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Hey Guys, so I'm a bit of a writer and I'm always looking to improving my writing as well as getting some critiques from people. So if you want, feel free to post a comment bellow. I wrote this Beastmen/Bretonnia fluff recently and would like to know what people think. Its a three parter but I'll post it all below. Hope you enjoy.

Beastlord
"Devils" - Part 1 of 3

There was a strange calmness in the deep wilds, depending on where you looked or what you heard. Of course the Bretonnian villagers on the outskirts of the great northern forest always worked with caution around the vast endless wood that slept under the Pale Sisters mountain range.

Grim rumours spread from villages and towns, swirling into the ears of bored house wives and weary workers, of creatures in the woods. Stories had existed among the farmfolk for generations that if the children were to behave badly, devils would drag them into the darkness of the wilds. For the most part parents used this as a jest until for the first time since last unknown, a boy went missing. In the wake of the morn his greiving mother was found at the forests edge, tears streaming down here face, clunks of her hair held in shaking hands.

'Devils,' she said, 'Devils have stolen my son.'

Immediatly since the village had rallied a rag tag garrison, most of the young men taking up their families arms, distributed by the local lord long before. The story of the missing child having mothers clinging onto their young and fathers scouting out the more forlorn and wild areas around the village. Though the midday sun was out and the day was beautiful the feelings of stress, fear and misery clung to the village. Night would come eventually, and they feared it so.

One of the boys, Brandon, bore his fathers steel helmet and halberd. He sat on a rock alone at the crossroad that connected his village to several others. Brandon was in his mid teen years, he was blonde with blue eyes and although he acted tough to impress his friends he was afraid of what he had heard from the other villagers.

The boy who went missing was young, ten summers, but he and his family were well known among the small tight-knit community. Their village was home to, perhaps, six hundred souls. Most farmers and woodworkers who toiled for their local lord. Brandon knew the child, Derek, he was an iritating brat most of the time and Brandon didn't want to admit that he wasn't truly sorry for the boy, rather his mother who was well regarded and kind.

The youth gazed around the countryside, his village bellow the hills. To his right the vast, seemingly endless forest of Arden and the Pale Sisters jutting far on the horizon. All around him the grass was bright and green, the warm sun shone down upon Bretonnia with not a cloud in the sky. The vast blue heavens were something wonderous to behold and it calmed Brandons soul to look upon them. The heat from the sun was temperred by cool winds that swept down from the north. The day seemed like a blessing, he almost couldn't believe that some night marauders had just taken a child.

Something caught Brandons eye, opposite the direction of his village. Whatever it was, it glinted in the sun and Brandon had to shut his eyes and move his free hand to his face, it was too damn bright. The boy squinted in the direction, and through his hands he saw three large figures moving down the road with great speed.

Brandon leapt up, dropping his halberd, pure surprise and shock caught the boy and his eyes were wide open as he realized what was coming down the road.

'Praise the Lady,' he whispered, as he quickly tried to clean the dirt off his clothes and make himself more presentable. He bent down to pick up his halberd and rose quickly, chin high, straitening his back to make himself appear taller and stronger to the oncoming figures.

Soon he felt the earth shake under his feet, his heart started to rumble along with it and a feeling of uncontrollable envy and awe swept over him when he could make them out in appearance and form the neerer they strode.

Knights, three of them, riding huge imposing steeds moved ever onwards. The boy was nervous by their fast approach, he knew them to be Bretonnians but didn't know what kind of nobles these men were. He feared they were the arrogant high lords who treated lower class Bretonnians little better than beasts, all the while gazing lustingly at their beautiful sisters or wives.

The knight in the middle was clad in colours of blue and red, the one to his right blue and white and the one on his left red and black. Brandon's heart eazed as the thundering of their mighty steeds slowed and came to a steady trot just three meters from where he stood.

He gazed at them, from where he stood the difference in class was plain to see, they were clad in rich colours, fine silk and cloth. Their armour was strong and marvellous to behold, shields showing emblems of their noble lineages hung at their sides and they gazed down at him. From where Brandon stood they were as towering giants, their steeds larger, stronger and faster than any horse he had encountered in his short life.

'Boy,' began the middle Knight, 'We require water for our steeds. We have been travelling long and far in this hot weather and I fear if we push on without a respite even our indomitable mounts may collapse to the sun.' he chuckled.

Brandon nodded and smiled, the middle knight had a strong voice, refined and noble, and he seemed to be sharing a joke with him, though whether it was at his expense he was not sure just yet.

'Yes my lord, right away my lord!' he studdered.

The Knight removed his helmet, revealing a face somewhere in it's early twenties. His hair was long and black and his eyes a deep hazel. Brandon was surprised by his age.

'I am no Lord yet,' he smiled, 'You may call me Sir Delmont. The compatriot to my left is Sir Ranier, and to my right Sir Leon.
'
The other knights bowed their heads at mention of their names and Brandon was surprised with the show of kindess they were bestowing upon him. Perhaps it was because he was still young. He bowed down graciously to show his respect and started moving at a brisk pace towards his village. Bellow he could already see some of the villagers looking up to the fork in the road, surprised by the appearance of the three armoured warriors who strode behind little Brandon.

For most of the walk the Knights kept quiet and enjoyed the scenery, Brandon hadn't wanted to break them from their thoughts but was surprised when one of the knights broke the silence.

'Boy,' he said, 'What is your name?'

Brandon turned and looked up at the Knight introduced as Sir Ranier. 'Brandon, my Lord.'

'It is good to see that among your kind there is knowledge of manners and respect,' said the Knight. He made Brandon somewhat uncomfertable.

'Delmont believes in being kind to all our fellow Bretonnians, but I believe that one must earn my respect,' he continued.

'Now, what intrigues me boy, is that you are armed and armoured as regular militia.'

Brandon noticed the two others turn, looking Brandon up and down, perhaps feeling somewhat foolish they had not noticed it earlier.

'I did not realize we were at war, or are you simply playing soldier?' concluded Ranier.

'Forgive me my Lord, but neither, our village had an insident just recently, that has the elders concerned.'

They came to the edge of the village and the knights looked around, noticing how the people seemed afraid and nervous. These men were not toiling the fields but were armed with the standard military equipment of the low class.

'What incident?' cut in Delmont.

'A boy was kidnapped in the night and... well his mother claims it was... it doesn't make sense,' he laughed.

'What doesn't?' Delmont inquired.

'She told us that devils took her son.'

"Taken" - Part 2 of 3

The light of the afternoon sun was slowly fading as the canopy of trees became thicker the further they stalked into the forest. They had travelled all night and all the early morning hours but were still not at their destination. The two creatures could be mistaken for men from a great distance but the closer one came the more horrified they would become.

Stubby horns protruded from their foreheads, goat-like legs replaced those of a mans, and their torsos and arms, though human, were covered in thick bestial hair. Their eyes were black as pitch and they barked and brayed from their fanged maws as they dragged the boy deeper into the wild.

The boy, Derek, had been in and out of conciousness since he saw the silhouette of their twisted forms raise him from the bed and carry him out the window. He shrieked in terror and begged for someone to save him. Just as he passed into the shadow of the woods he saw his mother run out and scream in horror in the faint moon light.

Derek had never cried so much in his life, he begged and whimpered and spat and fought until his kidnappers and grown too impatient smacking him across the head with a rock. The blood on his features was dry now, though when it was running the Ungors had drooled and fought back the urge to tear into the man-childs flesh.

Derek looked at the two creatures dragging him through the foliage and froze as he saw them for what they were in the half light of the deep forest. He was far too petrified for any screaming and simply endured the pain of his aching head and battered body as they took him to where, he was sure, he would die.

The Ungors were panting as they gradually reduced their pace, slowing to look around. One of them started to brey, the sound sent cold shivers sliding down the boys back. He was feining his own death, even so his eyes were flicking around trying to see where he was.

The terrain was indistinguishable, the floor was thick with rotting leaves and the towering trees all rose up perhaps a dozen meters into the air, the thick canopy blocking out a good deal of light, the sky hidden behind dark leaves. The forest depths were in a state of eerie twilight, quiet and dim. What unnerved him the most was that there was no sound, no birds no wind just the haunting cries of his captors.

Suddenly he felts hands upon him, they felt gnarled and hard and it took all his willpower to finally look up at his captors. Their faces were hideous, nightmarish, almost human but feral and mutated. Their noses were flat their eyes black, the skin pale and ruddy and the hair dark and coarse. Their teeth were all fanged, like some canines but the horns that protruded from their skulls seemed like something from a young bovine.

They drooled as they barked and laughed, talking some vile language if it could even be considered such a thing. Derek yelled at them to go away, his fear breeding hatred and anger as he wanted nothing more than these kidnappers to be slain by some miraculous event.

The Ungors were hungry, the instincts to obey their cheiftain were now fading as they finally began to give in to their inner greed. They would simply run away, join another herd and ignore their former leader or perhaps, they snickered, they would betray him.

Suddenly a loud thumping sound broke the stillness and caused all three of the party to crane their necks upward. The boy had been saved from the starving Ungors, who squealed and leapt away as a dark figure strode rapidly through the trees. Rising he turned to look at his savior and was struck cold at the sight creature now trudging upon them.

It was much like the Ungors, but its head was a twisted parody of a goats or rams and it towered the man-sized Ungors by a whole head of height, surely over two meters. Its muscles were bulging and its hoofs large and noisy. Protruding from its monstrous skull were a set of large curving horns, much larger than that of the Ungors.

The Gor snarled and threatened the Ungor who were whimpering behind some trees. It held one large axe in its right hand and had another slung over its back. The beast did not care for quiet or stealth, its snorted and snarled, furiosly pushing through the foliage and breaking the calm of this almost serene place.

The Gor looked down at the child, who whimpered and wept under its furious gaze. The beast was disgusted by such a frail, little creature. To the Gor the man-child was sickening and vile and it bore its teeth as its mighty hoof kicked into the boys brow, knocking him out cold.

As Dereks vision darkened a single tear rolled down his face and he softly whispered, 'Help.'

"Slaughter" - Part 3 of 3

The Gor, named Korox, was steadily pacing up the rocky craggy hillside. The hill was tall and steep, shrouded in thick foliage and sweeping trees. Sun rays broke through the high branches on the hill as the high ground broke away from the gloomy forest. Korox turned around, looking down to where he had tied the kidnapped child. The boy was coated in blood and filth and was still motionless as he rested to the side of a forest trail, long unused by the human farmers.

He snorted, still disgusted by the child as well as the cowardice of the plan he was helping enact. For all this strange scheeming Korox was a warrior through and through, he desired nothing more than to charge headfirst at the enemy lines to crush his foes beneath thundering hoofs and tireless blades. In a way that was why he had joined in this vile plan of treachery.

Korox looked up the hill and could barely make out the forms of his allied warherd skulking high in the foliage, lurking in the bushes and thick grasses. Their shadowy silhouettes were lined by the light of the sun and they could barely be made out. Even so they were twisted perversions of the human form, the things of sin and nightmare.

Korox passed by the skulking forms of snarling Ungors and bored Gors, who sat in circles arguing or exchanging threatening glances. There were perhaps three dozen of them in total, waiting like a pack of slavering hounds to be unleashed by their master.

In the heart of the camp, upon a moss covered boulder, sat an enormous Gor, flanked by the best armoured and outfitted of its kin. Maulrox was his name, and he looked anxiously at Korox. Maulrox was much like Korox, they were warriors and they didnt approve the present Beastlord who they despised as a lazy coward.

Much like Maulrox, Gortok the true leader of the herd, was a towering behemoth of hair and muscle who was always surrounded by his entourage of mighty bestigors, some fifteen of them in all. The difference between Maulrox and Gortok was that Gortok was content with raiding and fighting other warherds for petty scraps of meat, stolen metal and pilfered treasures. Korox and Maulrox both wanted to bring death back to the lands of the disgusting humans that dwelt just outside their forest home. Gortok however had no will to risk the herd in pillaging the lands of men after having a close encounter with a fearsome knight that nearly cost him his life. Gortok swiftly developed a true phobia of Knights and couldn't bear the risk.

When they were denied their inner will to kill the hated race of man Maulrox had started a hidden rebellion, gathering just over thirty like-minded beastmen. His treacherous plan, rare for a beastmen to come up with, was to use a lure, a child, to bring Gortok and his retinue of bestigor's away from where the rest of the herd was lounging. Gortok and his retinue lived in the heart the main encampment, though they would frequently travel near the forlorn road to where they had a stash of hard liquor. Though this was still too close to the camp Maulrox would rely on the whining of a human brat to drag the group closer to the road where the ambush waited.

Korox snorted at Maulrox, nodding his head and moving to the chieftains side. The Wargor nodded and smirked, his lips spreading to reveal a row of needle like teeth. The Wargor rose, his retinue following him through the camp. They came to the edge of the rocky outcrop and gazed bellow where they could see the form of the man-child slowly coming to.

Maulrox motioned for one of his bestigor's to hand him his axe, it was a massive thing made of dark steel and topped with the skull of a Gor foe that Maulrox had slain long before. He rested against the weapon while waiting eagerly for the ambush to begin. The rest of the camp tensed as the time had come and slowly made way to hiding places around the hillside.

The forest fell silent and the beastmen were all subjugated from making racious noise by the sheer physical threat that their leader presented. They slunk in the shadows quietly waiting for the lure to arrive.

Sometime passed before the boy bellow began to wail. As he awoke he must have felt the sharp pain protruding from his leg, where Korox has gouged him. Blood was sliding from the exposed wet wound and there wasn't a beast upon the hill who didn't have the scent of man flesh in their nostrils. They had to fight the urge to leap out and tear into the injured prey.

The boy whined, first from the aching pain and then for someone to help him. He fought against the black rope that was tied to his ankle, trying desperately to break it. His best efforts had no effect as the rope holding him to the ground was far too thick.

Suddenly they noticed the child's demeanor change, he became quiet and was alert, looking around as if he heard something. The warriors in hiding became tense as their eyes darted through the trees. Finally they saw the shades of around a dozen or more dark figures emerging from the heavy wilds and stepping onto the old human road.

Maulrox smirked as he saw behind two of the large armoured bestigor's was Gortok. The entire group of bestigor's slowly made way for the child, smiling, licking their lips and loosing a deep throaty laugh. A few of the bestigors came unnervingly close to the child who scattered backwards, panting , towards the base of the hill. After making sure nothing was around Gortok became comfortable enough to once again assert his dominance, shoving the bestigors from the prey, punching and biting those who were too hungry to heed his words.

Just as the monstrous beastlord grabbed the boy and rose him high into the air did Maulrox leap upright and send out a furious howl that was emediatly echoed by his warriors. Before the bestigors could even react the warriors loyal to Maulrox were already surging down the hill, cursing and yelling, as they waved their weapons in the air.

The only thing Gortok could do before this avalanche of bodies hit his retinue was move behind the front rank of his guards.
Even though it was the warriors under Maulrox who hit them first and plowed into them with momentum the battle was not a sure victory, for Gortok was surrounded by bestigor's, huge Gors almost as big as the now feuding chieftains. They were the best equipped and would not give way to the ambushers.

After two of the bestigor's fell to the surprise and momentum of the treacherous charge battle erupted upon the old road the the two warbands clawed, kicked, slashed and stabbed with merciless rage at their enemies.

Derek fled under the cover of some foliage, panting with fear and shock as the feral marauders went about the bloody business of war.

Here a Gor cut down into one of the bestigors arms, the creature howling in pain, there a bestigor brought its massive double edged axe down upon a screaming Ungor who could not avoid the blow in time. Blood erupted from served wounds and those not immediately killed in the sudden melee wept and cried out in pain as they ran from the battle, clutching running wounds or the bloodied stumps of former limbs.

For all his fear of Knights Gortok showed only hatred for this despicable act of treachery, he wielded his two axes like a blood crazed berserker, sending Gors and Ungors crashing to the earth, ending their lives with sweeping strikes from his blades that coated warriors on both sides in the gore and offal of their kin.

Maulrox too was merciless, though slower with his enormous war-axe, his sheer strength overpowered even the bestigor who dared stand in his path. His axe cut through flesh and steel, from both sides if necessary. The blood-craze was upon them and at once it was both terrifying and exhilarating.

As a dozen mutilated corpses lined the road, blood rapidly flowing into forming pools, some of the Ungor fled, crying and screaming in fear as Maulrox snarled at howled at them enraged by their cowardice. The Gors were loyal to the end but the lesser beastmen were unreliable.

The sounds of blades clanging in the quiet forest was deafeningly loud, accompanied by cursing and furious rage or the screaming from the panicked and dying made Derek feel as if he was in a vision of hell or some dark warrior heaven.

The melee spread out now and there wasn't a beast among those remaining who wasn't covered in blood, their own or anothers. They each had found secluded battles that would decide their fate this day. Through the rising dust from the stamping hoofs Maulrox sought out Gortok though the Beastlord saw him first, back turned, and recognized his former right hand instantly. Gortok smashed into Maulrox, roaring a thundering battle-cry that sent both of the warriors from their feet and smashing into the filthy blood stained floor.

Maulrox' axe was swept across the slick floor, leaving its owner with nothing but his fists. Above the pinned Wargor Gortok rose axes into the air and with a scream of bestial rage brought them down. Maulrox had turned just in time and managed to grab both of Gortoks wrists mid-swing. The two were powerful, but even pinned under his chieftain with gravity against him Maulrox showed his full strength as he slowly pushed the blades away. He didn't know how long he could hold his killer at bay, if Gortok wasn't knocked off soon Maulrox was certain to die.

As the battle continued Derek was the only one it seemed who could feel the alien rumble of hoofs approaching from the old road, opposite from where the bigger beastmen had emerged. The other Gors and Ungors were far too frenzied to notice anything out of their immediate spectrum. Derek saw dust coming from the the far side of the road, heralding three huge figures approaching the melee with seemingly supernatural speed.

The boy wept as he finally saw what the new comers were, he felt a weary smile edge its way across his features.

The Gors fighting farthest from the beastlords saw them first and brayed in terror as, with thunderous momentum, the three Knights smashed through them, tearing four of them apart by the point of outstretched lances.

The Knights speared their way through the melee, the last of the fighters remaining turned their attention to the newcomers, rapidly hitting them with axe blade and spear point but the armour they wore made them impervious to the strikes that screeched across their flanks and mounts. Blessed swords struck back, severing fingers and causing the wounded to cry out in pain.

Gortok looked back just as the knights were hammering their way through the group, eyes widened he cried out in fear keeping his sight on the knights as he leapt away from Maulrox and fled down the road away from the battle. Maulrox slowly got himself up and turned to see the silver-skinned humans surrounded by a mass of muscle and hair. For all the numbers the beastmen had remaining the trio of armoured warriors weren't fazed and fought back furiously.

Maulrox snarled in rage as he turned just in time to see the form of the terrified Gortok running up into the hills. He quickly picked up his axe and ran after his quarry while the herd fought the despised warriors of man. Swords glided into the beastmen's shoulder tendons and throats as the huge war-horses kicked others away, the remaining ten beastmen were tired and bloodied but unrelenting.

Derek marshaled his courage, he ran from under his hiding place taking up a spear from a slain Ungor and with all his courage he thrust the pike into the naked back of another mutant, watching in petrified disgust as the twisted creature whined and collapsed onto the gore stained earth.

Maulrox would not be denied he sped across the road, the sounds of the battle growing dimmer as he found Gortok quivering and trapped at a rocky ledge just before the road ended, the fall easily far enough to kill either of them.

The Beastlord looked at his hunter and though still nervous and shaken flew into a rage, like a cornered animal. Maulrox roared back, fearless and furious as ever, he braced his huge axe and quickly charged against his rival.

As the two met, not three meters from the dangerous ledge, Maulrox sent his weapon on a downward swing that caught the axe held in Gortoks left hand, sending it flipping from its owners grasp. Gortok then leapt upon his foe and bit deep into his snout as Maulrox cried out in pain.

The usurper managed to wrestle away the other axe from Gortoks hand, while at the same time dropping his own axe forcing the two to begin a deadly wrestle which would see one of them dead.

Gortok managed to gor his quarry with one of his horns and Maulrox let out another howl of pain as the scent of his own blood filled his nostrils. Smiling Gortok did so again, puncturing Maulrox through the gut. The next time Gortok tried to stab into his flesh Maulrox grabbed both of his horns and pushed him away while Gortoks hands clasped around his throat. The two warriors pushed and squeezed, Maulrox feeling weaker as his voice was cut from the strength of Gortoks hands. Gortok laughed in murderous glee, his lips moving back to reveal a sickening smile of yellow-stained fangs.

The Beastlord uttered the last words Maulrox would hear from his enemies throat,
'You... lose... weak-born,' the Beastlord smirked, his voice deep and rumbling as any Gors.

However Maulrox returned the smile and before Gortok could gauge why he heard a cracking sound and screamed in anguish as he felt his horns broken by Maulrox' powerful grasp.

Right before Maulrox plunged the shattered horns through his rivals throat he snarled at him, 'No, you lose, filth-spawn!'
The horns punctured through the former chieftains throat and blood spilled in great globs as the massive Gor slowly fell from Maulrox, his form rapidly bleeding out, the look of utter shock and horror frozen onto his features.

Maulrox slowly stood up, taking up his axe. With all his strength he snarled as his swung the blade in a downward arc, separating the head of the former chieftain from its lifeless body and picking it up. Facing the now dim sky Maulrox roared with pride as he lifted up his enemies head for all the great gods to see. He felt a sudden power surge through his form and all his wounds rapidly sealed as he felt the eyes of the all-fathers blessing him for his mighty deed. He had won, he was no longer a bestigor or a rebel he was Beastlord.

By the time Maulrox returned to the scene of battle all of the fighters on both sides were slain, blood coated the floor and the knights were gone, having saved the boy and killed the last of the beastmen. Still grasping Gartoks head Maulrox made way with silent pride, he saw much of the heard had finally arrived to the scene of the battle after either hearing the distant clang of weapons or perhaps smelling the blood on the air.

The Herd turned and gazed in awe as Maulrox strode towards them, lifting up Gortoks head high for all to see. They were silent for a moment but quickly began to chant his name, raising their weapons high in the air to honour the victory of the new Beastlord. Maulrox' flesh seethed with the mutating power of chaos as they saw the gods gift their new leader for his victory, horned protrusions breaking from his skin and his tongue splitting into something more serpentine.

He glanced down at the corpses lying still on the grass, fifty or so, blood dried upon the uncaring earth as the herd came up to their new leader. Hundreds of them gathered, and he smiled, his eyes looked down the path where the Knights had fled, surely feeling victory in their hearts after killing the last of that petty herd and saving their young.

Lifting up his axe in the direction of the old path he uttered a single word in a feral and hideous tongue, 'Hunt.'

As one the herd slowly started to bray and bark, glee in their murderous hearts. The forest was dark now, almost pitch black, and Maulrox knew the night was upon them. This night he would remind the humans why they were afraid of the dark and why their parents had once told them to behave, for there were devils in the woods and they would come in the blackest hours to take them away.

That was really good! I'm not too good with writing fantasy stuff so I don't really think I can critique you on how you wrote. It was very well written though, so not much to critique anyway. I saw the odd misspelling in there, but its nothing really. I also like the way you write combat, it was well done and most importantly, fluid. That I like . I hope we'll be seeing more from you!

Very well made work this here, well done. Its rareto see Beastmen portrayed in such a way, you captured their bestial nature quite well.

thanks guys, edited it for spelling errors and some grammatical mistakes.