Relm

This is a story I've wanted to write forever!!! I'm so happy to get it off my chest!

Here are some things you sohuld know:
- The speed I finish each part depends on all the positive replies I get, but I don't honestly expect many replies, good or bad, at all.
- THE STORY DOES NOT TAKE PLACE IN THE WC UNIVERSE!!!!
- It will be pretty long but even though when I finish it I plan on making it longer o_O To me this is merely getting my thoughts down.
- Time, Nature, Life, Darkness, Light, and Balance are all characters, so don't say to get rid of capitalization.
- This computer does not have Microsoft Word so there is no spell check xD
- I'm young. I have loads of time to develop my writing skills so constructive criticism is totally encoraged.

Okay, enough of that, here is the story you wanted......

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Book 1 : Chapter 1

Edgar waited outside The Evening Tavern, waiting for Seratha. His brown, messy hair made quite a lot of waving for the little wind there was. He glared into the snall crowd of people that walked the streets of Dorlanor. No sign of Seratha in the waves of citizens and travelers alike, but to Edgar, Seratha was more than a cute girl people adored, she was the love of his young life. Her beautifil, hazel eyes were as pretty as the smile she held underneath her nose and above her chin, Edgar would never have it any other way. He did not want change nor did he need it.
The sky was painting its own picture in the minds of those who had the time to appreciate it on this glorious day. Edgar had nothing else better to do than enjoy the envoirnment he was in, not leaving behind a single detail he couldn't see with his eyes. The sun that rolled in from the east was still awakening as it pushed the clouds away that covered it, but Edgar did not want the clouds to leave, as it made the sun more majestic than it ever seemed to be. The open plains of the sky were not so open today. They were covered with clouds that could devour a town like Dorlanor in one bite. Even though there was plenty of white in the sky, there was enough blue that could let you grow a grin.
"Gosh, where is she?" Edgar murmered outloud to himself, but his chatter was pointless. Talking to himself would not make Seratha come any faster, and he knew that quite well. He only wished it would, and his parents always told him that hope was the greatest solution when none seemed possible.
It seemed as if the entire town passed by before Edgar gave up. His mother expected him to clean all of the rags in the house, and as much as he did not want to displease Seratha, he did not wish to do the same to his own mother. He gave Seratha a chance, and she did not use it wisely. Edgar had no choice but to pace home. He took a glace over his shoulder at The Evening Tavern. The morning swarms of Dorlanor had come to a hault as fast as it picked up, and Seratha was still nowhere in sight. With a frown of depression, he turned his head to face in front of him and walked off.

Edgar undressed himself into tackier clothing and got straight to his work. He couldn't stand doing physical labor in fancy clothes that sometimes got a little uncomfortable. He put on some loose clothes that he actually grew to like. It was a nice outfit intended for sleeping in because of the comfortg it supplied, but Edgar respected it as something more, even though he refused to wear it on his date. Edgar might not have been on many dates, but he knew it was about your date's taste- not your own.
This job would have been easier if he didn't have to clean the rags he replaced. Edgar never wanted to take the roll that a mother was supposed to, but adolescent boys were expected to help around the house just as mothers were expected to clean. It was something that many people ignored or never thought of, but Edgar had a unique view on this. He thought this was the thing that made humans civilized and not a creation of Nature.
Edgar picked up every rag in the kitchen and placed it into his hands. Neatly, he put the dirty rags on the ground on the meal table ans looked around for a stack of new rags. He put a clean rag every place where there was once an unclean one. Then he got to the annoying part- cleaning the dirty rags. Edgar trotted outside with his arms wrapped around the rags and headed towards the river where the town was once build off of many years before Edgar's time on earth, and even before his father and grandfather were alive. The river was running like a herd of bulls out in the Green Plains, which did not make a good place to wash. He could hardly imagine how some women could crouch down by the rapid river that made its path by Dorlanor and wash all of their family's clothing. Embarrased, Edgar crouched down and clutched a rag as hard as he could and let it wave through the fast river. "If only mother were not using the bucket for dinner," Edgar murmered to himself. "This would be so much easier. I just hope none of the other boys are looking..."
Edgar finally washed all of the rags to leave a dripping mess on the grassy ground. He took the rags and headed back for his house, taking a longer way back. The path he took this time led in front of The Evening Tavern. He could not stop thinking of Seratha, even while doing his chores. He took a glance at the spot he once stood, and slowly spun his head all around. She still wasn't in sight. It wasn't that the crowd would of been blocking Edgar's view, as there were only about seven or eight people Edgar could see. The reason was unexplainable to him and was left a mystery.
Once Edgar dropped off the clean rags at his house, he scurried towards Seratha's house and thumped on the door. After three nice knocks, he waited a couple moments and someone answered the door.
"Oh, hello Edgar," Seratha's father said, almost suprised. "Weren't you and Seratha supposed to be out? Where is she?"
"Not even I know," Edgar responded. "I haven't seen her all day."
"Oh my," Seratha's father mentioned in worry.
"Well, I'm sure she is okay," Edgar noted. If he knew Seratha, she was probably doing fine. Edgar did not want to worry to much, as Seratha wouldn't want him to worry in a time like this. She probably would of told him to stay optomistic like she always does.
"Let's hope so," Seratha's father said with a crooked smile bolted onto his face. Edgar paced off, giving Seratha's father a wave in the distance.
Edgar had nothing else to do that day. In fact, he was too upset to do anything. He couldn't play any games with the other boys nor could he of taken a stroll around the town. He was even so depressed he couldn't play a joke or two on strangers with his friends. All he could think of was Seratha. He took a walk to The Evening Tavern and just stood there, thinking of Seratha.
Moments later, without thinking, he plopped himself into the back of a wagon filled with hay to take a nap. His eyelids seemed to get heavier with every moment that passed by until he was comlpetely dozing off.
"Say, did you hear about Relore?" One man outside the wagon asked someone.
"Yes, I hope..." Another man replied. That was all Edgar heard before he was oblivious to his enviornment and fell alseep.

That evening as the hay wagon Edgar slept in left the town, the full moon casted its light down upon the people of Dorlanor. The sun seemed to accomplish its over the day as the night sky was cloudless and every star could be seen, shining better than ever. It was a romantic sight that was disturbed only by a noise that could be heard in the distance.
A wolf howl that seemed to come from the sky fell down upon the people of Dorlanor. The farmers found it frightening as they rounded up their sleeping sheep and the residents were just plain annoyed from it, except for one man who felt no shame. That man ran outside his doorway and checked the sky to see if there were any clouds in the sky. Once his examination was over, he gleefully ran out to the town square and danced with cheer. The man laughed and grinned with enjoyment and did not care who opposed his craziness. "Go back to bed!" Another man shouted angrily, but the cheerful man who danced in the town square did not care what he said.
A hero was born on this day.
A legend shall be kept in Time itself.

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Chapter Notes:
- Mister crazy dude lived in Relore as a child. Some of you might have some face on you that looks like this o_O but it will make more sense much later, and I mean not-until-the-end-of-the-story later.
- Mister crazy dude is not the fucking hero damn it!!! I know some ass hole is going to ask "5o is m1ster cr4zy dude th3 her0?" I might need to elaborate later...

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Next part in a week or so, iono.

only problem i saw, you missed a comma in between Edgar and Seratha. it looks like a whole name. other than that i need more. this was one of thoughs stories where right when i think im going to scroll down to more story it just ends.

i liked where it was going. your also a talented writer.

Thanks dude ^_^ Fixed it.

Starting chapter 2 tomorrow, but absolutely no garuntee it'll be done over the weekend :)

ill be waiting.

You are a talented writer, yet you lack certain vital points, for instance, Your beginging leaves much to be desired, a good begining should draw the reader in, entice them, as well as intrigue them, a bit of foreshadowing in the beginning couldn't hurt either. also, another point: A story is like a rubber band, Strecthing it isn't bad, but if you strech ti too much, the end result will be te destruction of it. Your story so far needs more meat, it has far too much description, perhaps It would be wise of you to use a little less description so the reader can fill in the blanks, thus allowing them to percieve the story, rather than read an account of an event. Also, you strecth in the wrong ways, your description of the sky takes up more text than the description of the conversation. I must say that the story itself has potential, but then again so do many other stories on their first page. I would like to know a bit more about the future of the story. Perhaps then I could make better suggestions.


I hereby delcare myself the Criticism Whore!!!!!

Copier *glares*. Adding more description to the story is never, ever a wrong thing. It allows the reader to see it from the perspective of the writer. When you read stories like "The Lord of the Rings" they have a lot of detail. They tend to go from the acual story, to past experiences of the characters, and then back.
~Azhag~

Yes, I copied you, but not seriously, I'm simply joking. But actually Azhaq, Let me show you an example of over detail:


original paragraph:

The sun shone high above the city of Shovus, and this was good, for it meant that the time had come for the king to chose one of his mighty warriors to become the next royal champion. Sir Radebrum the Stout paced back and forth outside of the courtyard steps in the hot sun, he was waiting for King Resyr to make his decision. He was one of the most powerful warriors in the land, He had fought in many great battles and had never found a foe who could even scare him, let alone hurt him. But for some reason, he would rather face a vast army of invading ogres alone, unarmed, than become the next champion.


this is your average everyday paragraph, ok detail, not a lot, but some.
heres an overly descriptive one.


The wispy clouds parted as they were struck by the beams of the bright sun which was positioned directly above the tallest tower among all the other towers, however tall they may be, which can be very tall, in the grand empire city that has come to be known as the city of Shovus, whose name comes from the title of its elven founder. The Big, yellow orb that is the sun shone brightly as a symbol of tidings good, not as good as a victory, but better than a torture,when the sun hangs brightly above the tall, white, ivory, old, cracked, tower, that was a signal that the annual time when the great, powerful, noble, kind, brave, and handsome king would hand-select by his soveirgn right, on, only one, not two, not three, but one of his incredibnly powerful and wise warriors which he had chosen for their current positions, but now he had to select a single one of them to recieve the grand, noble, and powerful title that is the King's Champion, also knwon as the Royal champion or the noble champion or sometimes simply as the champion. A dwarf warrior bearing the seal of Shovus, which resembled an eagle perched on a tree over a mountain, this was made of brass with a silver lining for contrast purposes, Who had earned the name that was his by both birth and law, which was Radebrum, but he was a knight of Shovus, and a Royal kngiht, one of the king's knights, so he was called Sir Radebrum the Stout because he was a kngiht and he was stout, stout meaining his structure, not his choice of alchohalic beverages,paced back and forth approximately thirteen times outside of the courtyard steps which were white with a tinky chip off on one on the left, he walked along these steps in the sun, which shone brightly and was scorchingly hot and brutaly painful on his frying brow, the heat caused him to sweat a little bit and it was about 89 degrees farenheit, wchic to a dwarf hailing from a very cold and snowy region, was very hot by comparison tot he very cold....................


You get it, now I am not saying that this is what he did, I overexaggerated for examples' sake. Now as you can see, there is not a lot of actual information that pertains to the plot line here, a midground must be located. He did a very good job overall, but I think he could have put in a little more meat.

Don't get me wrong. Too much detail can be a bad thing. But again like I said, detail is never a wrong thing.

I am a cartoonist man, detail is what I do. But too much detail in a drawing perhaps, and it ends up a big black square.

Detail is good. It lets you see a vivid picture of what is happening. As long as you do not describe something again before something happened to that certain object (example: the sky turned to night), I personally find no reason to not describe it.

The only reason it might be a crime in any way is probably because my story isn't extremely long, but like I said before, just getting my thoughts down.... =/

Oh, almost forgot- there isn't much background info that you need to know that you can't just assume with the exception of why the hell that man was dancing out in the street and that one chat that the two strangers had:


I mean, you can assume Edgar and Seratha are boyfriend/girlfriend, and that's it. And about mister crazy dude as I have been referring him as.... it's supposed to be a mystery, you are supposed to refer to him as some whacked up guy on steriods. You might be able to assume what happened, though. Probably one of the more "vaguer" points of my writing would be not describing what I don't want described xD

Sorry for the delay. Go figure, WC3C goes offline Sunday morning when I finish chapter 2. O well, here it is.

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Book 1 : Chapter 2

By the time Edgar awoke from his lazy slumber, the sun was renewing itself like a blazing phoenix. He could hear the rattling of the old wooden axel as it rotated underneath him. Out of curiousity, Edgar looked out of the back of the wagon, and saw nothing but a border where blue and green met. Dorlanor was nowhere in sight.
Thump! The entire wagon went over a bump planted into the path that the hay merchant was taking to whereever he was going.
"Woah!" Edgar shouted aloud, not expecting that bump. The entire trip was going along smoothly, seeing as Edgar was not disrupted over the nighttime. He immediately clamped his hands over his mouth, hoping the merchant did not hear that, but he knew the chances were slim.
"Hey! Who was that!" The merchant yelled aloud. The wagon suddenly haulted and the merchant walked to the back of the wagon, clutching a pitchfork in his left hand. "I know you're here somewhere," he shouted as he dug through the bristly hay. It only took the merchant one moment before he found Edgar hiding in the hay. He was paralyzed in fear. There was nothing he could do to escape the punishment that he knew he would face.
"I'm sorry!" Edgar pleaded in a mindless attempt to save himself. "I needed a place to rest. I didn't know you would leave Dorlanor so soon!" He tried his best to sound upset and sorry. There was no way the merchant could be cruel and leave him to stay in the middle of nowhere.
"A village is coming up in a couple of hours," the Merchant responded. He wasn't being sympathetic, but instead logical. He had no choice for now but to let him stay in the back.
"A couple hours?" Edgar replied in a shocked tone.
"Either that or you walk back home. That's about a daytime's worth of walking, lad. It seems you have no choice."
The merchant was right. Edgar didn't want to walk all the way back to Dorlanor, and it seemed harmless to kill some time. He hopped back into the wagon and they set off for a distant village. Edgar couldn't get his eyes to close for a sleep, so he tried his best to get comfortable.

After two and a half hours of laying still inside the back of the hay wagon, they were finally there at the village. Edgar hopped out of the wagon, apologized to the merchant for all the troubles, and gazed around with curiousity. It certainly wasn't exactly what he expected. A dirt road plowed its way through the town as it pushed the homes and shops to the side. To his right past the houses was undergrowth and trees, and to his left were branches of the dirt road that seemed to shove more houses outwards, and past that was nothingness, just the World Plains. At the end of the large roadway was the exact same forest that was to the right.
All the residents of this small welcoming village seemed to be minding their own buisness and doing chores with a smile. Some women were out on rackety porches here and there sewing up clothes for their family, and others were out in front of their houses taking part in friendly conversation. Men walked around carrying lumber and hay all around, stopping and having five second conversations every so often. Children ran around with frolic and no care, separated only by gender, but that was likely for kids to do.
Edgar stolled down the street to get a better view of the calm pandemonium happening around him. Once he was partly through his walk, Edgar had his eyes fixed on a group of boys swinging sticks at eachother like they were swords. The taller boy in blue held his stick so it end faced exactly to his right, only distorted by a vertical angle, and blocked the blow of the smaller boy dressed in brown clothes. The taller kid then swung with a barbaric force and whacked the other kid on the head. The smaller boy crouched down and sniveled, even though he tried his best to wipe it off. Some of the boys went down to see if he was okay, but they soon ignored the other boy's wounds and had another duel.
"How cruel!" Edgar murmered as he watched the group of boys from a safe distance. "They completely forgot about their friend in pain." The taller boy from before prodded his new challenger in the chest with a stick as if to annoy him, and with fury, the new challenger made a perfect slash and hit the taller boy right in the center of his head.
"I give up!" he shouted, afraid to get hit once more. He did not whimper like the other, but instead he got up, walked to the side, and rubbeed his wound.
"Hey you!" one boy in the audience yelled as he pointed at Edgar. "Get over here!"
Edgar became nervous. He hoped the boy wasn't talking to him, but instead someone behind him. He turned his head to look behind him, and then again in the other direction. "I'm talking to you! The one with the brown hair! Get your butt over here!"
Edgar slowly paced to the crowd, only influened by a very vague peer pressure that almost did not exist. "We haven't seen you fight yet," the winner from the last round noted. He tossed Edgar the stick once held by the defeated boy. The group of boys formed a circle around Edgar and the other boy who fought the last match. Before Edgar knew it, he was locked in combat with no escape.
The boy charged at Edgar with the stick over his head, ready to strike as if he were a knight. Edgar instead treader his stick like a quarterstaff and shielded the slash that was brought at him. Edgar had no idea what he was doing. All he did for the next bit of time was block all of the boy's attacks. Finally, the boy got through and hit Edgar on his hip. He crouched on one knee and covered the bruise. The other boy laughed in triumpth.
Then something came over Edgar. It was almost like a lust for revenge or a craving for victory. Whatever it was, Edgar got back up on his feet and the boy's victory was shortlived. Edgar put both hands on the end of the stick like a sword and made a sideswipe with such critical accuracy and force that it broke the other boy's stick when he went on the defensive.
"Hey! Cheap shot!" the boy grumbled as he took notice that instead of holding one stick in two hands, he was holding two broken and degrated sticks, one in each hand. He gave Edgar a quick sneer as Edgar dropped his stick. "I never said this was over," the boy told him.
"How desprate are you? You've already lost," Edgar finally opened his mouth and said harshly but with assertiveness.
The crowd that entangled the zone all simultaneously gave a long "Oh," seeing that as more of a thrust for the boy to attack rather than noting it as a message of peace. The same thing that Edgar once felt was now in the presance of his combatant. The boy dropped one end of the broken stick and strangled the other end with his hands. Edgar bent over with agility and lifted up his stick, but it was too late. The other boy hit Edgar somewhere on his head. Edgar flinched and dropped the stick. As fast as he entered the group, Edgar pushed out of the circle and left.
"Wait!" an older boy shouted from the audience. Edgar turned around. "What's your name, kid?"
Edgar stuttered as he tried to get the words out. What should he say? "Er... I'll... might..." He said with a jumbled vocabulary. Edgar murmered loud enough for not even half of the crowd to hear, but the older boy who was listening could hear him, even though what he heard was different than what Edgar said. The boy heard him say "Realm, mate."
"Is your name Realm?" The boy asked, feeling a little crazy.
"Uh, yes, Relm" Edgar told him, not as jumbled as before. "R-E-L-M, Relm." Not even Edgar knew what he was doing right about now, He wasn't sure why he went along with that. Inside Edgar's head, a small voice told him to jsut go along with it. Now that voice was in Relm's head. Relm continued to walk away from the group, and he wasn't going to be influenced by any more peer pressure.
Relm walked up the path and stopped at a store that sold blank parchments, quills, and miniature flasks of ink, and in a few moments, Edgar was out with a lighter pocket and started to write a letter:

"Dear mother and father,
It seems out of laziness I got myself into a small yet managable situation that landed me in a small village. I'll be back soon, but not right away. I'm going to see if I can get used to this small change. Don't hate me too much.
Sincerly,
Edgar"

Relm creased the letter shut, wrote down the address, and handed it to the merchant he traveled with along with a slight tip just to make sure the letter reaches its destination. Once the merchant set off, Edgar went to the edge of the village to look in what direction he went off in, jsut incase he would have to walk. Relm then gazed over to the right, the opposite direction in which the merchant went, and looked into the sky. Relm noticed a fine cloud of dust covered the sky in the direction that he looked. Only a few others actually noticed.
"Is it a tornado?" One civilian queried to a fellow who stood and saw this.
"It must be high winds," Another concluded.
The crowd that saw this slowly grew one by one until a man finally jumped to a logical conclusion that was very hard to believe. "Knights," the man said harshly. Nobody could see the fleet that was coming, but Relm could feel a cold presance. Some people started gathering their children and loved ones into their house to hide, and ones who thought about it better packed up things that you would find on a camping or wilderness trip, and then there were the fools who believed this was impossible and just went on doing whatever they were doing.

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Chapter Notes:
- The village is southeast of Dorlanor, and the knights come from the north offset a little to the northeast.
- Relore was changed to Felore. Found out it sounded to much like "Relm"

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Absolutely no clue when chapter 3 will come out. The next part isn't as clear to me as chapters 1 or 2. Everything from here on to Book 2 is very dull in my mind, so bear with me.

Sorry for triple post. I know, I hate it too, but get ova it. I can't believe I did that in a week.

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Book 1 : Chapter 3

The so-called knights in the distance were only distinguishable as specks, but there was definately something out there. A jolt of terror hopped around from one person to the next as they threw themselves into submission to fear. Every second was another one that let the danger lurk into view, which was not where anyone wanted them to be.
Over the chaos that formed, a large brass horn made its low-pitched sound and silenced most of the people. "Form the militia!" men shouted here and there. They all ran inside their houses and seemed to never come out.
"So much for the militia," Relm commented to himself, but what he didn't notice was the swarm of children and women that quickly followed the men into their houses. Relm was the only person out in the open.
"Come inside, stranger!" a woman shouted from her porch, gesturing to Relm. He couldn't be more pleased with her kindness, and he ran into her house. The house wasn't like he expected it to be. It was a very plain home to live in, with only two rooms. The room he was currently in had a fireplace and a table that was only propped up one foot from the floor. It seems the porch installed on the house made it seem like it was fancier.
Moments passed, and the the knights could be seen if you peeked out a window. In fact, many of them were not even knights. The fleet had about twenty or so cloaked men with black horses as dark as the darkest, most globby ink you could ever find, and maybe even darker. Their cloaks on the men seemed to fuse with their mounts with their dark color. Some of the riders had a bow, and others had a sword. Two of them wielded a crossbow, and the one that led the swarm of cavalry bore a wooden staff in his right hand. Black flames scorched the hooves of his horse and only his horse, giving it an infernal look.
Relm peered over at the man who ran inside his house when the horn was blown. He could see him strapping a full quiver onto his waist. He drew an arrow that had a very dull shine to it, as if it was made many years ago. Even though, it was beautifully fletched as if it were never meant to be on the end of a bowstring, and it probably wasn't, seeing that this is such a friendly village. Dorlanor never even had a militia, or, at least, he didn't think they did. Relm looked out a window that faced the house paralell to the one he was in and saw a man who held a bow of his own. He held it almost like he has never used a bow.
"Here, sir," the woman who invited Relm into the house said calmly. Relm turned around and saw her holding out a slingshot and a few subrounded cobblestones. "The men use bows, and the boys use slingshots, that is, if they wish."
"Thank you," Relm responded calmly. "You let me in your home, so I will repay you and fight with the militia." Relm had quite some experience with a slingshot from flying rocks across the river with his friend.
"Aye, and don't forget to aim low, friend," the man chuckeled. "You don't want to hit Marcus over there, do ye?" Relm couldn't see the humor in his words, but he gave a smile off and heeded his words.
Once the cavalry entered the town, Relm noticed something that brought the fear that many characters in stories that he heard as a child must of felt. "Those are not men," Relm murmered, "they are undead."
"What's that, dear?" the woman questioned Relm, but she was rudely interrupted. She ran into the back of the house quickly.
Relm heard the low pitched screech of the horn from earlier and jumped startled. "Fire!" the man shouted as he let an arrow jolt through the slit opened in the window. Relm could only watch as the man who chuckled only a minuite ago became a ruthless archer. A barrage of arrows and rocks poured onto the invaders that were halfway down the road. With their poor aim, only a few mounts and one sword-bearer lay dead, and the retaliation began.
A crossbow bolt flew through the window next to Relm with agility that no arrow that could be brought from one of the pedestrians could ever match. Even the arrows let loose from the invaders were with matchless skill and accuracy. The arrows didn't arch even slightly. Knights raided into homes and shops that did not have a porch to serve as an obstacle. The ramming of their swords blew down half of whatever door they struck at the least. One soldier without his mount held out his sword to deflect a rock and charged at an innocent house.
The attacks from the militia were very limited now, but they were ironically more affective. More invaders were wounded from the arrows and stunned by rocks used as projectiles. The arrows were not a swarm any more, but more like a disorderly flock that flew here and there. Some men were slowed by wounds they recieved, and others just because they were not so experienced.
Another bolt flew through the house with ease, and this time, it landed more than a window as a target. The man to his right pierced through his skull and started a steady stream of blood. Relm could hardly look at the blood of his fallen ally, as it gave him shivers like nothing ever did. He picked up the bow and quiver before blood oozed onto it, and proped an arrow onto the bow as he held it.
Looking out the window, Relm noticed an unmounted marksman wielding a bow run up the porch with his dark cloak swaggering behind. With instinct and nothing else to guide him, Relm dropped the bow and picked up a knife that sat on the floor. Like a sly theif, Relm became one with the wall next to the door and waited to strike as the undead archer beat through the unsturdy door.
Once he was through, Relm swung around as if he were a second door. He held the knife in his right hand and prodded his target right in his chest, making sure the knife had no mercy to go in fully. The corpse stopped moving and Relm forced the knife out with all of his strength. The undead archer was dead again, the way it should of stayed.
The action was still as intense as ever. Most of the men who died were victims of swift arrows that flew through the window. Sworded cavalry hardly caused death to the people, but instead gave them extreme factors of terror and an upclose target they weren't afraid to miss.
Out on the road, Relm noticed the one before who led the fleet with his wooden staff. He just stood there scanning the area, and Relm just stood in the window, looking at him. In fact, if an arrow were to come at him, Relm would never notice it. It was like noone except Relm noticed him standing there. He clutched the bow and an arrow and streched the bowstring until it felt like it would snap, and let it go after he thought he had the aim down perfectly.
The arrow ripped through the air with agility that seemed to come from an expert markman. The arrow hit the black horse with a fierce force, that any of the other horses would of been dead in an instant, but to Relm's unfortunate luck, he picked the wrong soldier to pick on. The bearer of the wooden staff hastily unmounted his horse and walked into Relm's direction, dodging a rock that didn't seemed to be targetted at him at all.
The staff bearer rose his staff up high into the air. Relm could only remember the malice that could be felt as he looked into the shadow of his hood and maroon beacons of light, spreading from the top of his staff, before he was trapped in a void of darkness that swallowed him up.

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Chapter Notes:
-That was a necromancer, of course.
-Relm was the only person who could actually see the necromancer.

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Chapter 4? No clue when that'll be. Hopefully next weekend.