Erdritch’s Journey – a young author’s high-fantasy story
Erdritch’s Journey – a young author’s high-fantasy story

Erdritch’s Journey – a young author’s high-fantasy story

When teaching spills over and beyond the classroom and one of your pupils shares their story writing, you almost have to give it a wider audience.

The following extract was written as part of an end of Year 7 genre unit assessment, completed over the half term and shared here with the authors permission. All constructive feedback will be passed on to the young author.

Erdritch’s Journey

Far away, in a green land untroubled by the perils of our world there was a little, quaint vine covered cottage. In this cottage there lived an elf. His name- Erdritch, with pointed ears that straight blonde hair waved over. Azure blue eyes as clear as crystal, flicked round the room. He wore a shirt made of golden silk with a sword of shimmering steel strapped to a belt of leather. He stepped out of the door and set off for sparring training.

When he arrived at the warriors ring, the training center for the elven race, he realized that the normally hygienic floor was littered with weapons and blood. In one swift motion, Erdritch unsheathed his sword, poised for flesh, only to find that it was deserted. It was evident that there had been a battle here. Erdritch gasped,dropping his dagger, making a resounding clang on the floor. Next to a pair of shackles, was a dwarven hammer. Back at Erdritch’s abode, the elf was collecting food, armor and a silver rimmed saddle with deep green leather. Sweeping out of the back door he strapped the saddle on Looman, his pure white horse. With a nimble leap, he mounted his horse and galloped out of an archway, hooves clattering against smooth stone slabs. Over the next couple of days Erdritch never faltered, dashing over plains, marshes and hills, the desire to find his friend ever growing. On the third day a single solitary tapering peak rose out of the horizon, like a church in a field. Erdritch jumped off his horse and gazed up at the mountain.

Hoisting himself over a rock, Erdritch climbed into a rough stone cave and dropped through a gap in the surface. He found himself in a polished stone tunnel. Suddenly, he heard footsteps at the end of the corridor. Grasping onto an unlit chandelier he was out of sight to the stout drawers now passing beneath him. “Ah can’t believe it is already our time to guard those pompous elves!” grumbled a ginger bearded dwarf as he rounded a corner. Drawing out three glistening daggers, Erdritch softly dropped to the floor and dashed off in pursuit.In the most secure cell in all of Dwarf Rock (the mountain) a brown skinned elf sat on the cold stone surface exhausted by torture, taunts and extreme famine, he was broken. So you would expect him to be surprised when three dwarves crashed to the ground with shining daggers sticking out from their backs. The elf sat up in alarm waiting to see his rescuer. Erdritch rounded the corner with a smile plastered on his face.

“Orramore!” Erdritch exclaimed.

“Where are the others?” questioned Erdritch.

“Perished.” mourned Orramore. His face showed grief beyond anything he had ever known. Erdritch bowed his head sadly.

“We should leave.” Erdritch commanded.

After a few minutes of climbing, they both emerged into the sunlight of the mountaintop. “What do we do now that they are dead?” questioned Orramore sadly.

“We live out our lives together.” answered Erdritch

“So you think we should be together?” wondered Orramore.

Erdritch said nothing, smiled, leaned in and softly kissed Orramore on his cheek. What they did not expect was for a heavy wooden club to clobber Orramore off of the mountain, and for a grotesque troll to grin madly at Erdritch.

Erdritch leaped back and drew his sword, only for it to be knocked aside by Mogamon, Lord of the Trolls. His pale green skin wobbled as he laughed maniacally, revealing uneven yellow teeth. “Stupid elf!” boomed Mogamon’s deep rumbling voice. “Thinking you can escape the Dwarves?” Mogamon threw his club to one side, and unsheathed a dull gun metal gray claymore. The Troll raised his blade and sent it crashing down. Erdritch rolled to the side, and leaped onto the troll’s neck. Bringing his hands around the troll’s throat, Mogamon began to gasp.

“If I go, you go with me!” roared Erdritch with a devastating cry. Mogamon plunged his sword deep into himself, going through him and carrying on into Erdritch. Erdritch, dead.

Back at Erdritch’s home, all was quiet. The vines were still, the door uncreaking. In a stone pot, to the left of the door, was a flower. A single yellow flower. It stood, life, in defiance of death. A message to the world saying, after death, there is always new life.

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