Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-31073921-20170424125655

This is the first part in a long long long story I'm writing. Originally posted on the Creepypasta Discord Chat in #constructive-criticism

Ravens
Ravens flutter the sky like locusts, dipping and diving onto the remains of the villagers. The sky is a deep slate of grey, blackened by their immense hoard. They seem to follow me and my brothers wherever we go, for death follows in our wake. I unsheathe my sword from deep inside a farmer’s chest, blood dripping on the edges of his wound. He gags, cringes, then attempts to inhale, blood sputtering in his throat, before slumping to a pitiful mass in the center of town. Six ravens dive to eat him seconds later. I set my sword in my hilt and walk to Russ and Blight, as there is no use cleaning something that will get dirty hours later. Russ holds a peasant's bloodied hair back, continually smashing his skull into rock. He lifts up their head one last time, and smiled at him with his green teeth. “Where’s your money?”

The peasant puffs deeply in and out, scared, and shakes his head weakly. Russ’ smile twists into a snarl. “WHERE IS YOUR FUCKING MONEY!?” He screams, smashing the man’s head again onto the now blood soaked rock. I sigh, and unsheathe my sword, gently slicing the man’s neck as he gargles. Russ looks at me with a similar snarl, and before he can say a word I speak. “They are peasants. They have no money.” I softly say. He heaves the peasants body backwards, kicking it as blood sputters from him. I feel like it was only me again that saw the ravens descending to him. “All we have is a ring and a necklace, and some wheat. Wheat! Stupid! Stupid!” He roars, face red with rage as he kicks the man's now lifeless body over and over. Right then I have an impulse to draw my sword again and to jab it into Russ’ stomach, let blood flow out like a geyser… “Shut it Russ, we have to get a move on.” says Blight, saliva dripping from his lips. Blight looks old and ragged, though in fact he is younger than me and Russ - and even possibly Arin. His teeth are surprisingly straight, though that fact is overshadowed by the holes and blackness of them. He was called Blight for the fact that he survived the Red Death, leaving him the way he is now. Russ glares at him, blood flowing with an urge to kill, but he calms. For we are brothers, and brothers do not fight. He turns to me though, and starts hollering.

“WHAT GIVES YOU THE RIGHT TO KILL MY PEASANT. YOU ARE JUST A HIRED ASSASSIN, A HIRED EXECUTIONER!” I stare at him and smile a fake smile, rage bottling up inside. “I am a brother Russ.” He starts screaming more illegible garbage. I stop him. My blade slices halfway through Russ’ enormous width, and he realises a second later what I had done. He looks at me with something I can only describe as pure rage and charges, blood flowing from his chest. Twitching, I grab his neck and start twisting it as he desperately struggles. After a second I hear a satisfying crack as Russ stiffens and falls to the ground. I let his corpse lay there, blood still jiggling from his enormous belly. I turn without a second thought. “BURN DOWN THE HOUSES!” I scream across the village to Mex. He nods and starts heaving freshly lit torches into the cottages. I mount, and as a group we ride. “Where’s Russ?” Frederick asks. “Dead, the fat bastard.” Blight responds without a beat. I look behind to see that the Ravens haven’t touched Russ’ body. Smoke billows into the sky as we ride away from the burning town.

After a few miles we come upon our next destination, another small village. Slowly we trot our horses through, the streets silent. They must of seen the smoke from the other village, as every one of them is concealing a knife somewhere in their cloaks. It will be a pleasure to wet my sword with their blood. Arin takes off his helmet and unmounts, gazing at the crowd with his dirty blonde hair waving in the slight wind. “Which one of you is the commander of this… village?” Arin keeps a steady voice, hiding the need to kill the villagers. A stubby man walks up, cloaked in red with metal armor. “I am sir.” He speaks. His voice sounds melodic, yet scarred. “I am a royal commander that is just passing through.” Arin puts on a wicked grin, one that all the brothers know he only smiles to those he kills. “We don’t like royalty.” I had trotted to the side, unbeknownst to him. I charged, and he turned a second later to see a crimson splash gushing from his chest. I continue to ride, him impaled on my sword, letting his body drag on the dirt and his blood splatter across the village. The villagers scream, a sound I personally love to hear. I fling him off my sword, leaving his battered body on the dirt, and charge ahead with a scream upon the now defending villagers. Their weapons are pitiful, and I slowly slash their chests. Gracefully the crows descend onto the bodies, screeching and hollering. I make sure to cut one in half as I gallop by a body. 