"He's a war scribe." The man in orange flapped a sleeve in his direction. "See, grey robes with black trim." The youth he pointed out shifted almost imperceptibly, as though he had heard them. That is unlikely, thought Tulley, he's too far away. Tulley shifted his attention back to the man in orange robes, who was still going on. "The war scribes are Decar's. He always brings them wherever there's a chance to glorify himself."
"Leeter, he cannot be a true war scribe of Merrik. There are none left. He is perhaps a close approximation, no more."
"My dear Tulley, you doubt me?" Garland ruffled his robes like an upset hen. "I am a historian of gossip as well as of the Clan. Decar was to dispose of any surviving scribes after the siege of Merrik. It is said he found several young ones in hiding. Decar was moved to spare them, though I doubt it were out of pity. If they had undergone even a fraction of their Mattix training they would be a valuable addition to any Lord's arsenal."
"I have heard of some of what they are said to be capable of, if so pressed. And indeed I lost several allies of mine that were assigned to that assault. More capable men I did not know. I wonder how so small a force, caught by surprise, could have taken so many."
"It is unknown even to me, dear Tulley, what Decar has dangling over their heads that they will not fight nor flee these lands."
"I wonder..." Tulley eyed the grey-clad youth as he glided effortlessly over the rough terrain. The scribe turned his head to meet his gaze. The boy's eyes seemed to shine with an inner light. Tulley blinked, unsure of what he was seeing. The boy turned away and disappeared into the approaching forest.

I dug this up from an old disk. I read a lot of fantasy and well, most of what I read had at least one paragraph that sounded a lot like this. I was probably 16 or so, so forgive me. At least it isn't poetry.

Also, "warrior scribes"? What the hell is that? Looking over this, it sounds like I'm describing a Fremen from Dune. Huh.