Gave it a proof-read and changed some stuff, feel free to disregard it (red is what I would change, blue is what I would change it to):
PROLOGUE
The sun was setting over Larachey, a small, plain town in the northern forested regions of Scandanavia. The small hovels and huts were orange in the light. One of the peasants living their [there] was a holy man, a monk of sorts, and he had reached the point in his life when he thought it neccesary [necessary] to seek proper enlightenment and peace of mind; [.] To do so, he deemed it a good plan to make a pilgrimage to a locally famous [famous, local] religious site where the most influential holy men of years gone by were buried; [.] This site was quite a journey on foot and was [to] an ancient monastery that resided in the wooded foothills of the not so nearby [a distant] mountain range.
Bartholomew, for that was the monks forename, had lived in Larachey for all of his 53 years but his family was not native to the land, having sailed over from a forgotten shore many generations ago and losing all their roots but the family name "Wrig". Bartholomew`s name had many peoples curiosity when he was younger, not that you couldn't tell he was a foreigner anyway, [;] his voice wasn't thick with accent like so many others in Scandanavia and he could not grow a full, bushy beard to stave off the numbing cold; [.] At first people were suspicious of him, being a foreigner in the land, but over time they they realised he was harmless and he managed to become a religious teacher within his community. Bartholomew had lived a devout and clean life, not indulging in material luxuries or losing sight of his morals, and thus was content to dwell in an old, wooden hut that contained few furnishings. He was satisfied with his life in Larachey, but knew he needed to make his journey; He felt that he could not properly be a teacher of religion if he had not been at a place where he was truly close to his beliefs, close to god.
-=#CHAPTER ONE#=-
A thick leather coat lay on a table next to the interior door of Bartholomew Wrigg`s residence, [.] Nearby, Bartholomew was packing almost everything he owned into a series of sacks, bags and satchels which he then slung on various parts of his belt and rucksack. With an excited look on his face he turned to the door, grabbed his coat and left the room. It was dark outside and no-one was about as Bartholomew locked his door shut and[,] without a word to any of his neighbours or friends, started on the dirt track out of town. Despite the fact that he liked to think of himself as a wise, weathered old man, Bartholomew was infact visibly excited and even a touch scared at the prospect of travelling all this way alone. As he walked at a steady pace, the village houses growing small behind him, his imagination was aflame with what lay ahead, he knew one thing for certain, his journey would not be without occurance.
He had already slept throughout the day and it didn't bother him that the moon was high up in the sky and most people were in bed by now, he simply kept on walking, listening to the soft thud of his gnarled walking stick against the frozen earth. Food was going to be a problem on this trip and Bartholomew knew it, [;] he had carefully packed as much as he could before setting off; [,] now and then he produced a small loaf of bread from his cloak and slowly ate at it as he walked, [.] The foliage had caught his eye once or twice on either side of the worsening track, [and] he noticed that as he got further away from Larachey, the bushes and trees were becoming thicker and more frequent, and he knew that soon enough he would find himself in a thick green forest. It was quiet while he walked, there was no wind that night and the animals were all cautious as Bartholomew passed, so quiet infact, that he noticed the repetetive tapping of hooves well before he saw who they belonged to. A cloaked and hooded figure leading a dirty white horse by the reins was approaching, travelling towards Bartholomew on the road. At first, Bartholomew was alarmed, he had not expected to see anyone this late at night, [.] He noticed the other man was looking down, paying no attention to the road and what was ahead of him. The two drew nearer and Bartholomew was getting tense, he thought to himself that it was unneccesary [unnecessary] and that this man was probably just an ordinary traveler heading to Larachey for a good reason, but he couldn't shake the sinister feeling in his head. As they passed each other, the man and his horse barely even looked up or acknowledged Bartholomews presence, they simply continued on their way past him. Barthlomew was surprised at his own relief that the ordeal was over, [and] he felt slightly dissapointed in himself for letting a lone traveler worry him so much and he put it out of his mind, the night was getting colder and so Bartholomew quickened his pace and kept to the well trodden dirt track.
Bartholomew's eyes flickered open, a small bird had just woken him by singing in the tree above where he slept, he remembered laying out his bedroll at he side of the road, under the sheltered lee of a nearby tree the night before. It was the middle of summer, just warm and dry enough to sleep outside without too much concern for your health, [.] As he stretched out his stiff joints and rolled up his bedroll to pack away, Bartholomew was surprised, he found himself beginning to enjoy his foray out of Larachey. The morning sun had just risen and Bartholomew felt the warmth on his weathered bones, he took a moment to collect himself and set off again on his way. Bartholomew would pass the time as he walked by looking out for birds and squirrels, picking herbs when he saw them and stopping to rest and eat every so often, [.] He had made quite some miles since that morning and was surprised at how far he had got, he had scarce knowledge of the lands surrounding Larachey and was often surprised at the landmarks he came across.
-=#Chapter Two#=-
A deep rumbling noise caused Bartholomew to abruptly stop and scan his surroundings, looking for the source. He noticed that he could make out movement on the side of one of the mountains in the nearby range, it looked to him like rocks and snow were tumbling down the steep slopes. Thoughts raced through his mind as he tried to figure out what was happening, it could have just been an avalanche, but something made him feel uneasy about it; As if just to confuse him further, a plume of black smoke had just started to rise close to the mountain summit, the cause source of, what he assumed was a large fire, was abscured [obscured] from his sight by the barrier of trees alongside the road.
I know it was just a little story, but advice or corrections are always useful. Nice story.
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Topic: a short fictional story... (Read 1515 times)