katiekitten
The Compromise
Mods, if this is not allowed, please lock/delete it/whatever. XD
...In real life, I held a story contest. I wrote the beginning, pestered people forever, and got a total of two entries before the deadline. And now I'm stuck. >.<
You see, one of the entries was written by a very good friend of mine, and the other entry written by someone who won't even speak to me. They have different styles, focussed on different things, and I have no clue who to choose. I don't want to make a biased choice. So I'm gonna leave it up to you guys...
First off, my beginning:
A wracked sob was swallowed by the agonized screams and yells of war, as men threw themselves at each other, lunging, tearing, their ragged battle cries echoing throughout the blood soaked plains. The hatred that had built itself up over the last decade coursed through their veins, giving strength to their flailing limbs as they strived to tear each other apart.
The opposing sides’ colours stood out starkly against the weathered sands, the gold and silver tunics that so clearly defined them, now covering the many bodies that littered the ground. The noonday heat descended down in unrelenting waves, the harsh light glinting off the unsheathed metal and glaring into the men’s eyes. They ignored it as they continued on fighting, fighting for their lives, fighting for what they believed in.
Black feathers flashed in the noonday sun as ravens danced in the heavens, their cruel beaks curved in wicked grins as they watched the battle below unfold. Their mocking cries were lost amidst the voice of the battlefield, as the warriors continued their struggle. Steel cut through bone and flesh, triumphant roars gurgling to strangled cries as the two sides converged once more, their crimson blood pouring onto the thirsty sands. Bodies fell under the fierce fighting, their sightless eyes staring up at the cloudless skies as they were trampled underfoot. Those that remained merely moving away, their bloodshot gazes fixed upon their enemies.
In war, nothing mattered. You either killed, or were killed, falling under a merciless stroke, your lifeblood seeping into the long starved soil as you awaited your inevitable end. No one to care for you, hold you, love you. At war you died alone.
Forever alone.
Entry 1:
Rawken glided on a warm air current and surveyed the devastation below. Whilst he watched the battle rage on, a sense of calm washed over him; he lingered in the clammy clouds, waiting for the climax of the conflict to pass. Waiting for his chance to feast on human flesh As he watched, the cries subsided and the gold-clad prey slowly prevailed over the weakened silver ranks. The terrible beauty that had emerged from the writhing conflict beneath him was past, the battle triumphed – leaving hundreds of corpses in it’s aftermath. The cries of wounded men floated up to him and with a sharp screech he folded his wings, manoeuvring his agile body into a faultless dive, searching for a soldier on the brink of death. It was, he reasoned, his job to end the suffering of the wounded. Besides, the soft tissues of any prey contained more flavour if the kill was truly recent, with little blood loss. As he neared the ground, Rawken’s sight allowed him to define more and more details, permitting him to distinguish suitable victims from the lifeless and animate. Choosing his man, he expanded his wings, alighting imperturbably on a soldier to the edge of the mêlée, his talons digging into a wound on the man’s side in anticipation. Swiftly, he lowered his head and tore into the flesh beneath his feet, crowing with pleasure at the sound of muscle fibres tearing apart, savouring the delicious taste of fresh meat. His victim’s tortured scream of agony was cut short as Rawken slashed downwards into his abdomen, with a deft precision that was horrifying to observe. Shuffling slightly, Rawken wormed his toes deeper into the man’s side, feeling the warm blood gush over his claws to infiltrate gradually into the ground. With a small sigh of satisfaction, he sliced once again at his prize, gouging out a gory, disfigured organ. Suddenly, a bellow of rage behind him abruptly diverted his attention from the corpse. A man, presumably a comrade of the cadaver he was currently devouring. Instantaneously, Rawken assessed this intruder, taking in the loosely sheathed sword and loaded bow in his hand. Vaguely embittered at having to leave the quarry, he took off. Rawken, despite many flaws, never underestimated anyone and he knew that the human bows had proved themselves as deadly weapons on many occasions. As if to confirm this, an arrow flew past him, missing his wingtip by inches. With a scowl, he urged himself to gain higher altitude from where he would be safe to locate his next meal.
***
Ariya let her bow fall limp by her side and knelt down beside the body of her lover. Tenderly, she brushed his matted hair from his eyes stroked her fingers along the lacerations distorting his once handsome face. His angular features (now streaked with blood from where the raven had assaulted him) were held, frozen, in a look of intense suffering. Blinking back tears, she tweaked the remainder of the tattered gold garment over the worst of the massacred body, and turned away. There was nothing she could do. In her man’s clothing and short-cropped hair she would be expected to continue fighting for her Leader; her Clan – The Hirsrui – until they had seized possession of the enemy standard and finally declared victory once and for all. Forcing down her grief, Ariya swore viciously at the sadistic predators circling overhead and rejoined the fight. Anger and determination for revenge of Jakob’s death spurred her on as she once more joined to combat, her sword glinting maliciously under the sun’s strong rays. She would fight this conflict to the end.
For The Hirsrui.
For Jakob.
Entry 2:
With the last scribbled twist of an ‘n’ and an ‘e’, a bellowing crack of a gunshot filled his thoughts, and pain penetrated his chest, shooting ice cold splinters into his head. He inhaled a choking gasp clogged with blood as he glanced down. He’d been shot squarely in the chest, where oozes of quick, clean, bright crimson blood was now flaring under his jacket.
The splinters in his head cut their way through with their jagged edges, slitting the insides of his brain.
He gasped for oxygen, searching the foggy air for breathe. Then he realised.
He was dying.
The river of blood flowing down to his boots meandered in the creases of his jacket.
He fell to the frosted floor as he watched the river washing its way down to the ground. He gently closed his eyelids and felt the crashes of war melt warmly in the sun as it shone so brightly on the bank, and reflected on the shining river.
“It’s so warm!” A voice came. He had heard the voice so many times before. It was so sweet, he was sure he could eat it. He looked to the river and saw a small head bobbing above the surface. She was smiling. He smiled back and turned away.
He turned for too long, for when he looked again, she was not there, but a fog of dull grey clouded his vision and the toasty warmth of the sun deserted his skin. Blackness surrounded him. But now he knew.
He was not alone.
...Help pwease? o.o;;
...In real life, I held a story contest. I wrote the beginning, pestered people forever, and got a total of two entries before the deadline. And now I'm stuck. >.<
You see, one of the entries was written by a very good friend of mine, and the other entry written by someone who won't even speak to me. They have different styles, focussed on different things, and I have no clue who to choose. I don't want to make a biased choice. So I'm gonna leave it up to you guys...
First off, my beginning:
A wracked sob was swallowed by the agonized screams and yells of war, as men threw themselves at each other, lunging, tearing, their ragged battle cries echoing throughout the blood soaked plains. The hatred that had built itself up over the last decade coursed through their veins, giving strength to their flailing limbs as they strived to tear each other apart.
The opposing sides’ colours stood out starkly against the weathered sands, the gold and silver tunics that so clearly defined them, now covering the many bodies that littered the ground. The noonday heat descended down in unrelenting waves, the harsh light glinting off the unsheathed metal and glaring into the men’s eyes. They ignored it as they continued on fighting, fighting for their lives, fighting for what they believed in.
Black feathers flashed in the noonday sun as ravens danced in the heavens, their cruel beaks curved in wicked grins as they watched the battle below unfold. Their mocking cries were lost amidst the voice of the battlefield, as the warriors continued their struggle. Steel cut through bone and flesh, triumphant roars gurgling to strangled cries as the two sides converged once more, their crimson blood pouring onto the thirsty sands. Bodies fell under the fierce fighting, their sightless eyes staring up at the cloudless skies as they were trampled underfoot. Those that remained merely moving away, their bloodshot gazes fixed upon their enemies.
In war, nothing mattered. You either killed, or were killed, falling under a merciless stroke, your lifeblood seeping into the long starved soil as you awaited your inevitable end. No one to care for you, hold you, love you. At war you died alone.
Forever alone.
Entry 1:
Rawken glided on a warm air current and surveyed the devastation below. Whilst he watched the battle rage on, a sense of calm washed over him; he lingered in the clammy clouds, waiting for the climax of the conflict to pass. Waiting for his chance to feast on human flesh As he watched, the cries subsided and the gold-clad prey slowly prevailed over the weakened silver ranks. The terrible beauty that had emerged from the writhing conflict beneath him was past, the battle triumphed – leaving hundreds of corpses in it’s aftermath. The cries of wounded men floated up to him and with a sharp screech he folded his wings, manoeuvring his agile body into a faultless dive, searching for a soldier on the brink of death. It was, he reasoned, his job to end the suffering of the wounded. Besides, the soft tissues of any prey contained more flavour if the kill was truly recent, with little blood loss. As he neared the ground, Rawken’s sight allowed him to define more and more details, permitting him to distinguish suitable victims from the lifeless and animate. Choosing his man, he expanded his wings, alighting imperturbably on a soldier to the edge of the mêlée, his talons digging into a wound on the man’s side in anticipation. Swiftly, he lowered his head and tore into the flesh beneath his feet, crowing with pleasure at the sound of muscle fibres tearing apart, savouring the delicious taste of fresh meat. His victim’s tortured scream of agony was cut short as Rawken slashed downwards into his abdomen, with a deft precision that was horrifying to observe. Shuffling slightly, Rawken wormed his toes deeper into the man’s side, feeling the warm blood gush over his claws to infiltrate gradually into the ground. With a small sigh of satisfaction, he sliced once again at his prize, gouging out a gory, disfigured organ. Suddenly, a bellow of rage behind him abruptly diverted his attention from the corpse. A man, presumably a comrade of the cadaver he was currently devouring. Instantaneously, Rawken assessed this intruder, taking in the loosely sheathed sword and loaded bow in his hand. Vaguely embittered at having to leave the quarry, he took off. Rawken, despite many flaws, never underestimated anyone and he knew that the human bows had proved themselves as deadly weapons on many occasions. As if to confirm this, an arrow flew past him, missing his wingtip by inches. With a scowl, he urged himself to gain higher altitude from where he would be safe to locate his next meal.
***
Ariya let her bow fall limp by her side and knelt down beside the body of her lover. Tenderly, she brushed his matted hair from his eyes stroked her fingers along the lacerations distorting his once handsome face. His angular features (now streaked with blood from where the raven had assaulted him) were held, frozen, in a look of intense suffering. Blinking back tears, she tweaked the remainder of the tattered gold garment over the worst of the massacred body, and turned away. There was nothing she could do. In her man’s clothing and short-cropped hair she would be expected to continue fighting for her Leader; her Clan – The Hirsrui – until they had seized possession of the enemy standard and finally declared victory once and for all. Forcing down her grief, Ariya swore viciously at the sadistic predators circling overhead and rejoined the fight. Anger and determination for revenge of Jakob’s death spurred her on as she once more joined to combat, her sword glinting maliciously under the sun’s strong rays. She would fight this conflict to the end.
For The Hirsrui.
For Jakob.
Entry 2:
With the last scribbled twist of an ‘n’ and an ‘e’, a bellowing crack of a gunshot filled his thoughts, and pain penetrated his chest, shooting ice cold splinters into his head. He inhaled a choking gasp clogged with blood as he glanced down. He’d been shot squarely in the chest, where oozes of quick, clean, bright crimson blood was now flaring under his jacket.
The splinters in his head cut their way through with their jagged edges, slitting the insides of his brain.
He gasped for oxygen, searching the foggy air for breathe. Then he realised.
He was dying.
The river of blood flowing down to his boots meandered in the creases of his jacket.
He fell to the frosted floor as he watched the river washing its way down to the ground. He gently closed his eyelids and felt the crashes of war melt warmly in the sun as it shone so brightly on the bank, and reflected on the shining river.
“It’s so warm!” A voice came. He had heard the voice so many times before. It was so sweet, he was sure he could eat it. He looked to the river and saw a small head bobbing above the surface. She was smiling. He smiled back and turned away.
He turned for too long, for when he looked again, she was not there, but a fog of dull grey clouded his vision and the toasty warmth of the sun deserted his skin. Blackness surrounded him. But now he knew.
He was not alone.
...Help pwease? o.o;;
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