1 - A leader of men

The first part in a trilogy that was Eramas' prologue to his, and my, first RP. Set before his actual entrance into the RP itself.

The wind howled as it flew between the ranks. It flittered between arms and legs, heads and bodies. A host of soldiers, a gigantic block of steel, flesh, blood, and sweat stood at attention, paying it no heed.

Each legionnaire rode atop his mount, their bodies encased in a shell of steel, ridged and layered like scales. Flared shoulders tapered to a point, and each end just barely brushed the one next to it. Iron fists held the reigns in an unforgiving stranglehold. Their war-helms were slashed open in the shape of a T, the opening betraying the human inside. The horses too, were plated, their heads shelled with light plate. There would be no chink in armor here, not on man, not on animal. Metal-covered boots prodded steeds back into formation, each man giving the countenance of a hulk across a beast of war. Only one dared to ride to war lacking this impregnable protection. His choice of clothes practically an insult to all whom he faced, daring them to strike him down. His position lay at the very front, all the more brazen to the enemy.

He wore a crimson cape, regardless of its obvious tactical hinder; it made an excellent traveling cloak. His boots were mud-crusted and well worn--the trace of an experienced traveler. His light red tunic had a ridiculously tall collar, buttoned up around his mouth and nose, keeping the elements back. A wide-browed red hat sat atop prematurely white hair, with a tall, white feather sticking out; the only article that could really be considered vain. The wide hat kept his face in the comfort of constant shadow. All that could be seen of his visage were cunning eyes and sharp, white eyebrows. Compared to the war machine behind him, he appeared insane, dressed in such wanderer's garments, especially in such a bold color such as crimson. But there was no room for fools in this army, no. Occasional gusts of shrieking wind revealed the most minimal armor on his person. Blackened plate, the poor man's alternative to constant shining and care, wrapped around his chest, while dark plate covered his waist. Ebon bracers around his forearms and shins were the only other protection on him. A single dagger sneaked into view on one of the bracers, originally designed as a last-ditch weapon. A lone general swathed in red and trimmed with black--not the most discreet fellow. Once, he was questioned about it. His only reply was that "When you're covered in red, your opponent can never tell if he's wounded you or not. As for such little armor, I prefer the freedom of movement rather than being a slow-moving bludgeon." Eramas was a person of functionality and practicality.

The fortress that beheld the army stood with its walls held high. They were barely a mile away, yet, there was no response at all from the defenders within. Scouts had determined there were figures scurrying along its scaffolds, but no further steps had been visibly taken to stop Eramas and his army.

"Very well then, if they don't care enough to defend themselves, then they won't care for our taking their land for the Principality of Axur," smirked the crimson-clad figure from beneath his collar.

He looked back to one of his Captains.

"Alert the troops."

As the Captain disappeared back into the maw of soldiers, a leather gauntlet reached back and whipped out Eramas's saber. He held his right arm out, blade prostrated to the sun. His grip opened, and his fingers danced the handle back and forth. The once steady sword swung around and around, becoming a brilliant cyclone of reflected light and metal. The crimson-clad arm brought the array to the front, and his fist shut close, freezing the sword in position. The saber pointed over the fortress walls.

Eramas raised it high, the blade reflecting the feather in his hat.

"Haaa-ttack!"

The cry struck chords, the entire block uttered a horrific roar.

Eramas raced downwards to the fortress, saber leading the charge and slicing the very air in its path. The host broke as if a bottle containing wine had been shattered.

From above the fortress walls, a tidal wave surged forward. A sea of metal and fury shouted in madness. A crazed lunatic covered in red flew across the earth; in his wake swords, axes, lances, maces, and pikes followed like rabid animals. They were nearly upon the gate.

The white feather flittered from the violence in the air itself.

Four other horsemen flanked the leader's charge, each of them carrying a wooden bludgeon of pure force. They aimed for the gates.

Eramas and the legionnaires were closing in. The four demolishers were nearly about to crash that pathetic doored barrier to splinters. He spared a glance upward.

And glimpsed the figures atop the wall wrenching back their bows.

Author's Note

This was written a long time ago, as was stated. I've gone over it numerous times, however as always I'm sure there are typos and syntax errors. I appreciate any and all notices of that, and will work to correct those. If I haven't do know that I did acknowledge your notice and try implementing it, but found that it detracted from the effect I wanted and so omitted it.

Reviews

[Nick Anthony]

Idyle... Welcome to the Woods, first off. Glad you joined. Now on to the review. Being a new member, I am going to first comment in general, unsure what you are looking for in a critique.

I read the first three chapters before coming back to comment on this chapter. Your choice of grammar and prose is well crafted and I enjoyed the read. The pace is fast and the images are very detailed without bogging the read down. Even if bordering on purple in places. Nicely done.

But I am not sure as to what your intent with this piece is. Is it an epic style poem in prose, or is it a fictional story? Let me explain. While it is not a poem in the true sense, I did get a feel that is how you wrote this. Beowulf like. The first three chapters are mostly narrative, and while you introduce the characters, I do not see where you are showing the story from the characters. Someone else is telling me the story and I want to know who this person is, what is their connection to the story. Thus, it is narrative.

Now most narrative I have run across by new writers tends to be passive, partially their choice of grammar and partially how they write. But yours does not feel all that passive. Yes in places it clearly is, but you also have stretches that seem more active than most narrative pieces I have read. As a reader, it sort of throws me off in places but not enough to make me stop. As a reviewer, I want to understand what you are trying to achieve and thus I am intrigued by this style. Catch 22 I am afraid.

At to the Chapter itself. I sort of liked the shortness of it, but again, it makes it feel more epic prose than fictional storytelling that develops characters. Because of this, I would like to hear more from you on what you are trying to achieve before delving deeper into a critique. I does matter.

You can contact me directly or just post a bulletin in the Woods to help explain perhaps to other reviewers as well. Many of us start our own threads to discuss our work.

Nick.

[Kaitlyn M.]

Holy mother of wow. Your description in this is utterly fantastic. It's the first thing I noticed, and that's a difficult thing in writing, to connect to decription that quickly. It's very audible and visual, and I'll definitely be reading more. Fantastic work, really. Kudos!