Crazy Chicken Keeper
Songster
It's so annoying when threads get away from me - this one has. Here is the prologue to my 55,500 word book I was talking about 600000 messages ago:
Steel screamed on steel. Swords slashed and hacked and jabbed. The pitiful cries of the dying filled the air around the flat dirty ground. Cattle watched over the barbed wire fence, occasionally lowing in protest at the chaos that descended onto their normally quiet farm.
Kael Firethorn was calm. He knew you didn’t win a battle by panicking. You won a battle by picking the right technique — and the right time to use it.
He used precise strokes. To an untrained eye, it might have looked like the sergeant was hacking and stabbing wildly. That was sort of what he was doing.
But every blow was controlled. Measured. Men fell like scythed wheat before him. The enemy quickly learned to stay clear of the blond-haired, brown-eyed man with no helmet.
A spear came at Firethorn’s face. He flicked it aside with contemptuous ease. With a thrust of Firethorn’s sword, the spearman fell. So did the four swordsmen beside him. An arrow flew at Firethorn’s face. It got cleaved in half and fell to the ground, useless. A second one hissed past his cheek, drawing blood. Firethorn wiped his cheek with the back of his glove and made a mental note to find the archer later on.
Firethorn’s armour was made of light steel. To move freely, he wore only a breastplate, shin guards, and chainmail around his arms. In his left hand, he carried a small round shield — no bigger than a dinner plate.
A lull in the battle came suddenly, like the eye of a hurricane. Firethorn stepped back a few paces and beckoned forward a young messenger, one on the edge of becoming a warrior.
“What is it, Sergeant?’’ asked the boy nervously.
“You need to give the General my advice,’’ said Firethorn in his deep voice. “He values it. Are you authorised to speak to the General?’’
The boy nodded.
“Tell him,’’ said Firethorn, “that I have a plan. It could change everything.’’
The boy’s eyes widened as the bare-headed sergeant whispered it to him. He took a step back.
“Repeat it back,’’ said Firethorn.
The boy hesitated, then, as Firethorn gave him a strong glare, he obeyed.
“Good,’’ said Firethorn in a satisfied tone.
Suddenly, the lull shattered. Steel clashed again, and Firethorn was already moving.
“GO!’’ he roared — and the boy was gone.
PROLOGUE
Steel screamed on steel. Swords slashed and hacked and jabbed. The pitiful cries of the dying filled the air around the flat dirty ground. Cattle watched over the barbed wire fence, occasionally lowing in protest at the chaos that descended onto their normally quiet farm.
Kael Firethorn was calm. He knew you didn’t win a battle by panicking. You won a battle by picking the right technique — and the right time to use it.
He used precise strokes. To an untrained eye, it might have looked like the sergeant was hacking and stabbing wildly. That was sort of what he was doing.
But every blow was controlled. Measured. Men fell like scythed wheat before him. The enemy quickly learned to stay clear of the blond-haired, brown-eyed man with no helmet.
A spear came at Firethorn’s face. He flicked it aside with contemptuous ease. With a thrust of Firethorn’s sword, the spearman fell. So did the four swordsmen beside him. An arrow flew at Firethorn’s face. It got cleaved in half and fell to the ground, useless. A second one hissed past his cheek, drawing blood. Firethorn wiped his cheek with the back of his glove and made a mental note to find the archer later on.
Firethorn’s armour was made of light steel. To move freely, he wore only a breastplate, shin guards, and chainmail around his arms. In his left hand, he carried a small round shield — no bigger than a dinner plate.
A lull in the battle came suddenly, like the eye of a hurricane. Firethorn stepped back a few paces and beckoned forward a young messenger, one on the edge of becoming a warrior.
“What is it, Sergeant?’’ asked the boy nervously.
“You need to give the General my advice,’’ said Firethorn in his deep voice. “He values it. Are you authorised to speak to the General?’’
The boy nodded.
“Tell him,’’ said Firethorn, “that I have a plan. It could change everything.’’
The boy’s eyes widened as the bare-headed sergeant whispered it to him. He took a step back.
“Repeat it back,’’ said Firethorn.
The boy hesitated, then, as Firethorn gave him a strong glare, he obeyed.
“Good,’’ said Firethorn in a satisfied tone.
Suddenly, the lull shattered. Steel clashed again, and Firethorn was already moving.
“GO!’’ he roared — and the boy was gone.
Fair warning I don't really go back an edit so yeah, my writing tends to be fun like that. Apologies for any typos 
please, tell me what it was, I'm sure I know.....
I don't tend to use a lot of words and write in small portions so i guess that's why it was possible.
