Young Writers Society

I'm new here, I took a look around and this seems the place to post about my story. Are there rules regarding story posting? Or should I post it on my profile? Sorry for the confusing! Figuring this site out!

First Chapter:

The Master of the Night
by Master Paul Xavier
I
A crack of thunder shook the ground on which King Ferdinand lay. He gripped the hilt of his sword, pain overwhelming his senses, yet he did not cry out. It had begun to rain, the droplets falling from the cloudy sky, raining down upon the dark and smoking battlefield, stinging his eyes. His ears picked up the faint pitter patter of rain cascading down onto his armor. Ferdinand could feel his end drawing near, and rather than crying for help from his faithful soldiers, chose to lay among the wounded and dead, preparing to join his Heavenly King. “Anima Christi…” he murmured above a whisper, clenching his teeth in pain, “Corpus Christi, salva me…” his weakened voice mixed with that of the rain, which seemed all the louder on the silent field. Ferdinand strained his ears, picking up a noise. Skirmishers. There were two enemy soldiers, slowly approaching, their eyes focused on the bodies, as if searching for a lost comrade. He remained silent, still praying. “O bone Jesu, exaudi me…” The soldiers continued searching, working their way towards the wounded king, as he lay helpless on the battlefield, it would be a matter of moments before they found him, and yet, he prayed on, “Ab hoste maligno defende me.” As if a miraculous answer to the prayer, Ferdinand heard the cry of horses in the distance. The two soldiers paused for a moment, looked at each other, and fled. The reason for the fleeing soon made itself evident, as two of the King’s knights rode among the body strewn battle field, searching…
“Your Majesty ? ” One of the knights shouted, searching from his saddle, peering among the faces of the dead for a trace of their absent King. Their search went on for several minutes in vain. ”Your highness ? ” This time the answer didn ’ t go unanswered.
“H-here…” The King’s voice was weak and fading, barely audible among the falling rain. The knight quickly dismounted, walking towards the frail voice, stumbling upon his king.
“My Lord! Are you injured badly?” There was a sense of earnest concern in his voice.
“I fear I…make it…” Ferdinand’s speech was broken, has he struggled to breathe, the loss of blood making him faint. The knight nodded in understanding, knowing his King had little time left among the living.
He gave a shout over the battlefield, “Over here! The King has been wounded! I need a stretcher!” The cry went unanswered, except for the shrill screech of a whistle, soon followed by a troop of soldiers carrying a wood stretcher. Several moments passed before they reached the knight, who stooped over his crippled lord, and after checking the King’s wounds, gently lifted him onto the stretcher, as he let out a soft moan, feeling his wounds being pressured.
Ferdinand closed his eyes, trying to rest his aching body, feeling the shadow of death envelope him, like a pale and chilled hand in the night, reaching out for him. “ In hora mortis meae voca me… ” The soldiers carried the king’s broken body on the stretcher, winding their way through the uncountable dead, dying, and strewn battlefield. The stench of war had begun to accumulate, blood, carnage, death, destruction. After several minutes, the small troop made it back to their lines ; or rather, what was left of them. The entire army had been severely beaten, but they had somehow managed to hold off the enemy assault. They wouldn’t last the next charge.
“Where is the King’s steward ?” the knight who had found Ferdinand asked as a crowd of soldiers gathered around the wounded King, making their way towards the surgeon hospital.
“Dead, pierced through the heart by an arrow. ” An officer informed the knight, as he removed his helm, inspecting the silent King, “ Is he …?”
“No, but he will be if he doesn ’ t get attention soon. Make way ! ” The Knight shouted, as the soldiers gave way for the stretcher and it ’ s bearers. They reached the hospital, entering it solemnly, bearing their King upon their shoulders, laying him down on a table. The surgeon silently approached with a sigh, sickened by the long hours of hard work attempting to save lives. ”Remove his armor. ”
The knight and soldiers were quick to get to work, careful unstrapping the armor plating, setting it to the side. On removing the leg plate, they exposed the broken stub of an arrow, buried into King Ferdinand ’ s right side. ”I see …” the surgeon muttered as he examined the wound carefully, ”he broke the arrow, but didn ’ t retire from battle. His wound is nearly fatal, but there is still hope. ” He reached over for his instruments, as the soldiers finished removing the rest of the King ’ s armor, revealing a stab wound in his right thigh. The doctor applied some alcohol to the wound, Ferdinand gritted his teeth in pain, his voice filled with anguish. He sat up, grabbing the knight by his surcoat, ”Where is Xavier ? ”
The king released the clothe as the knight nodded, exiting the surgeons tent. Ferdinand lay there, as the doctor worked at removing the arrow. Cleaning the wound, and attempting to pull it free. The king shook, his eyes shot with exhausted and pain, clenching his hand into a fist, offering up his sufferings silently. Xavier entered the tent silently, but the king was already alert to his presence. The young man was dirty, worn, and beaten. His face covered with dirty, and a nasty scar cutting down his cheek, destroying whatever handsome apparition there could have been there. His dark eyes glanced over his dying king, tears nearly forming, as he approached the surgeon’s table where Ferdinand lay, “ Y-your Highness …” he whispered, distressed to see his lord in such a state.
Before replying, the king reached down, pushing the surgeon away with his hand, “ No, let it be …” his voice came in breaths, “ Too late…for that. ” The doctor protested silently, but gave way as Xavier leaned his ear in towards the king’s lips, “ Xa-Xavier…I’ve always favored you as the son I’ve never had …” His voice quailed, fading off.
“‬Yes, My Lord. ” Xavier said in a gentle tone, reassuring the King of his presence.
“I have one request to ask…as a dying father to a son. ” Ferdinand’s eyes met Xavier’s with a kingly fury, the glint of royalty and strength ever shining from them. Xavier rested his hand on the king’s shoulder, slowly swallowing.
“‬What have you to ask of me ? Name it, and it shall be done. ”
Ferdinand lay silent for a few moments, taking in deep gasps of breath, as he felt his strength leaving him, “ You know well, that the Kingdom of my forefathers endures through each generation, being passed on from father to son, a history in itself. ”
“Yes sire. ” Xavier nodded and listened.
“This has always been so, except for now…” The king tensed as he lay on the surgeon’s table, quickly clinging onto Xavier’s surcoat, pulling him closer, “I have no son!” His voice was that of an agonizing despair, as if he had failed the entire world in an attempt to save it.
“My lord, your daughter shall continue the line. Her husband shall inherit your throne. ” Xavier’s words were reassuring to an heir-less King, but Ferdinand had not yet finished.
“Name one man, who is worthy of her. Name one man who is worthy to rule the realm.” His words rung with a sense of truth, there were few worthy of such a position of power. Ferdinand had united the nobles of the Kingdom in faith and honor, but there were still men none-the-less. Some noble, others corrupt, but each played a key role in the survival of the Kingdom. Xavier searched for something to say, but he well knew that his King was correct, he simply stood their, silent and watchful. “This is why I need you…Guard her…watch her…”
Xavier listened silently, contemplating the last command of his King. These were dangerous times, the battle was now claiming the life of the King, and now he was asked to look after the King ’ s daughter. Silence passed through the small hospital tent for a few minutes, before Xavier spoke his answer, ”I shall sir. I will devote my life to her protection, this I swear. ” He beat his clenched fist to his chest in acknowledgment, watching the glow on the king ’ s face slowly fade. ”Call the lord Bishop. ”
The moments passed slowly and painfully, as the bishop administered The Sacrament of Last Rites to the King, as Xavier stood by Ferdinand’s faithful guard watching. The prayers resounded throughout the small tent, as the Bishop led the men in the Litany of Saints, the repetitious cry of, ”Ora pro nobis, ” filling the room. After several minutes of ongoing prayer, the bishop leaned over the king, anointing his forehead with Holy Chrism. Within moments of this anointing, King Ferdinand gave a deep sigh, and closed his eyes, exhaling his last breath.
“Requiem aeternam dona ei, Domine, ”
“Et lux perpetua luceat ei. ”
“Requiescat in pace. ”
“Amen. ”

Sorry, but you need to access the writing tab, and not the community tab for this site. Writer's corner is simply to describe your work and its content, not the work itself. Someone has already told you this in private messaging, but 2 reviews are needed before you post your own work. Just to balance things here. Secondly, I'd go on to ask a mod to move this piece to a proper location, say historical fiction.

Since you have work, I might as well review!

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First Chapter:

The Master of the Night
by Master Paul Xavier
I
A crack of thunder shook the ground on which King Ferdinand lay. He gripped the hilt of his sword, pain overwhelming his senses, yet he did not cry out.

('yet he did not cry out' draws away from the power of the sentence.)

It had begun to rain, the droplets falling from the cloudy sky, raining down upon the dark and smoking battlefield, stinging his eyes.

(too much emphasis on the rain.)

His ears picked up the faint pitter patter of rain cascading down onto his armor. Ferdinand could feel his end drawing near, and rather than crying for help from his faithful soldiers, chose to lay among the wounded and dead, preparing to join his Heavenly King. “Anima Christi…” he murmured above a whisper, clenching his teeth in pain, “Corpus Christi, salva me…” his weakened voice mixed with that of the rain, which seemed all the louder on the silent field.

(I'd actually use a prayer in latin for effect and the last part doesn't make much sense. Good ompia. at the beginning.)

Ferdinand strained his ears, picking up a noise. Skirmishers. There were two enemy soldiers, slowly approaching, their eyes focused on the bodies, as if searching for a lost comrade. He remained silent, still praying. “O bone Jesu, exaudi me…” The soldiers continued searching, working their way towards the wounded king, as he lay helpless on the battlefield, it would be a matter of moments before they found him, and yet, he prayed on, “Ab hoste maligno defende me.” As if a miraculous answer to the prayer, Ferdinand heard the cry of horses in the distance. The two soldiers paused for a moment, looked at each other, and fled. The reason for the fleeing soon made itself evident, as two of the King’s knights rode among the body strewn battle field, searching…
“Your Majesty ? ” One of the knights shouted, searching from his saddle, peering among the faces of the dead for a trace of their absent King. Their search went on for several minutes in vain. ”Your highness ? ” This time the answer didn ’ t go unanswered.


(You have an unnecessary space seperating the 't from didn't.)

“H-here…” The King’s voice was weak and fading, barely audible among the falling rain. The knight quickly dismounted, walking towards the frail voice, stumbling upon his king.
“My Lord! Are you injured badly?” There was a sense of earnest concern in his voice.
“I fear I…make it…” Ferdinand’s speech was broken, has he struggled to breathe, the loss of blood making him faint. The knight nodded in understanding, knowing his King had little time left among the living.
He gave a shout over the battlefield, “Over here! The King has been wounded! I need a stretcher!” The cry went unanswered, except for the shrill screech of a whistle, soon followed by a troop of soldiers carrying a wood stretcher. Several moments passed before they reached the knight, who stooped over his crippled lord, and after checking the King’s wounds, gently lifted him onto the stretcher, as he let out a soft moan, feeling his wounds being pressured.
Ferdinand closed his eyes, trying to rest his aching body, feeling the shadow of death envelope him, like a pale and chilled hand in the night, reaching out for him. “ In hora mortis meae voca me… ” The soldiers carried the king’s broken body on the stretcher, winding their way through the uncountable dead, dying, and strewn battlefield. The stench of war had begun to accumulate, blood, carnage, death, destruction. After several minutes, the small troop made it back to their lines ; or rather, what was left of them. The entire army had been severely beaten, but they had somehow managed to hold off the enemy assault. They wouldn’t last the next charge.
“Where is the King’s steward ?” the knight who had found Ferdinand asked as a crowd of soldiers gathered around the wounded King, making their way towards the surgeon hospital.
“Dead, pierced through the heart by an arrow. ” An officer informed the knight, as he removed his helm, inspecting the silent King, “ Is he …?”
“No, but he will be if he doesn ’ t get attention soon. Make way ! ”

(Again a space after the contraction and one before the exclamation point.)

The Knight shouted, as the soldiers gave way for the stretcher and it ’ s bearers. They reached the hospital, entering it solemnly, bearing their King upon their shoulders, laying him down on a table. The surgeon silently approached with a sigh, sickened by the long hours of hard work attempting to save lives. ”Remove his armor. ”
The knight and soldiers were quick to get to work, careful unstrapping the armor plating, setting it to the side. On removing the leg plate, they exposed the broken stub of an arrow, buried into King Ferdinand ’ s right side. ”I see …” the surgeon muttered as he examined the wound carefully, ”he broke the arrow, but didn ’ t retire from battle. His wound is nearly fatal, but there is still hope. ”

(Capitalize he and spaced contraction again.)

He reached over for his instruments, as the soldiers finished removing the rest of the King ’ s armor, revealing a stab wound in his right thigh. The doctor applied some alcohol to the wound, Ferdinand gritted his teeth in pain, his voice filled with anguish. He sat up, grabbing the knight by his surcoat, ”Where is Xavier ? ”


(Surcoat typically cannot be grabbed, it should be by the collar correct?)

The king released the clothe as the knight nodded, exiting the surgeons tent. Ferdinand lay there, as the doctor worked at removing the arrow. Cleaning the wound, and attempting to pull it free. The king shook, his eyes shot with exhausted and pain, clenching his hand into a fist, offering up his sufferings silently. Xavier entered the tent silently, but the king was already alert to his presence. The young man was dirty, worn, and beaten. His face covered with dirty, and a nasty scar cutting down his cheek, destroying whatever handsome apparition there could have been there. His dark eyes glanced over his dying king, tears nearly forming, as he approached the surgeon’s table where Ferdinand lay, “ Y-your Highness …” he whispered, distressed to see his lord in such a state.
Before replying, the king reached down, pushing the surgeon away with his hand, “ No, let it be …” his voice came in breaths, “ Too late…for that. ” The doctor protested silently, but gave way as Xavier leaned his ear in towards the king’s lips, “ Xa-Xavier…I’ve always favored you as the son I’ve never had …” His voice quailed, fading off.
“‬Yes, My Lord. ” Xavier said in a gentle tone, reassuring the King of his presence.
“I have one request to ask…as a dying father to a son. ” Ferdinand’s eyes met Xavier’s with a kingly fury, the glint of royalty and strength ever shining from them. Xavier rested his hand on the king’s shoulder, slowly swallowing.
“‬What have you to ask of me ? Name it, and it shall be done. ”
Ferdinand lay silent for a few moments, taking in deep gasps of breath, as he felt his strength leaving him, “ You know well, that the Kingdom of my forefathers endures through each generation, being passed on from father to son, a history in itself. ”
“Yes sire. ” Xavier nodded and listened.
“This has always been so, except for now…” The king tensed as he lay on the surgeon’s table, quickly clinging onto Xavier’s surcoat, pulling him closer, “I have no son!” His voice was that of an agonizing despair, as if he had failed the entire world in an attempt to save it.
“My lord, your daughter shall continue the line. Her husband shall inherit your throne. ” Xavier’s words were reassuring to an heir-less King, but Ferdinand had not yet finished.
“Name one man, who is worthy of her. Name one man who is worthy to rule the realm.” His words rung with a sense of truth, there were few worthy of such a position of power. Ferdinand had united the nobles of the Kingdom in faith and honor, but there were still men none-the-less. Some noble, others corrupt, but each played a key role in the survival of the Kingdom. Xavier searched for something to say, but he well knew that his King was correct, he simply stood their, silent and watchful. “This is why I need you…Guard her…watch her…”
Xavier listened silently, contemplating the last command of his King. These were dangerous times, the battle was now claiming the life of the King, and now he was asked to look after the King ’ s daughter. Silence passed through the small hospital tent for a few minutes, before Xavier spoke his answer, ”I shall sir. I will devote my life to her protection, this I swear. ” He beat his clenched fist to his chest in acknowledgment, watching the glow on the king ’ s face slowly fade. ”Call the lord Bishop. ”

(It should be 'Lord Bishop' or 'Archbishop' to denote the title's importance.)

The moments passed slowly and painfully, as the bishop administered The Sacrament of Last Rites to the King, as Xavier stood by Ferdinand’s faithful guard watching. The prayers resounded throughout the small tent, as the Bishop led the men in the Litany of Saints, the repetitious cry of, ”Ora pro nobis, ” filling the room. After several minutes of ongoing prayer, the bishop leaned over the king, anointing his forehead with Holy Chrism. Within moments of this anointing, King Ferdinand gave a deep sigh, and closed his eyes, exhaling his last breath.
“Requiem aeternam dona ei, Domine, ”
“Et lux perpetua luceat ei. ”
“Requiescat in pace. ”
“Amen. ”

------

Overall very very nice. A good opening scene, even if overdone some. You have pulled it off quite well and had little errors in doing so. You really have a way with words. One of the more professional pieces on YWS. Not sure where you picked up the latin bit, but it works beautifully to give background to the piece.

I just don't like the whole rain issue. Battles are not typically fought in the rain and I've mentioned a bunch of reasons why in the fantasy fiction thread here: topic44357.html Namely the reasons are for terrain, and dealing with Agincourt's historical outcome because of it. Though we don't see it, Hippie uses the rain for dramatic effect and you are clearly doing the same. Which is why the whole rain issue just a bit cliche.

If I might add, a counterpoint to the rain would be the sun, and not a setting sun. That is cliche as well. It could be reworked a little so that the heat of the sun and its warmth inspires the dying king. Ultimately its up to you, rain is just over used and doesn't live up to the quality of the rest of this piece. Aside from setting the mood, it serves no physical purpose and that weighs it down more.

Yeah, Excalibur's right of course. If you can post this in another section, I'll read it when I have the time. Pm me later about it, and I'll make sure to review it for you.

Thank you for the review! And Ha! I missed the writing tab before. My bad. >_< But essentially, there are some hiccups I have to finish. I mianly just write for recreation more than accuracy.

In reference to the rain bit, I chose it for the dark aura that would surround the field, along with the death and destruction. Agincourt is the perfect example of why not to fight in the rain, but more or less, the battle was before, and the storm came afterwards. Though I could clarify that a bit more. Once again, thanks for the review!