Young Writers Society

OK, this is my first storybook so I don't expect a whole ton of responses, especially with the caption I've put under the title. Oh well.

Rules:
1) NO ENDINGS. This is one of the worst things you can do to a storybook. Any attempted endings will be deleted as soon as I see them.
2) STICK TO THE PLOTLINE. I don't care if what you post is zany and wacky as long as it makes sense in within the world and follows the story is some logical way.
3) DESCRIBING YOUR CHARACTER BEFOREHAND IS UNESSECARY. This is not an RPG, so you don't need to stick to one character, and you don't need to have a new character fully figured out. Half the fun will be developing mysterious characters.
4) THIS IS A FANTASY. And a serious one, at that. A middle-ages, magical fantasy. Dragons and Centaurs and Wizards are OK. Guns are not.
5) HAVE FUN! Enjoy yourself, and don't worry if you don't think what you posted is good enough. As long as it follows the rules, it's fine.

Here goes:

As Eoin moved gracefully from the ground onto the thick branches of a vast oak-tree, in his head he blessed the forest. Such a beautiful place it was, wild and windswept, yet structured and peaceful. What a pity nobody seemed to notice it nowadays. But no matter, Eoin thought, no matter. His plan was to take care of those who refused to notice.
He may have blessed the forest for it's beauty, but there was really only one thing Eoin loved about it: the forest's trees made a perfect hiding place.
As wind rustled the leaves and bushes, casually tossing them aside, a sound travelled in it's gale. From where he sat on the thick branch, Eoin blessed the wind. Such a gloriously powerful thing. Really though, what he loved was the information it revealed, and the sound it carried: the sound of a horse's hooves as they clip-clopped on the well-worn path below. Where there was a horse, there was a man, and Eoin knew which man would be travelling through the forest on a day like today. Eoin drew his bow from his bare chest, and in his head, Eoin blessed sound.
With perfect balance on the oaktree, and a clear view of the path, Eoin nocked a single arrow. It was all he would need.

Coden rode silently in the forest, his chestnut brown hair bobbing to the beat of the horse's hooves. A heavy broadsword laid tightly tied beside his hand, waiting and ready to be used. His rounded ears marked his race as human. His hazel eyes looked around him warily, watching for any and all signs.
The quick whistle of air warned him. Turning quickly, he snatched the arrow out of the air just as it was about to pierce his skin. He scanned it with great speed.
"White aspen..." he whispered. His eyes turned crimson, and he lit the arrow aflame. Turning towards the forest, he yelled, "Come out, elf, before I burn this whole forest into a pile of ashes!"

sry 4 that double post...

Blending in almost perfectly with the trees, a rather odd occurance given that she's not hiding, Ayanah watches curiously. She stamps a hoof, yes, she's a centaur, a white one at that, from the top of her head to the tips of her hooves.
Brilliant blue eyes, the colour of a deep lake on a clear summers day watch from the shade of the white aspen trees. A clear, melodious and oddly accented voice calls out "I doubt me you could find the elf, let alone fire fast enough to shoot him."

From the trees, Eoin gave a silent curse. This was not going to plan. What was more, everything felt wrong; the chill of the wind, the desperate cry of the birds above him. And that voice... It was a centaur's. And it was praising him. Eoin shuddered.
A centaur's praise. The rumour in the Ancient World was that a centaur's praise was inverted: any praise, however subtle, meant the opposite of what it said. Eoin didn't understand it, nor did he know if it was even true, buthe wasn't waiting to find out. With the swiftness of a cheetah, he leapt off the tree and sprinted into the forest, away from the path.
Coden should have noticed, but he didn't. The rage he felt at the elf's shot clouded his mind like it always did, and he didn't notice anything properly.
''You're unwise, human'' the centaur called, ''You let anger engulf you like the rest of your race.''
''Who asked you?'' Coden snarled angrily, his eyes and arrow still ablaze.
''Why, nobody. But do you want that treachorous elf to scar your pride by escaping? Or will you slay the horrible beast like a true knight? He went that way, by the way'' the centaur added, pointing a finger the opposite direction to where Eoin ran. But it didn't matter; Coden galloped off without question.
As silence prevailed in the forest, the centaur laughed to himself. How he loved humans. Pride and trust; they were so easy to manipulate, it was unreal. Still chuckling, he trotted off into the forest.

And so, the course of history was changed. Coden was not murdered, and Eoin was not a murderer. The Two Great Lands were preparing for war, and now, because of the centaur, both Coden and Eoin would be play their part.
As for the centaur, oh, he'd be there alright. He'd make sure of it.


OK, so now I'm thinking it should go somewhere different, like Coden's story in the war between the Two Great Lands. Up to you lot, though.

Syra watched the whole scene from above, and chuckled.
She dropped down from the trees, her tail swinging wildly from side to side for balance.
"Hello, centuar. Clever one you are."
"Syra. Shouldn't you be off hunting birds?"
Syra purred and started to preen.
A large cat-like creature, Syra had intelligence and grace.
Called Myst-Cats by humans, they were a dwindling race. With feline faces, fur-covered humaniod bodies, they were hunted as demons. But that never got in syra's way.
"Oh no, this is much more interesting. Tell me, who will win? the elves or the humans?"
"Not for us to know, Syra. Go find some partridge to tease."
Syra's eyes twinkled with mischeif. "Aye. I shall leave you now."
Syra spun and bounded off in pursuit of the departing human.

The silence that prevailed in the Land of the Elves was not unusual or spontaneus, but perpetual. It was there, and would always be there. Elves prided themselves on being a thoughtful, quiet, wise race, so why should they crowd their headspace with pointless noise? It didn't bear thinking about.
At least, that's what everyone thought. Silence meant wisdom, how simple could it be? The trouble was, if an elf heard you say that, they'd give a single, silent chuckle. How foolish you'd look...

It was mid-afternoon. A bright, fiery sun blazed directly overhead and not a cloud invaded the clear skyline. Town-squares all over the Land of the Elves were busy with movement and work, but not with noise. People left their houses and walked to where they were going. Simple as.
It was mid-afternoon, and in a town called Terragrade, a deal was done. Quick and simple it was, with as few words exchanged as possible. There was an Elf named Eoin and a dark fellow who worked for the Elfen Lord. A name was mentioned- Coden- and the phrase 'Last chance' was used regularly.
And it was murderous.

Thus, the glory of silence. Every Elf knew that conversation was not an agreeable one, but they were a quiet race. They needn't bother themselves with talk that meant nothing to them. It wasn't in their nature.
Yes, to the Elfen Lord, silence was golden.

Coden gave up his search for the elf. Laying back in the forest underbrush, he enjoyed the sun as it started to dip beneath the clouds. His horse trotted around freely, enjoying the rest. It needed to be short. he had to move on. He patted the note concealed beneath his armor. It had to be delivered.