, making a show of his frustration. “Pick them up.” “Pick what up? Who
are you, forget that, where are you? Am I dead? What the hell is going on here? Please answer me!” “Pick them up.” Bending down, the man picks
up both the torch and the dagger.
“Now, that’s much better, did you really have to wait so long? I mean, what else have you got to do?” This startled the man. The voice was
like none he had ever heard, much because he was not, in fact, hearing it. The voice was in his head. Spinning full circle, searching, he says
“Where are you speaker? Show yourself!” Then, “Now, now, Greyven. Do not be so hasty. What if I had an arrow trained on the back of your
head? I could let fly this moment and you would never know what happened. Alas I cannot do that. You see, Greyven, the beautiful dagger you hold,
At this revelation the man known as Greyven dropped the dagger, as soon as the weapon hit the ground with a dusty dry thud, the whisper. “Pick it
up.” Not sure what else to do Greyven picks up the dagger and immediately the voice fills his head. “What are you some kind of bloody imbecile?
Have you gone mad Greyven? Just listen to me, for once Greyven, just listen. Can you manage such a daring feat? Can you listen? Just stand there and
bloody listen? Please, it would make this much easier for the both of us.”
Confused but not sure what else he can say he replies, “Yes, of course. Please, speaker, tell me what has happened here.” The speaker made a sound
most closely related to a sigh. “Right, I will tell you, it’s not like I have a choice to begin with. If you haven’t noticed I’m a thrice
damned bloody dagger! Well, I’m not a dagger so much as my life force has been trapped in here by… never mind. What we have to do is get off this
battlefield before the Mercy Men get here. Do you still have your compass Greyven? You keep it on your belt.” As Greyven was moving his hand to his
belt he caught the slightest glimpse of what seemed to be the silhouette of a man moving beyond the horizon.