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Rated: 13+ · Fiction · Fantasy · #2137376
Im looking for feedback for the beginning of my first novel
“Back to the ships” yelled Aarvund, a stern look upon his face. His men had fought well, reaping havoc over the baron lands of Overarder. Slain men lay all over the battle field, bodies hacked and bloodied in the massacre. The feeble army of the townsmen had proved no obstruction for his warriors but there was no time to bask in the glory of their victory. Spring was drawing ever closer, the men must return to prepare their lands. This winter had been long and exhausting, paving his desires to return home to his wife and children. The gods had gifted him with a son, his first born Rune was growing in to a handsome man, a square set jaw carving away his youth. He had high expectations for his only boy, he must prove himself as a soldier before following his footsteps as an Earl of the men. His eldest daughter he had named Marie, after his own mother who had died giving birth to his younger brother. She was a fair haired maiden, with long locks of hair curling down her shoulders like vines on a brick lain wall. Elena, his youngest, had only been a baby when he had set sail and he wondered how her face would have shaped in her early years, would she even recognize her father’s loving eyes.
“The ships are prepared my lord”, said Dirk as Aarvund made his way to the shore. Dirk was his younger brother, a tall brute of a man, taller than even Aarvund himself. He was built for war, rising out of the ground like an ancient oak tree with thick branches of arms and a mass of hair upon his skin. In battle he fought with the strength of a bear and a courageous might resembling that of a lion. His loyalty had proved their bond to be closer than blood and Aarvund had a mutual respect with Dirk that he shared with no other. A leader must be respected, fair but at the same time ruthless. He had seen how the Gods possessed these traits, they could be ruthless, taking the life of his mother at the age of 5. He remembered questioning the gods, how could they do this to his father, a man whom respected Odin and fought for Thor. They could also be fair, generous to his people and his family. Aarvund had considered himself blessed by his Gods, he had been chosen as one of Thor’s soldiers, born son of one of the greatest Earls in all of Norske. His father, Mikhail, was now an elderly man. Aarvund had been crowned the previous summer, announcing him as Earl before the raids took place.
Aarvund gathered the men for a final prayer and signalled for his raven to be released. The bird was as black as night with piercing amber eyes that shone like the rising sun, its sharp beak protruded from its sleek body. The men stood in awe of their leader as the magnificent bird encircled and lunged through the air, taking its place on the shoulder of its master. As he looked at his men, his ships heaved with treasure and the calm of the ocean Aarvund felt the prevailing easterly wind against the taught leathery skin of his face. ‘Odin, great leader of all the God’s, grant us safe return home for we sail on your might. Thor, we have fought in your honor, please take care of our brothers in Valhalla.’
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