( Hey I'm back and what better way then to post a short story i did for English thats evoloved into a 4 part episode.)
A swordsman of uncountable skill
Rides his horse from over the next hill.
Down a winding path that moves from place to place.
His journey began as only a simple race,
To wander from town to town to meet,
Those who were nimble on their feet, and sharp of eye.
He gathered them to give a try.
A simple challenge the word did go,
To defeat him in combat with the final blow.
Offers of gold and fame and more,
Lead many a man, and his mind explore,
If such a task could been done by one?s self,
Or if one needed some extra help.
They attacked in pairs and groups and more.
And every attempt he cut down to the floor.
For the price of failure was every man?s dread,
Since the swordsman would simply remove their head.
A retribution that saved their humiliation,
In a form his mind saw as the only operation.
It was in the field on that fateful day,
Those four horsemen should come his way.
And take his challenge as their own
So battle ensued to terms unknown.
Each horseman was skilled in their own arms.
Their abilities matched the swordsman?s to his alarm.
The first had a dagger that looked like a weaving spike,
Like the adder waiting to strike.
The second held a sword as large as a man,
Yet wielded the weight with ease, by using only one hand.
The third held two blades, crossed behind his back,
What their design held in speed, in power they lacked.
The fourth figure whose face, like the others, was cloaked from sight,
Held a Scythe that gleamed in the moon?s light.
Each had a name the swordsman knew well:
Famine, Pestilence, War and Death, their figures from a prophecy that did foretell,
Of any fool that attempted to fight,
These dark sentries of the night.
The fight continued as the hours ticked
While not a blow, scratch or nick,
Could be landed by either company as they tried,
Yet the swordsman?s exhaustion he could not hide.
His moves shifted from their graceful dance,
To feeble blocks to keep his stance.
The four slowly began to circle their prey,
As Famine and Pestilence rushed to end his days.
From the forest, a sliver light flew,
From what or where or who?
The arrow pierced Famine through the breast
Buried deep and lodged within its chest.
The creature shrieked and began to pull back,
Finally the swordsman saw his gap.
He pushed forwards and slashed down low,
Hoping to land a fatal blow.
Across the waist the sword did bite
And pulled it he must, with all his might.
As he struggled to pull it free,
War lashed out and collapsed his knee.
He fell to the earth and turned in fear
As Pestilence crossed his blades to form a shear.
He crawled away as the weapon drew near,
Until a twang of a string echoed for all to hear.
A silver arrow bathed in its own light
Passes the swordsman who watched in fright,
As the arrow penetrates through Pestilence?s skull.
It drops its blades as the swordsman rolls,
To escape their touch at where they fell,
Soon he began to rise and Pestilence as well.
For it is disease that makes up its being,
No connection to the dead, nor love for the living.
The swordsman dove and made a slash,
Cutting away is stomach with a gash.
Famine arose from where it fell,
Dagger dancing between its fingers with unmatched skill.
With one fluid motion, it left its hands with a flick,
Its accuracy true and before he could blink,
A third arrow flew and hit its mark,
Diverting the dagger through Pestilence?s heart.
Who screeched in agony and writhed uncontrolled.
Famine became impaled by the sword in its dying hold.
The two collapsed in clouds of dust,
Returning to their realm while their weapons began to rust.
The swordsman turned, only two remained.
War with his power and death with his Scythe?s blade.
The two greater of the horsemen fresh for battle.
While the swordsman staggered and began to stumble.
The moon began to fall from its throne,
Half the battle was nearly gone.
The swordsman began to breathe long and deep,
Fighting exhaustion, dizziness and sleep.
Death circled left as War moved right,
The swordsman backed up, struggling to keep both in sight.
His grip on his hilt began to tighten
As unseen winds and storms struck with thunder and lightning,
Upon his mind, casting doubt and regret,
Unsure if victory would ever be met.
His luck had helped him survive this trying bout.
But he knew his luck was almost out.
For a trying chance to cheat the four,
Would result in death and nothing more.
This challenge he had began was his curse,
That allowed any being, whether living or dead, a chance at his purse.
In his mind the voice?s howled,
Each one an individual he had felled.
They spoke of death and scream their vengeance filled,
While his body lay rotting in this empty field.
He raised his blade and cleared his thoughts,
His opponents circled and gained their spots.
An advantage they took, that he did regret,
While one was in his view, the other one he was left to bet,
On where it would strike from after
And how he must avoid both attacks faster,
And return a blow to grant him space
In which he must turn to face,
The challenger who held the greatest threat upon his life?
But he knew that it was Death and his dangerous Scythe.
The battle began and it seemed to flash past,
As the dance of blades resumed and the swordsman struggled to last.
From out of the woods emerged a being bathed in silver,
A bow drawn in her hands as her person began to shimmer.
Her lips of cherry, eyes of sapphire,
Lit by some internal fire,
That breathed a calming light upon his heart,
That echoed his courage as his strength did start.
She raised her bow and took aim,
Accuracy true as the arrow sang.
It hit War through his hand, pinning it to its hilt,
The force of the impact caused it to turn and tilt.
It fell with a crash as the blade hit too,
Splitting the ground between the swordsman?s feet in two.
He sidestepped the massive blade and went in for the kill,
But death appeared behind him and his body turned still.
An unnatural force kept his body within invisible chains
While death appeared before him, holding him in its gaze.
An arrow of silver light, shimmering through the black
Catches the Scythe as its falling, wrenching it from Death?s grasp.
The swordsman takes one motion and plunges his blades through its hood.
As he removed it from its face, it collapsed to its knees as it should.
So he beheaded the monster where it lay,
His strength starting to return to him as he had survived this day.
The Horsemen were left broken and rotted,
Left in the field beside the twisting path he noted.
As he turned to thank his savior, she appeared to vanish from the lands.
But his guardian angel was always with him, protecting him with her own two hands.
A swordsman of uncountable skill
Rides his horse from over the next hill.
Down a winding path that moves from place to place.
His journey began as only a simple race,
To wander from town to town to meet,
Those who were nimble on their feet, and sharp of eye.
He gathered them to give a try.
A simple challenge the word did go,
To defeat him in combat with the final blow.
Offers of gold and fame and more,
Lead many a man, and his mind explore,
If such a task could been done by one?s self,
Or if one needed some extra help.
They attacked in pairs and groups and more.
And every attempt he cut down to the floor.
For the price of failure was every man?s dread,
Since the swordsman would simply remove their head.
A retribution that saved their humiliation,
In a form his mind saw as the only operation.
It was in the field on that fateful day,
Those four horsemen should come his way.
And take his challenge as their own
So battle ensued to terms unknown.
Each horseman was skilled in their own arms.
Their abilities matched the swordsman?s to his alarm.
The first had a dagger that looked like a weaving spike,
Like the adder waiting to strike.
The second held a sword as large as a man,
Yet wielded the weight with ease, by using only one hand.
The third held two blades, crossed behind his back,
What their design held in speed, in power they lacked.
The fourth figure whose face, like the others, was cloaked from sight,
Held a Scythe that gleamed in the moon?s light.
Each had a name the swordsman knew well:
Famine, Pestilence, War and Death, their figures from a prophecy that did foretell,
Of any fool that attempted to fight,
These dark sentries of the night.
The fight continued as the hours ticked
While not a blow, scratch or nick,
Could be landed by either company as they tried,
Yet the swordsman?s exhaustion he could not hide.
His moves shifted from their graceful dance,
To feeble blocks to keep his stance.
The four slowly began to circle their prey,
As Famine and Pestilence rushed to end his days.
From the forest, a sliver light flew,
From what or where or who?
The arrow pierced Famine through the breast
Buried deep and lodged within its chest.
The creature shrieked and began to pull back,
Finally the swordsman saw his gap.
He pushed forwards and slashed down low,
Hoping to land a fatal blow.
Across the waist the sword did bite
And pulled it he must, with all his might.
As he struggled to pull it free,
War lashed out and collapsed his knee.
He fell to the earth and turned in fear
As Pestilence crossed his blades to form a shear.
He crawled away as the weapon drew near,
Until a twang of a string echoed for all to hear.
A silver arrow bathed in its own light
Passes the swordsman who watched in fright,
As the arrow penetrates through Pestilence?s skull.
It drops its blades as the swordsman rolls,
To escape their touch at where they fell,
Soon he began to rise and Pestilence as well.
For it is disease that makes up its being,
No connection to the dead, nor love for the living.
The swordsman dove and made a slash,
Cutting away is stomach with a gash.
Famine arose from where it fell,
Dagger dancing between its fingers with unmatched skill.
With one fluid motion, it left its hands with a flick,
Its accuracy true and before he could blink,
A third arrow flew and hit its mark,
Diverting the dagger through Pestilence?s heart.
Who screeched in agony and writhed uncontrolled.
Famine became impaled by the sword in its dying hold.
The two collapsed in clouds of dust,
Returning to their realm while their weapons began to rust.
The swordsman turned, only two remained.
War with his power and death with his Scythe?s blade.
The two greater of the horsemen fresh for battle.
While the swordsman staggered and began to stumble.
The moon began to fall from its throne,
Half the battle was nearly gone.
The swordsman began to breathe long and deep,
Fighting exhaustion, dizziness and sleep.
Death circled left as War moved right,
The swordsman backed up, struggling to keep both in sight.
His grip on his hilt began to tighten
As unseen winds and storms struck with thunder and lightning,
Upon his mind, casting doubt and regret,
Unsure if victory would ever be met.
His luck had helped him survive this trying bout.
But he knew his luck was almost out.
For a trying chance to cheat the four,
Would result in death and nothing more.
This challenge he had began was his curse,
That allowed any being, whether living or dead, a chance at his purse.
In his mind the voice?s howled,
Each one an individual he had felled.
They spoke of death and scream their vengeance filled,
While his body lay rotting in this empty field.
He raised his blade and cleared his thoughts,
His opponents circled and gained their spots.
An advantage they took, that he did regret,
While one was in his view, the other one he was left to bet,
On where it would strike from after
And how he must avoid both attacks faster,
And return a blow to grant him space
In which he must turn to face,
The challenger who held the greatest threat upon his life?
But he knew that it was Death and his dangerous Scythe.
The battle began and it seemed to flash past,
As the dance of blades resumed and the swordsman struggled to last.
From out of the woods emerged a being bathed in silver,
A bow drawn in her hands as her person began to shimmer.
Her lips of cherry, eyes of sapphire,
Lit by some internal fire,
That breathed a calming light upon his heart,
That echoed his courage as his strength did start.
She raised her bow and took aim,
Accuracy true as the arrow sang.
It hit War through his hand, pinning it to its hilt,
The force of the impact caused it to turn and tilt.
It fell with a crash as the blade hit too,
Splitting the ground between the swordsman?s feet in two.
He sidestepped the massive blade and went in for the kill,
But death appeared behind him and his body turned still.
An unnatural force kept his body within invisible chains
While death appeared before him, holding him in its gaze.
An arrow of silver light, shimmering through the black
Catches the Scythe as its falling, wrenching it from Death?s grasp.
The swordsman takes one motion and plunges his blades through its hood.
As he removed it from its face, it collapsed to its knees as it should.
So he beheaded the monster where it lay,
His strength starting to return to him as he had survived this day.
The Horsemen were left broken and rotted,
Left in the field beside the twisting path he noted.
As he turned to thank his savior, she appeared to vanish from the lands.
But his guardian angel was always with him, protecting him with her own two hands.
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