So, I wrote a little sample thing that I wanted to get peoples opinions on. I wanted to judge my skill or lack there of...if I should bother writing or not. I mean, if I can't even make a few interesting paragraphs then I should probably not try writing a novel... Be gentle...for my ego is frail. It's probably horrible.... CRASH! The sound of trees shattering echoed throughout the dark, misty forest. Though the sun was out, it seldom touched the Woods of Pale Dream. A hooded figure moved swiftly, avoiding another set of trees that broke like twigs, bursting into splintered shrapnel. This time we can see what had been after the man. It was a giant tentacle with its body somewhere out of sight and deep in the woods. Luckily, the man was all too familiar with avoiding trouble as he gracefully dodged and avoided his attacker along with old fallen trees and large boulders covered in ancient moss. He moved like the wind, skillfully aware of where each foot stepped long before it ever hit the ground. He was a shadow within shadows, his every movement crafted from years of training, his name was Eorath and he had been at this sort of things for far too long it seemed. Eorath drew his short sword as he vaulted over another tree, a fallen remnant of what had once been a beautiful forest. Now nothing more than an irritant standing in the way of his survival and with a twist of his body he swung his blade. The cold, sharp steel sliced through the tentacle, segmenting the tip from the rest. A piercing screech tore through the air as it flailed about before quickly vanishing back into the darkness. He didn’t allow himself to fall into ease because he knew that would not be the last danger he faced for the Woods of Pale Dream were cursed. Over centuries the story of how the curse came to be had changed but one truth always remained; most that entered never leave and those that leave never return without the madness. It had been some time since anyone dared enter and had Eorath had a choice he would not have done so either but what he had lost could not be returned to him. His only hope was at the black and vile heart of the forest; he had no choice now that he had come this far. He thought back to that moment of choice in an old tavern miles away and seemingly ages in the past at least that is how it felt. He could almost feel the warm of the fire in the hand built stone fireplace that greeted weary travelers with a sense of peace and a temporary freedom from their troubles. Perhaps the last pleasantry he would ever experience. An older man with his face weathered and tired, a reflection of battles long since fought, sat near the warm hearth holding a mug of ale. It seemed he gain more comfort from the mug in his hands than than the casual gulps he took. Eorath took a seat across the table from him with his hood up, no sense in letting everyone in town see his face on the off chance he might be recognized for some of his less than lawful pursuits. “Ah, come to keep an old man company during these dark times?” The One-Eyed Man spoke, his voice creaked like a rusty wheel ready to retire. “You know why I’m here. Where’s the map?” Eorath responded shortly, he had come a long way and was in no mood to waste time with conversation, his task was set and would not be slowed.