SAMPLE
This story is about 5000 words.
He had seen it lying in the trees at the edge of the road, but hadn't realized what it was until he got close. There was a ring on the third finger that he knew very, very well. The problem was that was about all of what there was left of its owner. The forearm showed obvious bite marks and there was blood in the bushes with sloppy wet red chunks of something he didn't want to contemplate on the ground nearby.
He turned towards his home and started to sprint as fast as he could. Logan hadn't gotten home for a reason. He hadn't been drunk; he'd been dead.
He turned the corner and his worst fears were confirmed. All of the lights were out in his home and the door was hanging off the hinges. Please, no, he thought as he ran to the door.
With no concern for his safety, he pushed through the door and ran into the eating area. No one here. There was still hope.
He took two big strides and he was in the kitchen. The scene that greeted him was like something out of a nightmare.
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(SMASHWORDS EDITION / Copyright Kenneth Guthrie 2011)
In one night a man loses everything to the vile evil that is the orcs. What follows is this man's vengeance and the beginnings of one of the heroes of The War of Blood and Bones. Find out who inside!
SECTIONS
LAST EMBRACE OF A FATHER
The forest was a mixture of greens and grays. This area was one of the best farming areas in the southern region of the King's lands. It was famed for its high quality wheat, which feed many of the King's personal bakeries.
The little farm that had stood there through generation after generation wasn't large by the standards of this area. The farmers who had worked this land hadn't been so much focused on extending their fields as growing good crops for the people of this area. They did their part and expected little in return for their efforts, but an honest wage and minimal tax. Unfortunately, in recent years the later had hardly been minimal. Still, the wages were enough for the family that lived on this small patch of farm land to survive.
The farmer was in his field right now. Every day he would work on growing the plants that were his family's livelihood. His brownish tunic and torn pants were a testament to his hard working nature. His wife had managed to give birth to a baby girl two years ago and ever since the farmer had been working harder to cover for the cost of the extra mouth to feed.
He didn't really mind though. They had struggled to have this one child and he would have gladly have had more if his wife's body was able.
The tanned brown haired man patted his brow with a dirty brown patched cloth that he always carried with him. Long ago his wife had given it to him on the day he had taken her to the festival of the king to dance away the evening. It was their first time out in public together - they had been carrying on out of the public eye for sometime before that - and he remembered with pleasure how touched he had been by the gift, which was handmade and had his name and hers embroidered in the corner. It always reminded him of her when he held it in his hand.
Looking up to the sun and judging that it was near enough to midday to stop working for now, he picked up the hoe he had been using to carve a new irrigation trench for the pumpkins he was trying to grow. Pumpkins were a bit of a rare vegetable in this area and he had been very lucky to buy them so cheaply from a passing goblin who was heading into the orc plains just across the boundary line a few dozen leagues away.
The man walked towards the small house he had built with his own two hands. It wasn't the best of houses and would hardly be considered pretty by the standard of the big inns in the merchant town to the south of here, but it was homely enough for him and his wife and he were proud of what they had created by their own efforts.
He walked up the little wooden steps they had put in since his daughter had started to explore the outside of the house more often on her own. He was always careful when she went outside, lest she got lost or some animal or other creature chose to make her its meal.
He sat down on the chair he’d put on the porch for enjoying an occasional mug of mead with his wife when the opportunity presented itself. His wife was very harsh on him when it came to wearing his boots inside. He really didn't understand what the problem was, but he guessed it was a woman thing and not to be understood by men. His father had said to him that women were a lot like cats. If they were happy with you, you were alright, but if you did them one bad turn they would turn their tail up at you and go their own way. Nothing he had heard so far had proved this not to be true.
He knocked on the door as he walked into the house. His wife always like to know when someone was in the house and knocking before entering, even though it was his own house, had become a natural part of that. It didn't really bother him that his wife was picky about things like this. When she was younger her parents and all of her siblings had died at the hands of the orcs in a small village a lot closer to the boundary line than they were now. It had been a fairly vicious battle and had been the talk of the neighboring towns for some time after that. If knocking made her feel more comfortable then he was happy to do it.