Something I wrote

[Neb]

(I saw that Shadowhound had posted some of his written work, so I thought that I'd post some of mine.)

A warm and calm summer day in the Blackleaf Forest, not a sound to be heard, except for birdsong and the breeze in the upper leaves of the trees.... But now, the silence is broken, by the sound of running feet, and pursuing hooves not far behind.

A dirt path, dry and dusty, running from one side of the forest to the other, the dark and dense woods of the center of the forest on one side, the lighter and more sparse woods of the edge on the other.

He runs down the path, his black cloak fluttering behind him, breathing heavily, close to collapsing from exhaustion. But he mustn't stop, for then they will catch him, he runs, his boots raising a cloud of dust every time they hit the path, behind him, the sound of pursuing hooves, getting closer....

He looks to his left, into the light woods and briefly considers running into the trees and hiding there, a glint of sunlight on metal makes him decide not to, of course they would have foreseen that he might do that.

He looks right, into the dark woods, and doesn't even think about going in there, dark tales around the campfire or told by older siblings warn him of the dangers of that place and he turns his eyes forward, down the road, stretching on through the woods.

Deciding that his cloak is encumbering him he quickly pulls it off, rolls it into a bundle and throws it over his shoulder, revealing his dark tunic and black clothes underneath.

Next, he pulls of his hood and throws it to his right, allowing sunlight to hit his short blonde hair and shine into his grey-blue eyes, momentarily blinding him, but not stopping his run, his flight from his pursuers.

Up ahead he sees a tree, fallen across the road, he approaches it swiftly and vaults over it with one hand, landing heavily behind it and crouching down so that he is hidden by it, a cloud of dust raised by his landing obscuring his actions for a few seconds.

He tries to calm his breathing and listens to the hooves approaching, the first rider's mount jumps across the fallen tree, raising a cloud of dust as it lands, a lack of branches making this an easy feat despite the tree's size.

The rider pulls his brown warhorse to a halt as his two companions jump across as well, raising dustclouds of their own, the three riders look around, momentarily puzzled by the sudden absence of their prey, looking left, looking right, looking behind them, looking foward, but not looking down.

The pursued studies his pursuers, all three clad in heavy black platemail and their faces hidden by black helmets, their mounts only barely able to run and carry them and their massive armor at the same time, he thanks his luck that this is so, otherwise they'd have caught him long ago.

One is armed with a warhammer, another with a battle axe and the third with flail, the pursued draws his own scimitar, silently, so as not to be discovered before he strikes, stands, and launches himself at the warhammer-wielding one.

He knocks him from his saddle and into the dust, his helmeted head strikes a rock and he doesn't move, his attacker has no time to make sure that he's dead however, as a blow from the third rider's flail hits his shoulder.

The blow doesn't break the bone, but it causes undescribable amounts of pain, causing him to drop the scimitar and only allowing him to remain on his feet through pure willpower.

He runs between the two riders so that they stand between him and the fallen tree, their unconscious or dead companion lying off to the left of the road, his mount having fled, the pursued stops and turns to face his pursuers, he can no longer run, he has to fight now.

The axe-wielding rider shouts, "Surrender now assasin and we'll kill you quickly!", then spurs his mount and rides towards him, the black clad assasin runs forward to meet his attacker, the flail-wielder stays in place.

Barely a second before they would clash the black-clad one launches himself off the ground, left leg extended in front of him in a flying kick, he hits the axe-wielder in the chest and carries him off of his mount, the two crash to the ground, the assasin on top of the rider.

The black-clad one knocks off the rider's helmet with his elbow, he pays no attention to the previously obscured face and instead yanks his battle axe from his grasp, he the stands up quickly and with one strike splits his pursuer's skull.

He looks up, looks towards the fallen tree, but can't see the flail-wielding one, too late he looks behind him and the flail slams into his back as the rider rides by, the assasin is knocked to the ground, entire body hurting, wishing for a swift death, he hears the rider dismount, heavy footsteps moving towards him, the clanking sound of platemail as the rider lifts his arms to end his life.

And then, the sound of arrows sailing through the air and penetrating platemail, he feels a large weight come crashing to the ground next to him, he's too exhausted to open his eyes but is dimly aware of something moving towards him, lifting him up, and carrying him into the dark woods of the central Blackleaf Forest.....

(So, how was that? Absolutely horrible?)

[Legolas]

Actually, it's not horrible at all.
There's a good, fast pace to the story, which is good with the amount of action it has. You manage to describe the characters and surroundings without really slowing down, and although the actual fighting is short, with a single blow being sufficient every time, that's probably a good thing, both because it makes the characters seem more like trained killers and because this way, you can't make that many mistakes in describing something in which you're probably not an expert (it is often said writers should write about what they know).
The only thing I can think of right now that would improve the story without changing your own style of writing, is not to use the same word too many times. For example, instead of the 'flail-wielding one', you might use 'the one with the flail', 'the final warrior', 'the tallest warrior' if he is, or avoid naming him altogether and merely describing the action.

But that's merely an aspect of the style, not the contents. Really, it's not bad at all.