Creative Writing: The Warrior's Fight

Dawn. Dawn broke slowly over the icy, frostbitten mountains that surrounded the city. The golden streaks waving goodbye to the sordid darkness of the shadows. The orange blazing ball raised it’s head just above the horizon. The city stood there like a cold, arctic slab of washed out grey iron. A large, bearded man stood there staring at it for what seemed like centuries, dressed in wolf furs as black as the pits of hell. Who is this man?, It was Argus, head of the Warrior’s faction of Aldenwolf. Argus always liked to sit on top of the war tower in the morning. He sat taking in the glistening, fiery orange and pink sky. Argus had to stop himself and gather his things for it was a special day; the day of the winter solstice was upon the city

As a reminder of his great dishonor he had he fur stained with the blood of his people permanently. He screamed out in pain and cursed the gods for not letting death's sweet embrace take him to Valhalla.

The gods sent his spirit back to his body. He awoke back in the river but his fur was blood red now; a reminder of his dishonor. Argus climbed to the top and saw the ashes of his city. He sobbed and wept for he could hear the screams of his people being slaughtered. He sat in a small cave and wept for days. The former leader had to forge a new sword. The gods had given him a great gift; in his pocket he found a crystal. A crystal of lightning unlike anything that had been seen since the golden age.

He grabbed a hunk of black iron and started forging. With 7 moons spent forging he knew his sword was perfect. He transferred the power of the crystal into the sword. The sword lit up with a fierce brightness and sparks flew everywhere. He carved his name into the sword and sheathed it. He found some slightly charred armor and put it on. He walked out of his city the way he came in, with tears. After he crossed the bridge his home crumbled into the mountain. It was a sign from the gods that his past was