I was testing out my writing skills the other day and this is the result…
Let me know what you guys think of my little experiment. 
I see it, there they are, now after hours of waiting… my time has come.
A decent group of them picking thier way through the seemingly enless litter that is dotted across the plain. There are nine of them, all armed but I only worry about the one, the rest of them dont stand a chance…
I raise myself up from the battered remnants of the field, removing the two bodies of enemy footpads under which I had laid in waiting. I’m cold, bruised, bleeding, tired and weak… but in my heart theres a burning rage, theres fire in my empty belly and coals in my dry mouth… my eyes bulge from thier sockets like the flame red eyes of an experienced Goshawk. Just like a Goshawk I scan the knot of enemy guardsmen not a dozen paces away… now is my time.
I leap across the pile of dead onto ground slick with the blood and guts of fallen men and beasts, taking the ground in great bounds legs stretched like a hunting hound, heart pounding like the great war drums…
I stop two paces short of the first group that break off to bar my way forward, four of them with drawn swords. I lick my bleeding lips in anticipation, my left hand reaches up to the hilt of my Kilij. The thumb pushing against the guard, easing the first inches of my sword out of it’s scabard. Like a silent predator it starts to move, and as I stand there waiting my opponents charge.
They leap the two paces towards me thier drawn swords reaching out like claws of a single beast, thier strokes working as one in the way they were trained to strike. Yet I moved faster before they had even taken the first steps forward I had let my blade leap across my front, the right hand reaching out catching the hilt in mid air. I swerve to the right of the group. Outflanking them, as my sword draws a savage cut, right across the gut of the nearest man. The singing blade rips through his padded armour and the flesh beneath, slicing his body almost in half. I feet two swords glance of my chainmail but I pass them, running straight for the second group ahead of me.
I reach them without slowing slashing left and right, trading blow for blow, one man down under my sword. I draw my dagger and thrust it into the face of another, taking a spear thrust to my leg. I fall still slashing wildly pushing against the men who prevent me from reaching my sworn enemy. The three men to my back join the scrum, hacking down onto my head and shoulders battering me down.
The man whom I had sworn to kill now stands over me smiling as the remaining handfull of guards hold me tightly. My sword taken from my right hand, my dagger along with my severd left hand lies in the dust.
I look up into the eyes of my tormentors, they think me beaten they are wrong. As my enemy comes to gloat over me, I summon the last reserves of strength, let out a roar of defiance and my right hand brakes the grip of the guard. I reach out with my hand stretched like a claw, the first two fingers poised to strike like a snake.
Two fingers that can hold the wieght of a man, two fingers hardened like steel after pulling a bow for years. Two fingers driven into my enemies eyes ripping them out… my hand slides down in one fluid motion tightens on the throat.
I look at my foe gurgling his last breaths unable to scream. His guards hack away at me, but I shriek not in pain. I scream in pure joy, the glory of victory!
I fall down slowly as the guards hack at me but I cheat them, even in death I am triumphant my duty is done. I have killed the enemy who has destroyed my people and homeland.
I fall slowly as my body starts to writhe in agony… it is dancing the dance macabre. I try to make a sound as I twist and turn, churn the ground beat at it and feel my heart burn… I want to say something… but my mind is filled with the thoughts of dance… I want to dance… dance the dance macabre.
Then I wake up.
