Hola, this is my first post on the Battle Glade! Also, this is my first time writing a Warhammer story, so feedback would be grand. I know it's not amazingly long, but it's a good tester for my skills. Oh, I write fantasy books, worth mentioning. I hope to get one published soon! Ummm... I choose to write as outsiders to Athel Loren becuase it would give a more interesting view of the Wood Elves than simply saying "Wood Elf A feels a little bit angry becuase Beastmen A did something". I leave it to you to say if it's any good. Thanks!

The Eyes of the Forest

Mikel looked into the trees, a cold sweat breaking down his back. His new armour fitted very well, much better than his old battered affair that now hung back in his family halls. Covered with runes from the Dwarves, and a few messages of holiness on script from his old mentor, Sigmark, a devotee of Sigmar, it was painted the customary black of his family, the De Raquel of Stirland.
One of the older veterans, Artur, with a full grey beard and a rough manner, gave Mikel a hard shove on the back. “Has the pup gone scared, eh?” He laughed, a few of the others laughing as well. Mikel tried to rise above it, like his father had taught him. He knew that he was only a member of this Greatsword unit because his mother was a friend to the Elector. Only a few battles under his belt and carrying those fabled swords.
“Hardly. It’s just that this place makes me feel…” Mikel looked into the woods, and the darkness seemed to creep in on him, even in the daylight. He searched for a word. “Uneasy.” He finished lamely.
Artur laughed all the harder at this, as did his friends, and one of the men before him turned and gave him a disgusted look over his shoulder. He carried a set of drums that hung to his waist, his great sword in one hand, and such was his size that he could wield the thing with only that one hand.
“Leave him be.” A gruff voice cut through the laughter. In front of the group of twenty stood a man who had lost an eye, and stood no more than five feet tall. The Champion of the unit, a bastard relative of the Elector it was rumoured, Stephen had fought in more battles since his childhood than any other three men who stood with him. Despite his height, his presence demanded respect. He turned to look at Mikel, who shivered. His puckered scar, starting from the forehead to the chin, seemed to glow in the light. “I don’t like this either, pup, but we have been ordered to find some sort of treasure. A jewel that stops even the magic of our Mages. That is something I’d like to see for myself, but I don’t know if I want to go and get it.” He spat on the floor.
“Then maybe we should leave?” Mikel piped up hopefully, but was hit again on the back by Artur.
“Listen, pup, we don’t run away from anyone. We’re the best of the best, you hear me? I got one of them Chaos riders last year. No trees gonna scare me.” With that, he hefted his sword and walked into the forest. A few of the others followed. The drummer gave another look at Mikel, and left. Only Stephen and Mikel remained.
“Listen, pup, if you want the men to respect you, you can’t go saying you’re scared of trees.” Stephen shook his head, but his single eye remained fastened on Mikel.
“But can’t you feel it? Never have I felt such a… presence, a distaste for us, in a place before. It’s oppressive.” Mikel looked back into the trees, where the Greatswords were making their way forward.
“Perhaps, but we have to go in. You see that?” He pointed towards a large stone tablet, just on the edge of the forest, covered in vines. “If you look carefully, you can see a rune. Old Elvish. I think it’s a warning of some sort. That’s all I need to know to be careful.” He spat again. “I’ll see you right.” With that, he walked into the forest. Mikel gripped his newly forged great sword, and walked in behind them.

Inside the forest, things grew more oppressive. Mikel could feel, actually feel, the forest bearing down on him, like a hand pressing his soul into the floor. He hoped fervently for Sigmar to deliver him safely through this, and for those blessings on his armour to protect him.
It also didn’t help that Mikel swore he could see things in the corner of his vision, movement, eyes. He was always watched, every movement. Every time he stood on a twig and snapped it, he felt the forest flinch around him, and a sort of cry of anger. Mikel began to avoid stepping on anything, but that sense of outrage never left his mind.
The other Greatswords began to whisper amongst themselves, and although they avoided Mikel and excluded him, Mikel was sure they felt the same thing. Regardless of their orders, regardless of a lack of obvious threat, it was wrong to be here. They all knew it.
At the front of the trail, Artur walked confidently, his sword raised. He stomped through the growth, crushing flowers underfoot and breaking through branches. Mikel began to wander off the trail, slowly, to avoid walking in the same path of destruction that Artur left. To Mikels’ wonder, Stephen had already done the same. He had even sheathed his sword, and walked with his hands held slightly out to the sides. Mikel wondered why, briefly, before tripping over a tree root.
The Greatswords, already spooked, turned as one their swords raised, and then began laughing at their nerves and Mikel for their reaction. Mikel tried to laugh, albeit weakly. The forest and its’ eyes watched them more closely than ever. Mikel felt if he reached behind him, he’d touch someone. Something.
Artur, who had been leading, laughed and turned, walking into a thick branch. With the careless anger at something which had done nothing, he raised his blade to chop off the limb of the tree, and Mikel felt in his soul a cry of utter hatred. “Artur, no!” The warning fell on deaf ears, as Mikel scrambled to his feet to stop him.
“Get down!” Stephen cried as he dropped to the floor, jumping across the distance to pull Mikel to the floor. Mikel could still see, however, as the first arrow thudded into the soft flesh under the arm that carried the offending blade. Blood spurted out, and as Artur cried out, another two arrows thudded into his chest.
Out of nowhere, arrows flew from the trees, and several Greatswords were cut down, gasping at the air as lungs, hearts and veins were punctured. Blood spurted out, and Mikel flinched as it painted his face. Stephen, who had dove on top of Mikel, had two such arrows in his back.
The tree which Artur stood before, his sword still raised, flexed, and with a great swing, the tree limb hit Artur, breaking through his body and sending both pieces away from it, with a sense of disgust. Some of the other trees seemed to move forward, actually forming bodies.
The Dryads screamed, and the few Greatswords able to still stand covered their ears. One of them was killed as a Dryad tore through his neck, the arterial blood decorating the white bark of the spirit. One was cut down the middle by a Greatsword who had recovered his wits, his sword covered in sap and he backed against a tree to hold off the others, his sword wavering left and right to keep them back. Dropping down from the tree, a tall figure dressed in eagles feathers and deer skin grabbed the man and drew a long blade which glowed yellow in the twilight, and with an ease that bespoke years of practise, he cut the mans’ throat, before throwing it to the Dryads, who ripped it apart almost gleefully. The Elf turned his yellow eyes to Mikel, who felt his blood run cold.
“Spellsinger, what of this one?” A sing-song voice asked calmly, as those wolf eyes looked at Mikel as if he was a hedge that needed some pruning. At the same time, another tall figure walked into the area, stepping over the human bodies gracefully. She was utterly beautiful to Mikel, her eyes the purest green, like a forest in bloom, and she wore a simple robe, made of snow fox. Her hair was tied back by a band made of teeth from various animals. Her skin was silkily white. She kneeled before Mikel, who lay there, staring at her, unable to move. She looked into his eyes, her long fingers cupping his chin to make sure he didn’t move his head.
“This one intended no harm to the forest. He warned the others. And he has no intention of returning, do you…Mikel?” She spoke his name with a hesitance, as if unused to such a sound. However, she spoke the rest of it in a language he could understand, nearly mimicking the dialect of Stirland. Maybe to make him feel better?
“No, milady of the woods.” Mikel spoke from the heart. She smiled as if she could read his thoughts. She stood.
“Survivors tell tales. They could be back for revenge.” The Elf walked forward, his blade ready, and still dripping with blood.
“We are not the Druchii. We do not kill for killings sake. Respect life, child.” The Spellsinger rebuked the Elf softly. She returned her attention to Mikel, and pointed behind him. “The forest will lead you out. Go, and do not return.” With that, she motioned to the Elf. Within a few steps, they had already blended into the forest. Mikel drew himself out of the trance. He could still feel her fingers on his chin, like a dream he had woken up early from.
However, the dead bodies proved that it was no dream. He pulled himself out from under Stephen, who seemed to groan. Mikel knew that dead bodies tended to make noises, however he hoped against hope, and yes, there was faint breathing from Stephen. Grabbing him under the arms, Mikel pulled Stephen away from the forest, the eyes still upon him. The others he left alone.

He never wondered how she knew his name.

It occurs to me that the new format of the Glade doesn't have a Karma option, otherwise I would give you some. That was a good approach to story telling, but don't scare yourself into thinking it was too long. Certainly it would seem long on a message board, but you should try to give yourself more time to develop things rather than rush into the action.

It was, however, a very smooth transition from anticipation to action, and receded nicely with the presence of the spell singer.

Will there be more of this, or was it just a single piece to wet the pallet? I'll look forward to reading more.

I too have aspirations to write fantasy novels. You should check out my Story "The Tyrant Invades" somewhere on this forum. I'd love to here what you thought.

Do you have any idea of how you will find a publisher? I haven't put much thought into it but I know thee are resources on the net. Maybe we could put our heads together and find something worth exploring.

And the Halls of Loec are a respectable place for your first post but you should stop by the Who's Who sticky in the General Discussion forum and introduce yourself. Thanks again for contributing something. Keep it comin'.

I am interested in the Karma option, but rather interested as to what it is.

I thank you for the kind words. I just think that Athel Loren (in the History section of the Army Book) seems a dark and sinister places, with potential for beauty. And my favourite units are Spellsingers. Basically, I get my inspiration from White Dwarf number something or other, when they introduce the current edition of Wood Elves. The picture of the front of the Wood Elves fighting. I'll try to find it.

I'll definitely read the Tyrant Invades. Anyone invading Athel Loren deserves everything that is coming to them. I hope for a suitable ending for such a fiend. And I'll make sure I can provide such good feedbacks.

And yes, originally it was completely a "Let's see if my Warhammer skills are okay" exercise, but seeing as my feedback is 100% positive (I also posted this on my MySpace, giving me 2 readers), yes, I'll add another story as soon as possible. Will it follow from this one? Maybe. Depends on my mood. Either way, I think that Spellsinger needs to be explored more.

As for publishers, well, I'm simply sending a manuscript of my current works to various publishers. And I'm getting some private help. Oh, and I live near Sandy Mitchell, so I'm going to ask him. If I get anyway, I'll help. if I get no where, we'll put our heads together (although I hope our heads remain seperate for practical purposes).

I'll stop by Who's Who, thanks for telling me. I tend to forget such things. I'll do it now. Anyway, gracias.