The fire crackled and shuddered, sending a flurry of sparks up. It would've been the ideal time to put another log on, only the hunting party had a little distraction. Not only was their delicious Thran meat burnt, but a Scralz had invaded their camp after smelling it, throwing all the appetites of the inhabitants away. Usually, one of the seven-foot long lizard-like monsters would be no problem. Their spiny armor had weak spots, and the long curved horns on the side of their heads provided excellent blind spots. But, alas, this particular one had its sight set strait on them, merciless green eyes glowing in the semi-darkness. It's retractable claws slid out, glinting slightly in the firelight. It's upper lip curled in a low growl, showing its formidable fangs. The trembling hunters could just see it's barbed tail waving behind it. Of course, no one remembered about the guest the frightened hunters had on that night. He had wandered in, requesting to stay in a sheltered area before parting the next morning. This stranger had been accepted warily, for the hunters were not cruel enough to deny a traveler. His hooded black cloak shielded his face, but it was enough to see that the mans pale green eyes and prove he was not a hated elf. Of course, in the blackness, the cloak also his his swift approach, his feet barely making a sound. A soft reflection of the firelight showed a naked blade in his hand, long and slightly curved, coming to a sharp tip. The Scralz stopped for a moment as a sharp crack echoed in the clearing, but it was only the fire. It stares forward at a slow, stealthy crawl. It would soon pounce. Only a sharp pain at the base of a low spines crest on the back of its head stopped it, and the blade retracted, the monster frozen in it's odd statue-like death. The stranger slipped the scimitar back into it's sheath, and crept back into the embrace of the black night, just beyond the reach of the waning firelight. "Good night, gentlemen" His low voice echoed through the campsite.
Very well written. Try to use more original words and try to use commas a bit more. But a very good plot and story.
Well, first off, I'm glad peso ole liked my story :3 Secondly, here's more ~•~ The next morning, the hunters were whispering quietly to one another about their guest. "A demon, that's what 'e is," one muttered through a mouthful of bread, "No man can walk close like that to a Scralz and not be 'eard!" "Aye," spoke another, "Or maybe it's a ghost, protecting travelers like 'imself who fell pray to them beasts?" "Or, perhaps," said the traveler, his eyes glinting as he inspected the hunter. Suddenly he was just there beside them: "I just happen to know how to easily beat them and I was in the camp at the time?" Two men, with twin cries of shock, fell from their seats, identical looks of fear on the faces. The renaming two shook away the stun of the random appearance and glared at him. "Well now, dear fella, I think it's time for you to leave, don't you?" The biggest man spoke in a dangerously low voice. "After all, the agreement was one night." The stranger nodded, spinning on his heel, and strode away, his wraithlike appearance I'm the morning light bringing an involuntary shudder to the men.
The wraithlike man in question was not, in fact, a ghost or a demon, rather something completely different. Upon exposing himself as his real person would have him shunned from both man and elves alike, for he was a half-elf, and his name was Draxxt Ga'Phal. Now, this may mean absolutely nothing to you, but to him, this name was all he had claim to. That, and his hooded cloak and the mysterious, curved slicing blade at his belt, which threw off an eerie glow in the morning light. His gifts from both of his parents, strong muscles from his human father and fluid grace from his Elven mother, allowed him to preform things neither could, such as the swift movements that dispatched the Scralz. Why he truly hid his face was not that he would be identified by the humans as having Elven parentage, as only his pointed ears could show, was because most every inch of it was covered in terrible scars. Many of them, too many to count, covering his narrow yet strong jawed face, still could not hide the fairness and handsome features he had. High cheekbones, a narrow nose, pale green eyes and raven-colored hair. His teeth, like the elves, were unnaturally sharp. Most of these things, though, were hidden by a long black scarf that trailed behind him. Now, enough about him, as this story lies on his journey, not on his looks. He was actually, on a bounty mission, hunting a feared predator, the vicious Sword-Tooth the Scralz, an odd one of the lizard-like mammals that grew to fifteen feet in length, with teeth literally like swords, hence the name. Draxxt had taken one of its eyes on their previous encounter, and it had left him some brand new scars on his body. The creature had fled, however, leaving Draxxt to hunt it down. Not a fun task, as they can virtually disappear without trace. Draxxt was not discouraged. He never was. He always had an odd optimism about him, and no matter how bad things got, it never went away. As of right now, he was whistling a merry tune of the somber song called The Thunderer, about a dwarf who shook the world with his wondrous mechanical army, and was stopped by the men and elves working together. He paused for a moment, inspecting his surroundings, and glanced back for a second, then with an invisible grin he set back out, scarf fluttering behind him.