What if we tried to create a movie script together!

Here, colleagues, is the second excerpt about the hunter. I don't know how it turned out; I'm full of doubts as to whether I overdid it with the dialectisms and anachronisms. So please, criticize away, but in my opinion, the general plot outline should not be changed. Now it will be clear where the hydra came from: following a squad of demons. Well, that will be in the third and probably final piece of this chapter about the man.
…The hunter was already running through the underbrush, and the creature was crashing after him. But Bryacheslav could hear the monster's labored breathing mixed with its now rather infrequent shrieks. And although the beast continued to crash after the trapper, Bryacheslav felt that it was ready to stop or turn away. This could not be allowed. Even though Bryacheslav himself was exhausted, he was ready to continue this mad race until he overcame this creature. The pitfall was already very close, but the vermin had fallen behind and might stop altogether. Its rage needed to be stoked, so Bryacheslav, turning sharply, tore the bow from his shoulder with a practiced gesture and drew an arrow. The creature was about fifty paces away; he had to aim carefully. Wiping sweat from his forehead, trying to steady his breathing, Bryacheslav aimed carefully and sent the arrow into the eye of the leftmost head of the monstrosity. It had almost come to a complete stop, but the pain in the wounded head added to the monster's fury, and it rushed at the shooter with a passion, apparently intending to immediately finish off the vile mosquito that had stung it again. Bryacheslav barely managed to turn around and, without letting go of the bow, started running again. It was fortunate that the creature was much heavier than the hunter and could no longer run with its former speed.
And there is the distinctive oak. And the thicket. Bryacheslav gathered his last strength, sharply accelerated his pace, and just before the edge of the camouflaged pit, he literally launched himself into the air, tore off his quiver of arrows, and threw it forward along with the bow. A moment later, he hit the opposite side of the pitfall with his whole body, jumped up, and found the strength to run away from the edge. Just in time, because at that instant, the monster pursuing Bryacheslav flew into the trap with a muffled roar. But even a pit dug for a large beast proved too small for the six-headed creature. It entered the pit only with the front part of its torso, and both front paws ended up there as well. But the rear part, paws, and tail were free, and if not for the stake set at the bottom of the pit—which apparently pierced the creature's chest—it would have been able to get out almost immediately. Instead, it thrashed with a shriek in the pit, wildly lashing its heads and tail in all directions. Bryacheslav waited, having run further away and trying to steady his breathing. But despite the wait, the creature apparently had no intention of dying. Bryacheslav saw with horror that the walls of the pit were collapsing under the weight of the beast and the incessant blows of its paws. The man grabbed the bow and arrows and, offering a prayer in his soul to the heavens, began hastily firing one arrow after another into the eyes of the cursed creature. Almost all the arrows hit true, and one particularly lucky shot pierced the maw of one of the heads and apparently damaged something, because the head slumped helplessly. But the creature's rage only seemed to increase. It began to struggle even more violently and might have soon escaped the trap. But at that moment Bryacheslav heard a shout: "Get down, quick!" His body obeyed before his head could process the order. Bryacheslav fell to the ground, managing in astonishment to see crossbowmen in the uniforms of the nearby town's retinue pour onto the edge of the forest and instantly fire a volley at the creature from their crossbows.
Following the crossbowmen, men-at-arms burst into the clearing and, dodging the monster's necks lashing in all directions, began to hack them. Black blood sprayed everywhere, and the crossbowmen, having reloaded their weapons, shouted: "Spread out!" The men-at-arms cut off almost all the heads and hastily retreated from the agonizing creature. The crossbowmen, dropping to one knee, fired another volley at the nearly headless torso, and this time, it seemed, the iron bolts of the crossbows finished off the cursed monster. Letting out a half-sigh, half-sob from its remaining head, the tail and hind legs twitched convulsively one last time, and the monstrosity went still.
…The men-at-arms were wiping their swords and blood-splattered armor clean of the dead creature's black blood, the crossbowmen were slinging their weapons over their backs, and Bryacheslav, having come to his senses, was finally able to address the grey-bearded commander:
"Where are you from, brothers?"
"Are you from that farmstead?" – the commander frowned and nodded toward Bryacheslav's farmstead.
"Yes, uncle" - Bryacheslav suddenly grew alert.
"They burned it..." - the grey-bearded man began his tale, but without listening further, Bryacheslav rushed toward his home farmstead. From a distance, he smelled smoke, and as he ran to the edge of the forest, he saw a terrible sight.
The huge hewn logs used for the farmstead's palisade were partly charred, partly knocked down. The earthen rampart was scattered. The houses inside were smoldering with embers. Not all the houses were burned; some were demolished as if a malicious giant had tossed them left and right. And everywhere corpses, corpses... Charred corpses, torn apart, often without arms or legs, without heads. It was evident that many died with weapons in their hands. The surviving villagers, together with warriors in the cloaks of the retinue, wandered through the ruins, gathering the wounded and the dead.
"Mother!" - Bryacheslav screamed wildly. Forgetting his near-fatal exhaustion, he rushed like a whirlwind toward his hut. Externally, thank all the gods, it was almost undamaged, only some traces of fire were visible on the walls. But an answer came to Bryacheslav from a completely different side. "Son!" - he heard the tired but equally dear voice of his mother. One of the figures bent over the dead straightened up, and Bryacheslav saw his mother. Oh gods, what a state she was in! In torn rags, partially scorched, with traces of ash and soot on her face, the usually tidy old woman seemed the embodiment of grief and sorrow. But it was his mother—thank the gods—alive! Bryacheslav ran to his mother, gathered her in his arms, and began covering her wrinkled, dear face with kisses.
… - So how did it happen, Mother? – Bryacheslav asked his mother as they, having gathered the fallen villagers in one place, prepared a funeral pyre, as is done for those who died with valor. Many were here whom he had known since childhood. Almost the entire Fisherman family: the mother, terribly torn; two younger sons, mangled; the eldest son, half-burned but meeting the enemies as a warrior should, with an axe in his hands; the father, fighting to the last.
Aunt Felia, who had spoiled Bryacheslav since childhood with either sweet carrots or rich buns; Grandpa Hamster, so called for his tendency to bring everything he saw into his house, but gentle with children; and many, many others.
- After you, son, went into the forest, I lay down. My soul was anxious. And suddenly I heard the dogs howling throughout the farmstead—so terribly, as if Death herself had come. I jumped up, ran onto the porch, and people were running in the yards; the men were grabbing pitchforks or axes, the women were wailing and dragging children somewhere. And the elder was shouting: "Women, hide the little ones in the cellars! Men, all to the rampart! Bring the healer, bring our healer!"
And above all this commotion, beyond the wall, there was howling, shrieking, cracking, as if bones were breaking into tiny pieces. The men shouted: "Unknown creatures have attacked us!" and everyone ran to the rampart. Only our blacksmith put his boy on a bay mare and told him to gallop to the prince's town for help. I rushed after the men to help with something; they shout: "Where are you going, old woman! Hide yourself!", but I beg: "Sons, my own is in the forest! Let me at least look!" and I run... And beyond the wall, my son, vile creatures, crawling vermin, terrors, horrors! I have never seen such things! They roar, climb the wall, break it. And behind them are fire-women; they burn with fire, throw flames, others, like big dogs, carry a bonfire on themselves and explode, but it does not hurt them. It only hurts us! Well, the men started hitting the fire-women with arrows, but those foul curs throw themselves at the wall, gnaw the logs, and huge creatures—there were about three of them—burn the men on the walls.
The foul creatures broke through the gates, but our men met them with axes. But how can one fight when these things with fire on their backs run up and blaze. Our men held out for a long time even then, but those cursed vermin broke through the wall and began to rage. Some they gnaw, some they tear apart, some they burn with fire. Our men, though they all fell themselves, took down many of them, and then the prince's retinue arrived.
- The boy galloped to us, - the grey-bearded centurion said, frowning, - roaring, choking
"Father, father ordered...", but he couldn't say what was ordered. Well, I figured things were wrong, commanded "Mount up," since the whole retinue was in the barracks; put the lad on my saddle and told him to show the way. And we rode. We galloped to your farmstead, saw—things are bad. The cursed enemies had broken inside, and those fire-women your mother speaks of were throwing balls of flame. But fortunately, they didn't notice us right away, apparently. Immediately we split into two fifties and struck from two sides. The crossbowmen took down those women and huge lizards with bolts almost instantly, and the spearmen followed after the cursed creatures into their backs. And then it began—a laugh for the cat, but tears for the mice. We put the same creatures down quickly; they didn't even have time to recover when we heard someone shrieking again nearby. We thought one of those things had brought reinforcements, reformed, and rushed there, but there you were fighting. You fight well, lad – the centurion respectfully patted Bryacheslav on the shoulder – alone, practically, you took down such a beast"

Added after 14 minutes

Sorry for the ignorance, but what is "elikko"? By context I can guess that it means he will try to return as quickly as possible... but more precisely? What kind of word is this—Old Church Slavonic? It just leaves me at a loss...

Yes, it's an Old Church Slavonic word; it indeed means quickly, soon.
Furthermore, usually one doesn't say a house has a "back," but the expression "the backs of houses" exists.
Pomestilos - means imagined (Old Slav.)
Agreed, for a village boy knowing the word consistency is difficult. But better not "mishmash," but something like interconnection, though something simpler—I haven't thought of it yet.
"The boy's name appears in two sentences in a row. Replace some with hunter, man, lad, him or something else..."
Yes, that's my trouble. I'd be very grateful for help here.
"Storozhkimi means cautious"
Yes, storozhkimi is not just cautious, but guarding—here, guarding the hunter from troubles.
"too many 'would'. The second one (before the dark elves) can be removed. And before 'eyes' the preposition 'into' is missing."
That is absolutely correct. I write as it comes, but now... Correct me, Simas, in the sense of "hold me, straw, hold me".:smile05: :smile41: :smile41: :smile41: