In an ancient forest, where water flew as an water and tree was an tree a man was walking through. Going step by step, calm and in peace. He was also not alone, not in true meaning. He was carrying something that was very close to his hearth and hands. A sword. Sword, which was gave to him as an message from one generation to the another. 60 cm of very honorable work, was reflecting not only death but honor, will to protect, but also will to destroy. The question is: Why, is he walking through the forest without direction? Maybe, is it, because he doesn’t know where to go. He’s also lost in his mind and he had hoped that the direction may show by herself. Or, he’s trying to calm down and trying to reorder the things in his own mind. The problem was the sword. The responsibility to carry such a mighty thing, which takes life’s, because of master’s wishes. The strange thing was, that he’d loved that sword, but he doesn’t even know why. Mark’s on his back and the front of his hearth show that he don’t like fighting, but why do he love the weapon? It is a weapon, with which humans take life. Maybe, this is it. Weapons are the tools, but not the actor. He’s just a coulisse in wild theatrical piece of blind human art no available for the pure souls. But, it was all the same. What was denied was more delicious than that what was allowed. So, the man hoof a long way to nowhere. Sword was right there where it should be, but mind was in the sky, trying to seek the smell of the ideals. Everything was quiet just like in deaths soul. When, somebody entered this charade of quietness. Few men’s black suited as an stones in river have jumped down from the trees. Have drew the sword’s with screak of the steel. Their eyes were empty but also full with hate. They were blinded with reward. The man was locked in a circle of the mercenary’s. He was thinking if he should broke the promise of nature and will be killed without defending himself or just attack as sort of defend. Mind wasn’t as quick as the hand, which had drew the sword and countered the flying blade in the air. When he stopped it, quickly move was following. He crouch and flip over his own axis and saw through enemies knees. The next what was coming is terribly pain in eyes and scream silenced with blade ending in his hearth. What wasn’t waited was an attack from the back. Blade came through the arm as arrow through the cloud. The adrenalin pumped in hearth was painless as that injury. So the answer was stab in the rear. That sound was so human that he almost cried. But he hasn’t, because the last ninja left wasn’t waiting for his attention, he wasn’t waiting for see a death reflecting in his eyes, he was waiting for reflection of gold in his hands and the naked woman, which he will choose as an milk in shop. Nothing more came, just single swing of sword and the head has fallen down to the ground, with bloody fireworks splashed in the air of nonsense. Was it worth to happen? For what? Money? Why?
Man with a sword
- Thread starter Hospi
- Start date
This is my first story I've written in English. So, execuse me, if the gramma is not correct, but Im from Slovakia and it's not my mother english, and I don't know properly the gramma of outlandish languages. Thank you for understanding 
Typhon
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VERY difficult to get through. Which I guess is to be expected if its your first work in English. Its tough to make an opinion of it as a story itself until its more understandable.
Try splitting it up into smaller paragraphs to make it easier to read. And just keep working on grammar and punctuation.
Try splitting it up into smaller paragraphs to make it easier to read. And just keep working on grammar and punctuation.
