The Scottish warrior looked over the field. It was a beautiful field. Green
grass and blooming trees at the outskirts. But that green grass was about
to turn red. The warrior was part of an army called the Green Warriors.
They were fighting against the French. The warrior wanted to remember why
they were fighting, but it didn't matter to him. Whatever the skirmish was
between the armies, it didn't matter. The French had killed everyone in his
entire family, including his village, and that angered the warrior, more
than anything else. And now he was fighting back.
The leading commander of the force, one of the most famous men in all of Scotland, Willaim Wallace motioned the charge. The warrior flew forward with anger and determination. The rest of the men followed along side him, and seeing his awesome determination, inspired them to remember everything the French had done to them. The entire army was charging forward to the French. The French run towards them also. The French had swords, and the Scots had swords and spears. The armies neared each other, weapons outreached. The clouds began to form and a grey color filled their linings. A storm was coming. A very big storm.
The warrior clashed into the army of the French, whipping his sword around. Blood flowed. It hit the ground, like a bucket of red paint overspilling. Soon, the warrior had lost count of the assaulted men. There were bodies laying in blood everywhere already. The warrior could not be stopped. He was like a huge roaring fury. The flash of sword and blood was everywhere. And then, it began raining. Like it had never rained before. The rain pelted the warrior's armor, and he stopped fighting. As did everyone else.
The pools of blood were joined with rainwater. It was like a cleansing rain. The warrior slowly walked up to the Frenchman that had led the assault on the village he was in.
"Thank you.", he said. "Thanks? What for?", the man replied. "For showing me what a bunch of idiots the French are."
With that, the warrior drew his sword to attack the Frenchman. But the Frenchman was quick to answer, and drew his sword. The sword clashed together, with each man trying to get one sword out of the way so he could attack the other. And then a lightining bolt came down from the stormy skies and hit the swords, frying both men. The armies both watched in awe. And then it was over.
- Caleb Stoffel
This is my first story. I plan to add to it later. And explain more about the warrior, his name, why everyone stopped in the rain, why the French were fighting the Scots, and once more it will all be fictional. I haven't read all of the Braveheart stories at fanfiction.net, so I hope I didn't copy anyone's work. Please review this story and be honest. Thanks for reading.
The leading commander of the force, one of the most famous men in all of Scotland, Willaim Wallace motioned the charge. The warrior flew forward with anger and determination. The rest of the men followed along side him, and seeing his awesome determination, inspired them to remember everything the French had done to them. The entire army was charging forward to the French. The French run towards them also. The French had swords, and the Scots had swords and spears. The armies neared each other, weapons outreached. The clouds began to form and a grey color filled their linings. A storm was coming. A very big storm.
The warrior clashed into the army of the French, whipping his sword around. Blood flowed. It hit the ground, like a bucket of red paint overspilling. Soon, the warrior had lost count of the assaulted men. There were bodies laying in blood everywhere already. The warrior could not be stopped. He was like a huge roaring fury. The flash of sword and blood was everywhere. And then, it began raining. Like it had never rained before. The rain pelted the warrior's armor, and he stopped fighting. As did everyone else.
The pools of blood were joined with rainwater. It was like a cleansing rain. The warrior slowly walked up to the Frenchman that had led the assault on the village he was in.
"Thank you.", he said. "Thanks? What for?", the man replied. "For showing me what a bunch of idiots the French are."
With that, the warrior drew his sword to attack the Frenchman. But the Frenchman was quick to answer, and drew his sword. The sword clashed together, with each man trying to get one sword out of the way so he could attack the other. And then a lightining bolt came down from the stormy skies and hit the swords, frying both men. The armies both watched in awe. And then it was over.
- Caleb Stoffel
This is my first story. I plan to add to it later. And explain more about the warrior, his name, why everyone stopped in the rain, why the French were fighting the Scots, and once more it will all be fictional. I haven't read all of the Braveheart stories at fanfiction.net, so I hope I didn't copy anyone's work. Please review this story and be honest. Thanks for reading.
