Just something I whipped up. (a little bit of Fantasy)

[Darien Shields]

Hi. Incase you're wonderring, Genesis isn't stopped, just on hiatus until I get into pokemon again. Bessides, I'm off to Japan for four weeks soon, so I wouldn't be able to write it then. This is something I wrote the other day when I was talking to SM (She said she was writing something fantasy. I just can't let anybody think they're better than something than me without proof first.) Call me a complete fruitcake, but I don't know the plot yet. I like it that way. If I get a good response to this, I'll repost with a name and a future. Without further ado, I give you... Two Guys Fighting!

Clang-clang-clang!
The angry blades danced around each other, ricocheting violently as their masters commanded them on each other. Sparks sprang forth from their piercing edges as they rasped against each other. For a moment the sound stopped, as the fighters drew their swords back. In the relative silence the heavy breath of each figure filled each other's ears.
But in a second they were back at it, steel slamming on steel, clanging and ringing in their gloved hands. The fighters twisted and swirled away from each others blows, their feet tracing steps back, moving almost faster than their swords. With a laugh one drew his sword back over his shoulder and then in one hard, fluid motion brought it down towards his foe's head. Said foe thrust his sword upwards. The blades scraped off each other and the attackers blade jammed into the other's guard, momentarily caught.
“Yield!” the attacked yelled.
He was tall and thin, but not without strength. His pale skin was covered in paler powder, excluding his eyes, which had dark powder over the lids. His brown eyes would look like black holes in a piece of paper were it not for the bright flame raging deep inside them. Corn-blond hair covered his head but was combed back, a few strands peaking over his bare forehead now. His thin frame of a body was obscured under his grey trench coat. Simple black clothes hugged his body inside, and as he furiously twisted and jumped in battle these saw more and more of the late day sun. Few called him a man, but fewer still called him a boy. He was seventeen by most people's count, but on his plain, age didn't really matter.
“Never!” retorted the boy under his sword.
His pink skin was twisted in anger as he struggled to push off his attacker. A mop of brown hair came down over his ears, now clinging close to his head as it was soaked in sweat. He was a mere fifteen year old, but almost as tall as his enemy. Is arms and legs were indeed much thicker with muscle, but his torso was still slight, and his limbs were still thin by comparison to a normal fighter. A black cap hung from his back, occasionally obscuring his green clad body as he jumped and twirled through the air. A pair of bulky black gloves desperately gripped the hilt of his sword.
Sparks once more ripped off the blades as they forcefully withdrew, but no rest was afforded the tiring fighters, their swords soon found each other again. Both were fine weapons, forged carefully by skilled hands. The long thin blade of the elder fighter was a silvery blue, held firm by a bat shaped guard that punished any hands, or anything else, that should near it's sharp points. It's handle was wrapped with black strands of leather. The other was once beautifully silver, but now a red tint and the onset of rust discoloured it. As it relentlessly slashed much of the browner tone was torn away, replaced with mere blunt scratches. It's guard was round an golden, an age newer than the blade, with a small red jewel set in it. The guard stretched round one side of the handle and attached to the pommel, a blunt rock added as an afterthought by hasty blacksmiths.
The younger ducked under a sword blow and looked up as his foe jumped. He could see him, black lanky body and billowing coat threatening to blot out the sun, framed by the cloud free azure sky. The boy gritted his teeth and rolled sideways, flattening a fresh area of grass as he went. He flexed up in time to meet another swipe and stepped back clumsily through the long stalks of grass. Now the elder came forth with more power, swiping single handedly, and hitting wide, diagonal curves through the air, colliding with his foes blade then the weedy grass. With a yell the younger retaliated, striking heavily down on his foe. Their swords locked high above either's head.
The elder went to mutter a curse, to try and finally convince is advissary to stand down, but he was stopped. A hot, dry air had lain over the thirsty plains for many months, even in the nights the pulsing moon bathed the scene in unusual heat. Weather was naught here, the clouds did not come and the winds did not blow. Their was only sun and moon.
But from the east came a wave in the grass. Blade after blade bent back then flapped forward. Both fighters saw the motion, and instantly moved their eyes. Since no animals ventured into these plains, and their was no wind, any movement more than a metre away from you caught your attention. Their expressions were somewhere between surprise and confusion as a cool wind kissed their bare skin. Then they both drew their swords back and stood side by side looking to the east, the source of the wind. All was still. And so were they for many minutes.
“This is an omen.” uttered the elder.
“But... for who?” the other asked rhetorically.
A spark of light flashed on the horizon. They squinted to see, but all that was there was a dark, undefinable blot. Thunder cracked.
“This is...” the blond opened his mouth, but it was the younger who would finish the sentence.
“... a bad omen...”
Their eyes met. Thunder cracked again, this time louder. They could see the fire in each other's eyes, but also the cold unsure fire. Both turned and bolted towards opposite horizons.

[Shadow Trainer Ash]

Nice description on the battle scenes. ^_~ My only complaint, although, is that some of your sentences are rather choppy and should be examined. Same goes for the dialogue, as many of the sentences could've easily been spliced together to produce a full point.

[Darien Shields]

I know I said I'd repost and all, and I will, but I'm switching computers and the easiest thing for me is just to post. I'll finish it later.

South of the Great Plain was a small cluster of isolated villages, once part of a promising community, now just a handful of derelict structures on the edge of an eerie grave. The furthest north town was once know as Erin Gate, but had long since lost it's name. It was built on the very border of the plain, a river, once overflowing with fish and populated by foreign barges with exotic trades now little more than a sandy trench, as the river's source dried up decades ago.
Their were about a dozen grey stone houses in the town, but only half of them were inhabitted. All were in a state of disrepair, some even to the extent that houes is an exxageration. Their was a run down temple, but those who set foot in it had not intention of worship, most were playing games, or seeking some left over timber to build with. The village was devoutly athiest.
On the dusty river bank was still the remnants of a peir, that noone had time or care enough to dismantle,but every winter it would shrink as few folk could care to travel south for firewood. Connected to the peir was a small ruined building, once a boat house, but burnt down in the drunken rage of time past.
It was not a totally dead place though. Tufts of grass, truelly green grass, not like the the yellowed haze of the plains, and children still froliced in the square, sneaking into places they shouldn't, or adventuring in the decrepit buildings .
As their became les and less thigns to do, many people had left the village. But those who were still here, still vigilant, were happy. They weren't bothered by the boredom or monotony, but just wanted to live out their lives in peace, with no fear for their children.
It was into this tiny village that Tetsu Greysol ran breathlessly, sword batting against his leg from inside it's sheath. His brown hair now clung to his skull, glued by sweat, like his garmants now were. His boots and trousers were not only sticky with sweat, but coated in dusty sand from a crawl through the old river. He staggered into the "village square", a rough square where there were no buildings, or remains of buildings, but was covered in grass. A trio of girls, all around the age of five or six, were hopping in a circle as he approached.
"It's Tetsu!" one, a blond in a ragged pnk dress shouted, and skipped over. The others followed, skipping.
"Cele..." Tetsu whispered hoarsely, try to catch his breath.
"Where've you been Tetsu?" a second girl, also blond, but a good three inches taller, wearing a a grey top and blue skirt with rather ragged edge.
"Will you play with us?" the last girl asked. She was a few years younger than both the others, with brown hair. As the others skipped in circles round Tetsu she just jumped around him clumsilly.
"Merè, Bellè, I don't have", he coughed loudly then continued on, spluttering a little, "time to play, must get my..." he paused to breath, "father."
"He's angry with you Tetsu." Cele tutted.
"Says you stoll his sword..." Merè nodded.
"Is this it." asked Bellè, who had stopped her attempts to skip and was now tugging atthe scabbard attached to Tetsu's hip.
"Don't touch that..." Tetsu cleared his throat as he quickenned his pace, "It's not a toy."
Bellè pouted and sniffed pathetically.
"Maybe I'll play later, I have important things to do now!" Tetsu shook his head and sprinted away from the girls. His legs ached as he did so, he had ran nearly an entire mile flat out, and even without moving his muscles hurt, trying to use some speed was growing harder by the minute. He leant on his sheated sword a moment as he reached his door, then, swallowing air, he shoved the old door open.
Before he could get his foot in the door her heard the clunk of wood on wood, twice, and the scrape of one of his father's aold wooden chairs as he stood up. Tetsu came through the door way to meet his fathers clenched, wrinkley fist. He struck his cheek hard and tore the sword from his belt.
"To think my own son would steal my sword..." he fume, stamping across the room to return the sword to it's brackets above the fireplace.
"But-" Tetsu started.
"Trecking accross the plains! Have I taught you nothing? That place is cursed, only the brave and the foolish go there, and you know very well which you are!" the man yelled, pacing the houses one main room. It was rather barren really, a wooden table and a pare of chairs, a fireplace and two doors, one leading to each bedroom. The only real item of interest in the room was the sword, which alway lay above the fire, unless the father took it to hunt, or Tetsu found other reasons to liberate it.
"Did you even realize you could get hurt?" the old man continued, waving his hands high in the air, "I mean what were you doing, dueling some other idiot?! And what about us? What if the village was attacked while you're off gallavanting? You know fine well that no-one else has the skill or the stee to defend us!"
"But father!" Tetsu shouted, his face going red.
"Shut up!" the old man spat, wrapping his knuckles over his son's face again, "So irresponsible.."
"Father..." Tetsu said, more calmly this time.
"What?!" The old man turned around, mid pace, and looked furiousley at his son.
"Their were winds... on the plains." Tetsu said, fearing for a moment that he had lost his senses, and said something completely stupid and embarassed himself.
For a moment heir was silence, the old man stood gob smacked.
"If I find this is your fault..." he whispered. "Take this." he called, as he removed the sword from it's brackets and tossed it back to him. He paced off into his room, saying, "And grab anything you want to take, we've got a long trip ahead of us..."

Some four hours later both Greysols emerged from their house, Tetsu with the sword at his hip, struggling under the heavy weight of his backpack, filled with provisions and survival items, and his father, Betram Greysol, with a dreamcatcher around his neck and a bow and arrow around his back, aswell as various knives hidden around his body. His beefy jacket, lined with several armour plates, also had his fair share of provisions hidden in it's many compartnents.
Bertram was an unusually fit man for someone who had entered their sixties seveeral years ago, but he was far past his prime. His once broad shoulders were diminished after years of carrying heavy loads, and his muscular arms now thin and bony. He took pride in his hair, which despite going grey manyt years ago, was still long and thick. Once he was the tallest man in town, but a hunch had capped his heigjht, and Tetsu would soon be taller than him. His eyes had lost their brilliant blue sheen and had dimmed to grey, but if you looked closely, their was still a hint of their old beauty, the old fire still burning deep inside. He had a wise face, with many wrinkles trced over it, like much of his body, but he did not care, since his wife had died many years ago, looks were no longer important to him. Despite this his skill with the sword an precision with the bow made him the most adept hunter in the aging vilage, and everyone looked up to him. When he told them to stay in their homes, they would stay in their homes come hell or high water. When he told children not to play in the fields, they wouldn't go within two yards of the dried up river. All but one, his son.
Now the other villagers had gone home and gone to bed, with a solemn warning from Bertram not to venture north under any circumstances, and to watch the horizon for anymore signs or trouble, and most impotrantly, always be ready to run. Sleep would not find them quickly tonight.
Bertram led at a steady pase, trying his son who was still aching from his long sprint. Tetsu grunted and looked to the sky. It had already been late when he had returned, now the sky was black, punctuated by millions of sprakling points forming no paricular pattern, filling the sky as far as the eye could see. A thin pearly line also luminated the sky, the last whisper of the months moon. This was an appeasing isght, but when he looked east, his heart filled with dread, as taht part of the sky, was blotted out.
To a stranger the Plains would seem calm, but Bertram cursed as the grass made even the slightest unaded movement. The silence of the plains was interupted by a soft breeze, that made both shudder.
"You say the wind hit you and it didn't hurt?" Bertram asked, glancing back to his son who was now struggling to keep up.
"No, it was just as any other wind." Tetsu explained.
"Perhaps that is a good sign. At least we will be able to cross without fear of being bewitched." Bertram nodded.
This was their only conversation for several hours. Bertram knew like his son that such a wind was an omen, but he had no knowledge of what it would mean, so his plan was to treck up north and see a diviner in the town there.