1. Diese Seite verwendet Cookies. Wenn du dich weiterhin auf dieser Seite aufhältst, akzeptierst du unseren Einsatz von Cookies. Weitere Informationen

KG 49 - Englische Kurzgeschichte

Dieses Thema im Forum "Archiv" wurde erstellt von deivi, 24 März 2015.

?

Welche Geschichte soll gewinnen?

Diese Umfrage wurde geschlossen: 14 Juli 2015
  1. Dragonbreath - Catalina

    37,5%
  2. Einherjer - Ravenna

    62,5%
Status des Themas:
Es sind keine weiteren Antworten möglich.
  1. deivi

    deivi Don't drink and daif Staff

    Hier findet der 49. Kurzgeschichtenwettbewerb statt

    Stammdaten der Kurzgeschichten:
    - Titel der Kurzgeschichte:
    - Thema der Kurzgeschichte:
    - Verfasst am:


    Thema: Englische Kurzgeschichte

    Regeln:
    -Startgeld von 2 Joellen gehen an mich (deivi)
    -Zahlungsgrund: KG 49
    -Wer nicht überweist wird disqualifiziert
    -Die Geschichte muss von dir geschrieben sein
    -Die Geschichte muss in englischer Sprache verfasst sein


    Überwiesen haben:
    -Catalina
    -Ravenna​
     
    Zuletzt bearbeitet: 3 Juli 2015
  2. Vhioti

    Vhioti Guest

    Stammdaten der Kurzgeschichten:
    - Titel der Kurzgeschichte:
    Dragonbreath
    - Thema der Kurzgeschichte: Das Mysterium von Nuras Wölfen
    - Verfasst am: 29.06.2015

    Dragonbreath

    The roaring noises of hooves cutting into the snow and first layer of frozen earth was the only audible noise. The moon had a ice blue gleam – but then again, it was night and the little light from the trabant was not helping the sturdy mare to find his way through the woods. The man in the saddle was panting. His face was well hidden by a hood. Out of nowhere a deep howl echoed through the woods. Was it that time of the month again? Bloodwolves and moonwolves fighting each other? Huffing the man led his horse onto a path leading to the village nearby. It was a well known fact that the two groups hated each other with such a passion – even the dwarves were less passionate. But the howl was different. It was lonely, desperate. Maybe a lost moonwolf? The mare whinnied as the man stopped it harshly and jumped on the ground. The tavern right in front of him was agleamed by candles and a young boy stepped out. He wasn't convinced to take the sweating mare and take care of it.
    "Dry her. And don't touch her flanks. She'll snap." With that the rider threw a golden coin into the boy's hands. He bowed, muttered something under his breath and brought the mare into the unsteady barn. The rider grunted. His cape fluttered with every step he made as he got into the tavern. The minute the door closed with a squeak everything went silent. A six foot two inches strong man with a black cape and a hood not to mention the crossbow on his back and the two massive daggers in his belt – he seemingly wasn't just an ordinary monk. The cook and his maid were standing at the fire place, brewing some liquid in a massive copper. The two hunters at the bar stared at him for a slight moment and then moved on drinking Moonshine. They say that after a bottle of it you'd be strong enough to kill a moonwolf. "Pass me some Dragonbreath." he muttered. Slowly, as if the people weren't that sure to continue on talking the atmosphere grew warmer. Chatting, glasses clinking and cutlery screetching amongst plates.
    Drinking the strong alcohol that tasted like camomile and other herbs he put his hood down. Thin lips, blue eyes and masculine features, well, he was indeed a man. The door opened. The boy stepped in and gave the cook his money. He couldn't close the door as another man, a farmer, rushed in. A bloody line in his face and he clutched his stomach, he fell on his knees. "She's back! She-she..." Knocked out. Just like that. The people stopped in their tracks. The hunters gulped their drinks and jumped up. They hesitated at first; but sat down. The mysterious man got up, put a silver coin on the counter and walked out.
    It started to snow. The winters here in Nura were rare but long. Especially in this region of the kingdom many citizen died. His mare neighed as he prepared it for another ride. When she was here, again, this only meant one thing. It all made sense now. "Sir, where are you going? It's noon and dangerous!", the cook ran out after him. His huge belly made it difficult for him to leave the tavern quickly. Without any answer the man got on his mare and sped up. Right into the dark forest. Luckily his horse was bred in the mountains; otherwise it wouldn't be useful. Every once in a while he heard a howl. It wasn't the same wolf though. Cairn knew that. He had lived long enough to hear the difference between a loner and an alpha. His mare was bold. Dark brown fur, massive hooves – panting it jumped over a frozen river. It was a dead place. Long gone due to the harsh weather. A soft gloomy light enlightened a clearing. He stopped his mare and put his hood on. Slowly walking to a tree and looked up.

    It was a divine figure. Wearing all white she looked like an ancient goddess. A hand of hers was gently caressing a wolf. A moonwolf? Who was she? She opened her mouth and she started to sing slowly. Fireflies floated around her figure and added their tender yellow gleam to the eerie atmosphere. Wolves ran out of the forest, they were everywhere. Cairn stepped forward, he was too curious to not miss it. He felt strangely attracted to the woman. With her flaxen hair and her singing – it was a long time since he had a night with a woman. Unexpectedly the woman turned her head towards him. Shocked he stepped back, his heart was racing. She was beautiful. Like a goddess. "Hello Cairn.", she said. Smiling she bid him to get closer. With the wolves staring at him he walked to her. The fireflies hovered over his heads. It was magical. "Welcome to my realm, dragon master."​
     
    Zuletzt von einem Moderator bearbeitet: 30 Juni 2015
    Ravenna gefällt das.
  3. Ravenna

    Ravenna I walk her path...

    Stammdaten der Kurzgeschichte
    Einherjer


    Heissen alle die Helden, welche auf Erden tapfer gekämpft haben und in der Schlacht des ehrenvollen Todes sterben, den ihnen die Walküren bereiten, die auf dem Schlachtfelde umherreiten und die Mutigsten mit einem Kusse einladen, zu Odins Mahl in Walhalla zu kommen.

    *~01.07.2015~*​


    Too many times the moon had traveled across the sky, but since the harsh battles no one has discovered her.

    They had gone out seeking for glory and honor, determined to conquer the land. Filled with strength she had taken the vows to follow her father into war, as a shieldmaiden. A young girl or woman who had chosen to fight instead of marry and rise some children. Just a few days after the first raid, their foe hat found their small bearing, outnumbered her fathers force by thousands. The warriors prayed to the gods they would survive the battle safely, if not they would die proudly enter the shores of Valhalla feasting at the gods side.

    Einar had forced her to leave camp – so his bloodline may survive the times, he had saddled his own swift and sturdy stallion called þótt. „Turn south, follow the stream course so may the foe can´t track you! Be brave my little one, may the gods guard you safely home!” His voice was deep and rich and somehow took the fidgets out of her. She now felt glad and quiet and it didn´t seem awkward to stay silent, even when her heart was longing to stand by her fathers side. The shallow noise of the stallions hooves was the only sound cutting trough the naturally sounds of the dark forest as she wandered aimlessly forward. After hours of riding the stallion stopped maybe he was feeling her heart ache or was just longing for his caretaker. The young girl turned her head all down the path she had come so far, she clutched her axt more firmly. Somehow to speak after so long silence and to make her decision clear she spoke aloud “ They may call it foolishness, but I see strength in it. I am cursed to leave battlefield, they may call it inhumane to go back. I am blessed to be and I will take as many lives of my enemies!”

    She turned the stallion forced him to a harsh run, ignoring small branches cutting into face and arms.

    As she entered battle she heared loud shouts from every direction – a drumming of hoofs and the screaming of men dying and fighting – confusion all around her. It was all shouts and shrieks and the clashing of swords against swords. There was her father and his brother fighting desperately against the crowd of foes. Her father was at the center battling a blonde man taller than him by more than a head – both of them going at battle so hard she could hardly make out what was happening. As her father laid eyes on her he stood still for one heartbeat looking at her with his unchallenging eyes. And it seemed to her as if there was nothing more to be said.

    She rushed herself into battle.


    All around her she could see dead body’s covered in blood, their mouths open as if they where still fighting. At times she saw around her more of the enemy than her fathers men, gaps where opening, swallowing, closing again behind men who hat cut their way through the foe.
    Night has come and gone. Everywhere around her men and women torn and broken and their dead eyes staring strangely into the sky.

    Now blood was trickling down her face, where the axe had merely touched her head.

    Þótt had died when a spear cut deep straight to his flank, not fast enough she had tried to jump out of the way – the stallion has touched the swamp ground. She was buried under the horses weight, her left leg felt as if it was a bit more than broken. She would not only die ´cause of her wounds, but of the lack of water and food – the shieldmaiden could not even move a bone without pain. Her voice was all damaged and hoarse as she had cried for help many times. Life was trickling out of her body making it limb and sore, she knew life would be at her end.


    The moon was so bright that the whole forest landscape around her was almost as clear as day, though it looked much wilder. She could sense the magic vibes within their roots and treetops, there was a strange murmur. Yet it was not exactly the noise trees make in a high wind. She felt there was a tune in it, but she was not able to catch it. At least there was a sound, a sound and she felt her own body wanting to move...move around in a swift dance – forgotten all her pain and the hunger.

    Out of the shifting mists came a strangely helmet woman, just as herself, white skinned under that helmet. Her horse was trembling into the circle of grass, dead body´s and blood, met her eyes with dark trees around her. And then she realized what this women was – the huge body of her white horse, shining bright in the moonlight, with his huge black shadow underneath him. From his mane dew fall onto the ground and hail in the high woods. The woman´s byrnie was drenched in blood and rays shone from her long spear.​
    Slowly as if floating she came nearer touching slightly the warriors lips, as the Valkyrie war- songs chanted the Maiden entered Val-hall.
     
    Zuletzt bearbeitet: 1 Juli 2015
    Vhioti gefällt das.
  4. deivi

    deivi Don't drink and daif Staff

    Mache hier dann bald die Abstimmung :)
     
    Ravenna gefällt das.
  5. deivi

    deivi Don't drink and daif Staff

    Abstimmung ist da, sie endet nach 3 Tagen :)
     
Status des Themas:
Es sind keine weiteren Antworten möglich.

Diese Seite empfehlen