Hello, I'm writing this for a friend and I wanted to share my work so far. I'm going for a first person RPG feel, but in writing. Please leave helpful comments below. Can someone tell me how to not have that weird scroll box?
The sins of the fairy empire.
The drums are the tempo of the battle. My heart is at a half beat to the world around me. The thud in my chest isn’t fear. The beats and bumps are the sounds of pure rage, quiet, unrelenting and calming rage. My face is stern with the resolve of my blood lust. I hate them, and I will kill as many as I can before I fall.
Who’s strike is this? My thrust into the hock-beast’s side bears the name of my fallen brother. My second attack bears the name of my fallen comrade. Poe, Korin! Your ghosts are with me as I send this beast back to hell. Just moments prior the creature crushed Poe under its paw, and pried the face off of Korin with its teeth. I had to deliver the mercy of death to Korin, had he survived he wouldn’t let me live for allowing him that shame. Once more, I strike at the creature with my sword Metarma (the pillar of light). The fatal blow sends the beast into the dust.
A sounding of a war horn brings my attention ahead. There stands the beast’s master. A hideous melding of a blight stricken human with the unholy working of a machine. With half a face and a bloodied mechanical arm this devil knows the battle drums and he fights to his own beat. My enemy charges with his war axe raised and I side step his first strike. I try to advantage his mis step with a strike but his momentum shifts and repels my attack.
He moves to a high guard, ready to cut me down at the first sign of wavering. “Shield”, Metarma whispers. The blood from the hock has woken her spirit, as she begins to glow softly. I feel her shorten from a claymore to broadsword and the weight decreases. Quickly with an incantation I reach my left arm to the sky and demand the Gods protection. Vesta-Vara (promise of protection!)! My arm stiffens and on the top side of my wrist my bracer hums. Sensing my battle preparations the demon strikes from his high stance and I raise my arm to defend. The shield illuminates and deflects the axe’s crash. It hits the ground with such force that it burrows itself almost a foot. With one swift motion across the demon’s neck blood spurts from the wound like a gushing geyser and he falls to the ground.
His spirit was strong Metarma calls to me, her bloodlust is in full force now. She needs more and I will not disappoint her.
A piercing pain sinks into my chest, I feel my own blood start to flow out onto the ground and I fall to my knees. I pull the arrow from my chest and even more blood comes spewing from the massive wound. It can’t be over. My own blood falls onto Metarma and she begins to float from my hand. She moves directly above my head and shines like the sun. A pulse let’s lose from her that washes through the air to anyone who can sense it.
Within seconds the ground beneath me begins to turn. Small plants begin to sprout and I feel like the warm sun is shining on my face. It takes me back to my home, a sunny field in the heart of my homeland. It feels good. If this is dying, it’s really not so bad. My hand is dry now where I was helplessly trying to slow the pouring blood. And the wound is almost closed. I gain to my feet and look behind me to see a young elf woman, she is praying, light and warmth is shiny out of her body. With the healer’s job complete I look forward again towards the battle.