(Page 1 of 2)
The Chronicles of Rodill part 1 by Gerard T JosephSUMMARY: This is an attempt at writing from someone young who is just interested in becoming a writer. This part begins the tale of a man called Rodill.
The rain relentlessly battered down on the small group of men who were stuggling to the edge of Loomeron forest. As the twenty or so men reached the shelter of the mighty trees on the outskirts of the forest, they slumped down onto the wet grass, catching as much breath as they could. The camp lapsed into a comfortable silence, a rare moment of tranquilty that everyone was making the most of. One man was still standing and looking at the men strewn around him. The man was Rodill Emek and he had somehow became the unofficial leader of this band of desperate men. The events of the last 8 months were the most important and distressing of his life and, yet,he knew his ordeal was only at a beginning. Rodill suddenly sank to his knees and picked up a small yellow flower that was poking through the tough soil at the edge of a particulary large tree. As he admired the beauty of the flower, a thing he was unable to do until now, he thought back to the events that started him down this road of the unknown.
Eight months before
Rodill loosed an arrow into the massive congregation of deer in the distance. A loud scream announced that his arrow had struck home and he silently sighed his releif. He hadnt eaten for two days due to the unusual lack of game on the outskirts of Eldrad, the village he called home. He had decided to come all the way to Loomeron forest with a few of his freinds so that they could finally eat, and eat they would, thought Rodill happily.
"Geez Rodill, thats one fine specimen youve just brought down there!"
Rodill looked closely and realised he was right. The deer was bigger than usual, and all the better for it.
"Your right their Calder! That thing could feed the village for a week!" laughed Rodill, looking forward to spiking this animal and rotating it on a spit. Rodill looked around, suddenly realising that they were a man down.
"Were has that Rascal got to now?" began Rodill, a hint of irritation entering his tone.
"Who?" asked a small man at the back of the hunting party.
"Breen. I guess hes gone to relieve himself" Rodill replied as he set off to fetch his massive prize. He reached down and looked at his kill. He gradually regretted what he had done as he took in the sheer elegance of the beast before him. He rubbed his grey streaked stubble in irritation, as he once again looked at the beast, wishing it would jump up and bound away into the hulking mass of trees that was Loomeron forest. As he pulled the arrow from the deers neck, he noticed a small mark on the creatures forehead. It was a sword with a dragon curling around the blade. Rodill backed away in utter horror, his eyes transfixed on symbol. It was the mark of the Ordon slavers, and as far as he was concerned, the mark of evil.
"Its time to go" said Rodill as he turned around to face his comrades.
"Yes, indeed it is hunter"
In a circle around his friends was around fifteen men clad in shining black robes, each with a hood up and a red mask just visible under the hood. The man who had spoken approached Rodill with his sword drawn.