The exercise:
We're going to try something a little different today.
The exercise today is: part two. Go digging for a previous bit of writing you've done, here or elsewhere, and continue it. I think we're all guilty of writing things here that could easily be continued (I'll gladly admit I'm the guiltiest of all) so let's start making amends!
Due to the beg... er, requests of several of you, I shall be continuing this today.
It got a little long. And yeah, there will most likely be a part three some time.
Mine:
The man made no move to continue, instead taking up position in the middle of the road and sheathing his swords across his back, the blades forming the most dangerous ‘x’ in the eastern provinces. He would wait for them to come to him and then let fate decide his hand. And theirs.
A cloud of dust on the horizon was the first visual indication of their approach and it wasn’t long before he could discern the dark silhouettes of five horses and their riders amidst the light brown cloud that nipped at their heels. The man crossed his arms across his chest and shifted his weight slightly to the right as the riders spotted him and slowed their mounts to a more cautious canter.
“Hail,” the lead rider called as they drew to a halt twenty paces away. He sat confidently upon his mount, a black beast thick with muscle and heavy with the scars of regular combat. The man’s thin black hair lay slicked back against his head and his beard was well trimmed. The markings on his chest plate indicated he was a captain of the royal guard.
“Hey,” the man replied with a slight nod, causing the captain’s eyes to narrow slightly. The man looked up to the clear sky overhead and added, “Lovely afternoon, isn’t it?”
“What business have you on the royal road?” the captain asked as his men formed a solid wall of steel and horseflesh from one side of the path to the other.
“I come with a message for the king,” came the reply in a bored tone. “Say, I don’t suppose I could catch a ride with you kind gentlemen? I hear it’s a long way to walk.”
“I do not think so,” the captain answered, allowing a sneer to corrupt his expression. His men laughed quietly, knowing enough not to anger their leader through overly obvious adulation. “Perhaps, if we deem the message worthy of his royal ears, we can deliver it to his highness for you and save you the trouble. What is your message and what name should be attributed to it?”
“Well that is mighty, mighty kind of you. Unfortunately these lips of mine are quite insistent on their need to speak directly to the king, so I’ll have to take a pass on your generous offer. But I would appreciate the use of that fine horse you’ve got between your legs there. This road of yours is making my feet awful sore.”
“Turn back,” the captain growled as he drew his sword, his men following suit without hesitation, “or be left to feed the vultures.”
“Going back is not an option, my friend. But perhaps my name will change your mind?” The man reached over his shoulders and pulled his swords free in unison, his body taking up a Tonzen warrior stance with practiced ease. “I am Rohman Greywood, lone survivor of the massacre at Desmond Manor perpetrated by your so-called king. I will have his head before I go to the Great Sky Dream and I will have yours as well if you dare stand in my way. The choice is yours.”
