Post by exile on May 21, 2007 15:40:26 GMT -5
A howling wind swept the endless fields, fanning unbridled flames into great conflagrations that baked the earth incarnadine and belched out menacing columns of rising soot. Higher and higher they climbed, throwing the chaos beneath into malevolent twilight, before crashing against the red bellied clouds that mirrored the earthly inferno below. The sounds of battle reverberated across the heavens until no one voice could be heard above the many; until there were no longer soldiers, only armies.
This was Ysgard. Elemental savagery. The glory of war.
Hadrian barreled heedlessly over the forms of the fallen, oblivious to the suffering of those who yet drew breath. From the aasimar’s lungs leapt a cry of wordless fury, which drowned in the din even as it left his lips. The acrid stench of burning flesh and the spilt blood of the vanquished suffused his being. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, driving him ever on, and he rejoiced. For he was alive; strong hands yet clenched his spear and faith blazed like a beacon within his soul.
The foe was before him, a great bearded axe swung as the extension of an equally great man. But Hadrian couldn’t see the soldier, only the weapon and the bones and sinews that propelled it towards him. The man might be his brother in another life; the weapon would always be his enemy.
The cleaver drew inexorably nearer to its mark, tracing a murderous arc which would culminate in his demise. Hadrian leapt, spear tip thrust at the soft flesh and scant armor about the man’s axilla, and in a terrifying moment both men’s fates were decided. The axe collided with bone shattering force against an invisible wall of arcane energy sending bolts of electrical pain through the aasimar’s psyche but sparing his physical being.
Fortune was not so kind to the other soldier. Hadrian’s thrust had landed deep, piercing the man’s lung and robbing him of his victory. The man collapsed to his knees, the cleaver falling from his grasp and a red froth settled on his lips as he laughed bitterly at his luck. Hadrian withdrew his weapon without malice, for his battle was not yet over.
A shadow, unaccounted for, was the aasimar’s only warning as he rose. With sudden strength he spun aside, narrowly evading a mortal blow. Channeling his momentum, Hadrian brought the butt of his spear around behind the shins of his assailant, striking him savagely below the knees. The astonished swordsman toppled over with barely the prescience to lift his shield against further harm.
It was for naught. Hadrian’s spear lanced down without mercy, ruining the soldier’s throat and dispatching him to the hall’s of his Power.
“Hadrian!”
The familiar call brought his gaze around. A fair haired shieldmaiden had interposed herself between his person and a frenzied mauler with a hellish glare. A corner of his mind recognized the woman as Falla, a sister in his lodge and an eminently capable combatant. But the weight of the blow leveled at her could sunder the walls of Dis, a blow meant for him.
The aasimar could do nothing but watch as the mallet shattered her armament and crushed her limb. All three of them screamed at once, Falla in pain, the two men in rage. But the advantage belonged to the defenders, for the berserker’s blow had left him dangerously off balance.
Hadrian stepped in and planted the heel of his palm firmly against his foe’s chest. With rising anger he spoke the words which would enact his terminal strike. A violet glow enwreathed his fingers as the spell culminated, discharging with a rush of energy into the attacker’s sternum. The force of the attack flung the berserker back to land amid the corpses, and join their ranks. So close to the enemy, Hadrian had felt the backlash of magical heat.
And then they were alone, the main host of the battle some hundred yards away. Hadrian turned to his companion, who cradled her shattered arm with a look of stoicism few men could match.
“Allfather, smile upon this maiden,” he began, kneeling at her side. “For she has won you great honor on this day.” With reverence Hadrian laid a hand upon the woman’s shoulder, channeling the beneficent grace of his god into her frame. She would require greater attention before the day’s end, but for now at least she would be free from pain.
* * * * *
The Bleaker awoke with a start, lapis eyes snapping open to find the familiar contours of his Gatehouse cell. A feeble protest from a warm lump beside his feet suggested that the semi-feral cat Kopek had graced him with her presence at some point in the night. His heart was racing, even as his memories fled to whatever realm dreams resided in. But though his waking thoughts could not conjure up the vividness of his subconscious, the events he had relived in the dark hours of the morning were not fancy.
Hadrian marveled at the fool he had been in youth, and quietly affirmed his devotion to his new calling. There was work to be done today.
(Daily Sanity Check: [dice=20])
[rand=2047892337245712592089786867297187513465699750838690978529272535]
This was Ysgard. Elemental savagery. The glory of war.
Hadrian barreled heedlessly over the forms of the fallen, oblivious to the suffering of those who yet drew breath. From the aasimar’s lungs leapt a cry of wordless fury, which drowned in the din even as it left his lips. The acrid stench of burning flesh and the spilt blood of the vanquished suffused his being. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, driving him ever on, and he rejoiced. For he was alive; strong hands yet clenched his spear and faith blazed like a beacon within his soul.
The foe was before him, a great bearded axe swung as the extension of an equally great man. But Hadrian couldn’t see the soldier, only the weapon and the bones and sinews that propelled it towards him. The man might be his brother in another life; the weapon would always be his enemy.
The cleaver drew inexorably nearer to its mark, tracing a murderous arc which would culminate in his demise. Hadrian leapt, spear tip thrust at the soft flesh and scant armor about the man’s axilla, and in a terrifying moment both men’s fates were decided. The axe collided with bone shattering force against an invisible wall of arcane energy sending bolts of electrical pain through the aasimar’s psyche but sparing his physical being.
Fortune was not so kind to the other soldier. Hadrian’s thrust had landed deep, piercing the man’s lung and robbing him of his victory. The man collapsed to his knees, the cleaver falling from his grasp and a red froth settled on his lips as he laughed bitterly at his luck. Hadrian withdrew his weapon without malice, for his battle was not yet over.
A shadow, unaccounted for, was the aasimar’s only warning as he rose. With sudden strength he spun aside, narrowly evading a mortal blow. Channeling his momentum, Hadrian brought the butt of his spear around behind the shins of his assailant, striking him savagely below the knees. The astonished swordsman toppled over with barely the prescience to lift his shield against further harm.
It was for naught. Hadrian’s spear lanced down without mercy, ruining the soldier’s throat and dispatching him to the hall’s of his Power.
“Hadrian!”
The familiar call brought his gaze around. A fair haired shieldmaiden had interposed herself between his person and a frenzied mauler with a hellish glare. A corner of his mind recognized the woman as Falla, a sister in his lodge and an eminently capable combatant. But the weight of the blow leveled at her could sunder the walls of Dis, a blow meant for him.
The aasimar could do nothing but watch as the mallet shattered her armament and crushed her limb. All three of them screamed at once, Falla in pain, the two men in rage. But the advantage belonged to the defenders, for the berserker’s blow had left him dangerously off balance.
Hadrian stepped in and planted the heel of his palm firmly against his foe’s chest. With rising anger he spoke the words which would enact his terminal strike. A violet glow enwreathed his fingers as the spell culminated, discharging with a rush of energy into the attacker’s sternum. The force of the attack flung the berserker back to land amid the corpses, and join their ranks. So close to the enemy, Hadrian had felt the backlash of magical heat.
And then they were alone, the main host of the battle some hundred yards away. Hadrian turned to his companion, who cradled her shattered arm with a look of stoicism few men could match.
“Allfather, smile upon this maiden,” he began, kneeling at her side. “For she has won you great honor on this day.” With reverence Hadrian laid a hand upon the woman’s shoulder, channeling the beneficent grace of his god into her frame. She would require greater attention before the day’s end, but for now at least she would be free from pain.
* * * * *
The Bleaker awoke with a start, lapis eyes snapping open to find the familiar contours of his Gatehouse cell. A feeble protest from a warm lump beside his feet suggested that the semi-feral cat Kopek had graced him with her presence at some point in the night. His heart was racing, even as his memories fled to whatever realm dreams resided in. But though his waking thoughts could not conjure up the vividness of his subconscious, the events he had relived in the dark hours of the morning were not fancy.
Hadrian marveled at the fool he had been in youth, and quietly affirmed his devotion to his new calling. There was work to be done today.
(Daily Sanity Check: [dice=20])
[rand=2047892337245712592089786867297187513465699750838690978529272535]