Kings Man (Fantasy)

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“The old scrolls speak of peace and prosperity. No new scrolls are produced; everyone is engaged in war. Scribes and scholars have become defence inspectors and ship- wrights. Throughout the ages, we have become farmers, we are no longer fit to repel any raiders or call ourselves warriors. Except perhaps Tordek.” He paused and looked at his old friend. They met one another with a smile. Tordek sat in the corner of a room decorated with nothing other than a faded tapestry, portraying the building of the keep. A hearth in the corner crackled merrily and a fine scent of pine filled the room. Two other companions sat, all staring up form various tasks, sitting attentively. “That is why I take you to the heart of our problems, to Shamroth, to undo his evil doings that he has wrought over the ages.” Jozan, the cleric stepped back from behind the wooden table he had stood at. He backed towards the flames, the licking firelight looked as if it might devour him.
“You remind me of your father,” Tordek broke the silence. “ And I am not one to make comparisons of your father so readily. A wave of amusement swept over his rugged features. The broken nose was a sign of his days serving the country at war and his most prominent trait. He still proudly bore a grey warriors- tail. It seemed as if his aged features were stretched as if in pain as he spoke. “ I followed wherever your father bade me to, and so I follow you. My axe is sworn to you…” The regret left his voice and he raised his tankard in salute and sipped form it, reflecting on his own words, toying with them. Lidda, the rogue, sat in the corner hugging her knees, next to the large oaken door, unswervingly opposite the spot where Jozan had stood, in front of the fire. She resumed mending her gauntlets and sharpening her daggers. The ranger Mialee also sat in the room. She was ensconced within a chair, padded with straw, deep in thought.
It was rumoured that she spoke the language of the animals and could converse freely with them. The talk of the court at Minya should not always be cherished.
Jozan rose and strode out the door his long strides eating the distance; Lidda withdrew from her state of concentration and gracefully sprang up and danced after the cleric. Her tight livery of black and grey, specific to the thieves’ guild, allowed her to blend into the dark corridor. Tordek rose to follow but sat heavily at a stern glance from Mialee.

 

ok go for it. Its good to see a new writer at SP. Try break it up a bit more or its in too large chunks to read. it seems pretty good so far so keep writing

 

I totally agree with zaknafein. It's a good story but do try to divide your tale into pieces. (think about our poor eyes )