Silver Crisis, I am a game developer and writer for hire, more than 2 years of experience specializing in fantasy and sci-fi genres. I can write in novel/manuscript format and in theatre script format, as well as the line-by-line format used in text bubbles. Looking for work, writing/editing at 3¢/word. email me at email@example.com for more details Here is a considerable writing sample, the first chapter of a fantasy novel I've been writing for a few weeks. Marcus dodged to the side, out of the path of a slash from an axe swinging straight down at his head. The young warrior retaliated with a quick jab at his attacker with his sword, the point of the blade glancing off the brutish gladiator’s plate armor. Marcus was thrown off balance, stumbling to his feet to dodge a side slash of the axe that would no doubt cleave through his gambeson as well as his entire body if he were caught in its murderous arc. “Get back ‘ere, yeh little shite!” bellowed the axe-wielding fighter, trying to chase after Marcus, slow and ungainly in his heavy armor. Marcus regained his balance and turned on his heel to face his opponent again. Marcus tried to plan his next attack, drowning out the droning yells and cries of the crowd ringing the arena. Marcus waited for the right moment. If he was wrong, he wouldn’t be able to win this duel. “I’m right here!” Marcus taunted, smirking and holding his sword pointed at his foe. His taunting worked, the oaf heaving his axe over his head. Marcus ducked to the left again just as the iron axehead began its descent. The weapon embedded itself in the dirt as Marcus circled around, arming sword poised. In moments, he was in position. He drove the tip of his blade under the axe-wielder’s arm, between the pauldron and chest plate, driving it with every ounce of strength he could muster, the blade erupting violently in a geyser of blood from the brute’s other shoulder, his head slumped to the slide with a gurgled groan. Marcus staggered as his opponent’s body tumbled to the ground with the sword still impaled through him. He withdrew the sword from the corpse, turning away to walk back inside the arena’s undercroft. He looked up at the crowd cheering and screaming literally for blood, but Marcus could barely hear. His ears were ringing, he could hear his blood pumping in his veins, pounding almost like a headache as he limped away from the battle. When he made his way back to the undercroft, all Marcus could do was drop his sword onto the hard stone floor and collapse onto one of the padded cots used for the injured combatants, the world losing its focus and fading to black before his head touched the pillow. When he came to, Marcus could barely move. He’d only fought the first match, but he felt like he’d been fighting for days. Every muscle ached as he sat up from the cot, stumbling towards the entrance of the arena, sword scabbard clutched in a trembling hand. As he walked out, his eyes were not assaulted by the bright rays of the sun. As he looked around, he realized it was late at night, no telling how long he had been asleep. He wandered around Emberheart, looking for a shop that was still open. He managed to find a tavern with lamplight still visible through the windows. Stepping in, he walked to the counter, greeting the innkeeper. “Hey, what can I get to eat around here?” Marcus asked quite rudely. The innkeeper, a tall, burly man with long black hair and a full beard. His voice boomed “Take a seat, one of the girls will come and get you taken care of.” he said, gesturing towards the many wooden, circular tables in the room. Marcus turned around to find an empty table, but no such table was available. On one side of the inn, he spotted a man seeming to be about his age, with black hair and garbed in blue, sitting quietly alone. Marcus shrugged, walking over to the table. “Hey, mate. Mind if I join you?” Marcus asked. The man looked up, one eye hidden behind his black bangs, a faint sheen of blue reflecting off from the lamplight. The eye Marcus could see was silver, and when he first glanced up, it was narrow and disinterested, but as he met Marcus’s gaze, the look softened, looking surprised. “Marcus” He spoke in a soft tone. Marcus was taken a bit aback. “Uhh… have we met before?” he asked, tensing up. “No, no, but I saw your match today in the preliminary round for the tournament. I was impressed by your talent. You’re obviously new to combat, and yet you defeated an opponent several times your weight and strength.” the man stood up, smiling and extending his hand “My name is Riley. I’m in the tournament as well. I welcome you to sit and talk.” Marcus grinned, taking Riley’s hand and shaking. They both sat down and ordered some food and drink from one of the inn’s wenches. “My prelim is tomorrow. I’ve been training for months to prepare for this tournament.” Riley confided, taking a sip from a bottle of rum. Marcus drank ale and ate as he listened to Riley speak. “Yeah, I’ve been training for as long as I can remember. I’ve always wanted to be on a Knight Team.” Marcus added. Riley nodded, smiling slightly. “A noble goal. Forgive my directness, Marcus. But it seems we both want to win the tournament and join the Remeran Knights. After the preliminaries, would you like to team up? The teams will be of four, so we might as well make alliances now.” Riley looked up at Marcus, silver eyes piercing as he waited for an answer. Marcus could just smile at his luck. “You got a deal. Just make sure you win that battle tomorrow. I’ll be watching!” he grinned back at Riley, taking another gulp of ale. The two continued their drinking and returned to the arena to retire for the night. Riley left to his cot for the night, deciding to rest for his match tomorrow. He said it was to begin just before noon, so Marcus went to his cot as well, a few rows down from Riley’s.