"Sun set" by Richard Yang

Still one of my favorite pix!!! ^^ theres nothing new in ur galery yet hurry up im getting impatient with all this waiting for new stuff!!!!

He lifted his visor into the setting sun and thought 'damn! I hope Im not too late to get a McChicken.'

He stood and thought about all he had lost his love his family and his will to live. But he was a knight and a promise was a promise, he looked out over the raging battle. His last battle. Soon morning would come and he would be part of those fighting for all they have, as the sun began to set both sky and battle feild were set blood red tinted with a gentle moss green. It made him smile, though nobody would ever know why because it soon disapeared with setting of the sun and he went to the battle as brave and the night sky that came out and took ovr the suns rightfull place to hide the bloodshed that was his last battle.

david J clark sucks at writing:
bad grouping of AWFUL descriptions and verbs


The east blowing wind caught his cloak, sending it sprawling like grasping fingers toward the darkening horizon, which lay buried in shadows. The glare of the sun cast great outlines of black, and reflected brightly back from the shining mail of the warrior. His keen sword drawn and his eyes, remniscent of his blade, echoed true existence as he stared in awe at the beauty that lay before him.
Autumn leaves shown vibrant colors of an oiled green, and red, and the sea's waves crashed together in a harmonius percussion as the gulls overhead formed a choir of song, creating a calm ambiance, and sating the rage that had sparked within him.

the above is still amateur but compared to David J, ... it is poetry to its finest! no offense David, but stick to drawing mate

*sniff* beautiful...

Part 1 - He could hear the medics cry out for aid and supplies, even over the agonized wailing of the wounded. Sitting on the end of a wagon that leaned over to the side missing wheels, he looked down at the blood on his sword and began to slowly wipe it away with a rag. The smell of blood mixed with the scents of a new morning that would soon break into a new day. He polished the sword, and then wiped carefully at the dirt and remnants of men’s lives that had rested too long on his armor. Once it was shining again he stood. He made his way through the camp, passing dead wrapped in cloth and laid in rows, passing the priests and the devout as they thanked spirits and gods for a hard won victory. They didn’t know the full of it.
He walked as if in a daze until the sounds of crying, pain and mourning were replaced with celebration. Men clapped heroes on the back, took hands with fellow champions, shared whatever drink and meal had survived the meeting of two armies. Victory held sway over the hearts and minds of men here. A victory he had made possible. A victory that, if asked yesterday, would have been a fool’s goal in his mind. And yet, he walked now to the outer reaches of an army that celebrated a win. An army he once called his own.

Part 2 - As he continued onward, sword unsheathed and held tightly so the tip pointed straight ahead as if guiding his steps, he left the victors behind and walked a path occasionally occupied by a corpse from the other side. He felt his muscles tighten as they bore him up the rock slopes, higher and higher. The smell of death fell away, though it never left him. The sun peeked over the horizon, but still it was barely day when he stood at the edge, looking down at the army hundreds of feet below.
He felt the tremor. The sword shook in his hand and so he gave it over to the other. He held the quivering hand forward, looked into his own palm and wondered what sort of man he would be. What sort of man he would have been. As the tremors began to spread through his entire body he strode forward. With a strength born of a wish to make one final strike he threw the sword forward. The sword dove off the cliff, slicing the air with unguided fury. As the sun rose from hiding and finally cast light over the army below the man simply walked off and fell.

Part 3 - As the wind swept past the noise of air nearly blocked the angry roaring in his mind. He remembered that voice when it had first come to him that night. It had sounded so calm and collect then, so logical and precise, so... reassuring. It had promised strength enough to win the war. All he would lose, if the promise could be delivered, was his future. A body no longer his. He never thought it possible. And now that the time had come to fill his side of the bargain he knew the monster that would claim his flesh and, quite probably, his soul.
At least now, he thought as the ground rushed up to meet him, you will not have my flesh.

Part 4 - A young soldier heard the noise and came round the rocks, curious. A sword was there, handle to the sky and blade deep in the ground. He looked up at the cliff high above, without knowing why. The destroyed body was hidden from him behind rocks. A feast for the vultures later. For now, he had himself a shiny, masterfully crafted sword.

"And why not?" said a reassuring voice in his head. "To the survivors go the spoils of every battle." The young man walked off, spinning the sword in one hand, as the new voice spoke to him. Calm, collect, so logical and precise, it offered sensational promises...

- Hey all. I CANNOT remember my password to log in but I THINK my username is as listed. Thank you Richard for an amazing picture. As you can see it was... inspiring...

YAY I remembered my login. Again, GREAT pic!