Young Writers Society

I was having a case of when the big fat brown buffalo sits on your hand, otherwise known as writers block, so I had my friends create a characters and a scene so I could try and get the flow going again. I think it worked. cheers CL.

Can I Join?

The sound of metal hitting metal stung in the air. The pounding sounds of abrupt movement reverberated in the large sale. Grunts and hard breaths echoed against soaked flesh and sweaty armor.

The duelers pulled apart and began again the intricate dance they were forming, a beauty in itself painted in dents and scuffs on the wooden floor.

Taren found the display very interesting. Blonde vs. Black, Dark vs. Light, Affable vs. Somber and ever other types of binary opposites were at play here.

As they pulled apart noticing they had a visitor the players turn to him.

“Taren we were wondering if you’d ever show up.” Breathed the blonde heavily, his faced was reddened and sweat slicked. He pushed a straying strand of his short straw colored hair out of his eyes.

The darker of the two in both features and dress sauntered slowly over to the side bench, taking long deep breaths, carefully moving the muscles in his extremities. Placing his long sword on the bench, he started a trek around the salle.

“So ready to show off your talent?” the blonde smirked playfully.

“Yes, you ready to eat dirt?” Taren muttered pulling out his practice blade.

The blade was much shorted and wider than either of the other paled in comparison. At the sight of the weapon, the blonde was sent into a fit of laughter, almost collapsing where he stood. The dark haired man smiled slightly, a mirthful twinkle in his eyes.

“What.”

“It’s so small.” The blonde got out before convulsing in laughter again.

“Well…” Taven was not sure what to say, as his cheeks blushed hotly.

“It’s barely anymore dangerous than a pair of my mothers embroidery needles.”

The blonde paused a moment trying to catch his breath.

A voice from the door startled the occupants of the salle. The small, dark haired son of the keep’s Lord spoke softly.

“Well at least he’s not compensating for something.”

The laughter stopped abruptly as the statement sunk it.

The blonde turned and narrowed his eyes, “Hey…”
“That’s Not Fair!”

Taren chuckled quietly to himself.

“I’m afraid so Loren.” The deep voice of the otherwise silent dark man who was leaning against the opposite spoke, “It’s fair enough.”

The small child bounded down to them, “Can I join?”