I haven't posted any writing what so ever here. Because i think I'll do a much better job writing in my mother tongue and let a professional translator translate if it's good enough for an international market.
But the local larp campain got some players from the UK. Between larps I wrote a bit of flash fiction for or ingame forums about my bitter halfelf, always working for a world war where all but one race will fall and hence bring a world of peace.
I can't say its representative for my writing. I don't normally like writing classical fantasy, or third person or being this unsubtle. A quick an dirty introduction to the character mostly, but its still a snippet of fiction.
Work can be fun
Some steps of the operation was almost like a childlike to their nature, simple and fun, but anything for the War of Wars right?*
In a clearing beneath the moon sick yellow light stood a figure. She was smiling, drenched in blood and around her huge shapes lay fallen. The red thick liquid, not her own this time, was flowing sickly over scared skin. Her breath was heavy, but its hard to tell what its from ecstasy or hard work. The nights is freezing cold and her breath and and the hot blood is fuming.*
Far away at horizon lights from the the warhorse stud farm main building should be seen between the trees. But the farmhouse was to far away for sound to carry from here. Conveniently enough. Foals and mares had been grazing silently in the clearing. Perhaps it had been her peaceful calaqundi blood that let the halfelf walk among them caressing the pitch black warhorses, murmuring soft words into their ears, slipping the rope over their head and tying them to the trees. It had been all to easy.*
She raised the crude and huge homemade morningstar again and brought it down on the foals skull. For what could it be now, the thirtieth time? You couldn't even tell it was a head anymore. There. She licked splatted brain from here lips and sighed. Then she went over to the circle of carcasses cutting away the ropes that been tying them to the trees. Spread around the glen lay the tools of her trade. A rusty sword. A crude spear stood up from a mares round belly. A large obsidian knife obscene nailed a horse penis to a tree. Ugly arrows obvious not of any elven make was burrowed into the horses by the dozens.*
"Oh, sweet gods. It look like a band of orks slaughtered the poor animals. What a shame. Indeed."*Tanna told the moon and hissed, pleased. Then she turned around, and walked away. Disappearing into the forest laving no prints behind on the frozen ground.
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