Krzyścik Anna Gliwice

Hephaestus - Chapter 2 "Remembrance"

fishermen had returned to the village when they had first sighted the sails. Everyone had massed on the embankment overlooking the shore and protected the village from the wind. Theos had never seen such majestic vessels as before. They had reduced the square sails and adorned with an orange symbol and ocher. They seemed to get closer to the shore to wing their synchronized movements trains added to this impression.
Friend or Foe? Even the ancients were unable to tell. They were, against all agree that nothing good Theos but could not recall ever having heard describe anything good to share the wine vine open during celebrations of the solstice. The galleys
slackened their race, threatening eyes painted on each side gave them the appearance of a sea monster emerges from the abyss. The villagers shook against each other with the impression of being a helpless prey. Some wanted to flee or barricade themselves in their homes but the patriarch insisted that everyone remains calm and ready to welcome guests from the sea, Poseidon could send them an enemy.

Perhaps these powerful strangers they reward or at least they would save their village? A galley, bigger than other, more frightening, too, painted red and blue highlights continued his route right on the shore. The oars rose and fell in sending up sprays of water from the surface which was blue. She seemed hurt by the sea even his blows. Frisian ran a body of Theos and he was tempted out of hiding. Maybe he would have stayed with her parents?
The bow of the ship broke through the wet sand slowly before running aground. The oars were still suspended in the air with chatter and they are swallowed into the hull. The birds seemed to have deserted the scene. The waves had made docile and timid under the mighty ship. The villagers could not help but recoil as if they feared that the boat splitting the earth as he had made waves. Reflections appeared along the rail. Human cries arose incomprehensible forms and threw themselves overboard, landing a knee in the sand, head down, pointing their crest spectators, adding to the theatrics of the scene. Their muscles oiled and jutted their armor shining in the sun. At this time, Theos envied the imposing of these creatures and wanted to be one of them. The oval pads were patterned simple cursive and a wide round shield blocked their backs. On the torso, a bronze breastplate decorated with a dark pattern that seemed to bring out their skin. All the village men had skin matte and hauled men who spent their day at sea soldiers whom had skin like a baby but when they raised their headdress with a grave, Theos saw blue eyes sunk in a face and a dark beard cut framed.
The first of them had a crest decorated with a blue plume, it walked up to the patriarch. The latter drew back unconsciously. These men were taller than average and never bent by toil. The soldier wanted impassive but his helmet quivered as he wrinkled his nose. Theos, the son of Poseidon and Hephaestus not, remembered that he too felt the sea at the time and never felt any repulsion to the odor strong and candid. The soldier seemed to talk in whispers with his grandfather who knelt. Then he held out an arm core to the villagers and his men approached.
Theos panicked, he had not thought of evil away this morning to better observe the gigantic ship in the distance but now he felt he was too late to show even if he had wanted. His legs refused to carry it and it looked like the scene in slow motion. He would have loved his friend, Dorian was there at his side rather than at the bottom with others. His mother clutching her arms around his neck as if he was still a child she had to protect. Theos had learned the reason for all this later, Hephaestus the decadent needed children to fight in his name. Most of the villages that agreed to come take a tribe but the blood thirst of the city of a thousand fire was unquenchable and recruiters increasingly ventured far to fulfill their office. It was the first time that the village of Theos facing such a request and fear in the air. The disaster occurred by Nikos. The beautiful, intrepid Nikos. A fool who only liked young women who lived only for themselves and their image. As if that was one of the concerns of a fisherman. The soldiers grabbed the arm of young men and began to pull the ship. Crying and screaming when the first fusèrent mothers realized that they tore their son. All fishermen have a small knife used to scoop fish. Nikos was released on his own, Dorian saw but could not identify her mother's arms crying. Theos saw scared Nikos, the air serene approach a soldier, the knife in evidence. Nobody paid any attention to him, the soldiers were too busy pushing the grieving parents and villagers who cursed. Theos wanted to scream but no sound came from his throat. The knife plunged into the crest Nikos Soldier and as it sank into the soft belly of a fish. It falls slowly with a slight trickle of blood. The man put his hand to his neck and the blood continued to flow through his fingers. He turned around slowly and drew his weapon while his knees sagged under him. Nikos realized what he had done and walked away while the man collapsed face down on the sand against his armor suddenly appear duller. An order was barked out the swords and innocent body collapsed. While the blood
wet sand and the cries became hysterical, Theos Nikos preview that ran towards inland. The soldiers threw themselves in pursuit of carving a path through the human mass in front of them. Cutting off arms, cutting throats, gutted children. Theos saw Dorian stood before his sister in a protective gesture, forms later, but hid when he saw his friend bathed in blood, grinning red blocked his throat. Her mother still had her arms outstretched toward his children. His sister sobbed, looking fixedly before her, his hands covered with blood. Theos was always amazed to have looked over the corpse of his friend than his parents. When the sun reaches the sky of noon, he was standing contemplate the grave of what had been his life so far.
He could not put a name on these bodies lying so grotesque. The few surviving loved ones shocked clutched in their arms or crying, cursing the gods.
The soldiers were busy carry the body of one of them who had fallen. Nikos head adorned the beach, the boats were broken, houses burned. Theos was frozen despite the sun, he started hearing a rustle beside him and turned around. The man in blue crest stood before him, his bronze sword dripping blood friends and relatives. The man raised an eyebrow and mice and reached out for him. Theos is folded in half to suddenly throw up and sank into oblivion, exhausted.

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Already?

And yes it is a lease.
In fact I've lost count of the avenger publish extracts here. The corrections were well advanced although I still qq grammatical problems to solve. I try to create a summary worthy of the name which is far from easy.

In fact I have very little time to spend months and spin. Elohai has more advanced due to a slight technical problem (the callepin I use to write was completed) and I'm finding other things to write about the new callepin. Nothing really transcendent, just enough to satisfy this need is writing. All these chapters will probably be small for all that ripens slowly, but one thing at a time.

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Hephaestus - Chapter 1 "First Blood"

when I will not even talk about what I write without showing a little bit. Here is the beginning of the last draft.

Theos wiping rain from his eyes with the back of the hand. His hair dripped down his face. The hot taste tickled his skin and he licked his lips almost expecting to feel the taste of tears. He tightened his grip on his gun, the leather glove scraping on the handle. He had come a long way to get there. The moment his attention was focused on the fog and the wet grass, the enemy could be heard breathing near, ahan and hit the ground feet. They came. All this was too much like a bad dream, except that his bad dreams to him were worse. He adjusted well to shield the line up against his neighbor, mindful that his elbow and his side are well protected. The final moments went by slowly, pretending the earth lulled into a gentle breeze before chaos breaks loose do.

He saw a fleeting shadow moving in the fumaroles a mouthful of soil moisture. Two thousand men were standing beside or behind him. The flower of the army of Hephaestus, the city of a thousand fires. He shivered as if he had toyed with the spine but the only love he knew gentle yet was of his blade. When an arm emerges from the nothingness he moved to block the sharp steel that fell. All took a step forward, round shields raised. A crash was heard, the line twitched, grunted, but held out ebbed.
Voices were raised but he did not listen. He remembered the last moments of his family and anger fills his veins. A second shot
side emerges with facies grinning, bearded and with a terrifying enemy. The man was sweating and elated, angry. His shoulder-length hair sent waltzing around droplets of sweat and open grin on decayed teeth made him look fierce. The ax stuck in the wooden shield, splitting the divine symbol orange and green that it was portrayed. The shock reverberated in the arm of Theos, who felt it give way, the shield being suddenly too heavy for him. He knew that it mattered little. It was only a negligible amount. Of flesh placed in expendable frontline slow down the enemy. The veterans waited calmly behind a line that even he could not cross it was sinking. It should not therefore fall. Shaking his shoulder to break free of the strap that held the heavy piece of wood, he swung his right arm in a backhand short and scathing. In close combat, fine and short bronze sword was largely an advantage over the long ax. He drew a line through the scarlet face astonished at his opponent. Blood mingled with sweat and rain, a few drops landed on his lips and he finally tasted the salt of the fight.

The body sank leaving room to another, younger, less hairy, more vivid, just as dead.
Theos planted his sword into his belly and welcomes the gentle gurgling of a man choking in his own blood. The thirst of the battle won. The line progressed. Crazy! These ignorant unable
had thought they could defeat the army of Hephaestus in the morning, out of all the fights that Theos had never attended it had breached its duty and its training. Relentless discipline reigned in the camp and it took only a few tens of minutes to align the two thousand soldiers in close order on the battlefield. Unless it was necessary so that the enemy comes into contact. And there, they tasted the fruit from contact with steel in their guts.

This noise, unmistakable, that crackled and tore the flesh. He shuddered at the memory of these sounds the first time he had heard. He had a lot less happy.
It refocus on fighting and hatred of the past resurfaces and blood mingled with tears.
He felt like crying and shouting and singing in heaven when her pain shot down his sword through the shoulder of a muscular and shirtless barbarian. The man looked surprised and distraught, he attempted to raise his arm while the blood gushed from blows to the deep gash that had been kneeling. Theos gently placed his feet on the broad chest of the man's feet and pushed him gently, looking slouch when life left the dark eyes that stared and imploring. Whatever the force that leads us in life, only the face of death account.
One foot on the chest of the dying man, the other firmly planted in the grass, he felt the shields of his companions in his back, always pushing forward. The day would be long. How long would it take for the enemy to understand that his efforts were in vain. What a man alone in the dark ahead acknowledges that he is lost?
He advanced several paces, and suddenly found himself alone. Lost in the mist and the grass, the metallic sound of combat echoing around lulled by the groans of the dying. It turned on itself without knowing which direction to turn. A brushed
launches accompanied by his servant who plunged headlong. The man pushed, kicked, threw him to the ground and remained lying there Theos, looking at the sky and the clouds dispersed gradually. The man was heavy on him but did not move, the sword of Theos planted between two ribs. But Theos not worried about it more, his eyes blurred by tears contemplating the thin piece of blue sky as the sun silhouetted in the fog and tried to expand strongly. He saw a seagull pass and smiled. He accompanied his flight into its memory, and blessed or cursed day he hid alone in the bushes covering the hill north of the village. From there he could see the sea and the place where some were slumped thin fishing boats. Unusual sight at this time they had to find the open sea to fill their bellies glistening fish. The village was in turmoil and he was amused. It was hidden and they were standing. Dorian. If he had known. His views fell out when he forgot the present and plunged into the nightmares of the past.