<Sample2> -- Scribbler's Corner

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Date Posted: 15:36:50 03/31/02 Sun
Author: Fizban
Subject: <Sample2>
In reply to: Fizban 's message, "<Sample>" on 15:34:24 03/31/02 Sun

The line pressed on in the akward winter heat. Travel was slow, too slow for most of the soldiers liking, but it was necessary to prevent any accidents. With the terrain being as fragile as it was on this mountaintop, no skilled wagon-driver would risk plummeting to their deaths to make a trip to battle shorter.

A mist formed as the line of wagons neared the last of turns, prompting many drivers to slow even more and wait for words from their commander. A robbed figure walked through it, his nose to the air, sniffing for signs of an abmush. "Bring them foward," his voice was hushed, directed back towards the line incase he had missed something. He continued on through the mist, the hood of his robe hiding his face.

He stopped as the area widened and raised his head again. This time the mist carried more than the rain. A thick taste of blood was about him, but more than that. He could not place it, its quality being foreign to him. "We are here." The wagons crowded about him, then continued on, the drivers not caring to see what layed before them.

As the last of the wagons passed, large lumbering men appeared, each fashioned in Northern garbs of animal skins and chain-mail. Unlike the wagons, they stopped with the robbed figure, bunching together to see what they could. "A..disheartning sight for farmers such as those I'm sure. They are not trained to see such a thing." The words were spoken from a young priest. He wore little armour, leaving his arms the freedom to move about for potions and other concoctions in his pouches.

An appalling fields lay before them, torched by burning cattle lauched from catapults, and marred by blood from those who had fallen. Bodies, of all races, littered the area, some still clinging to what little life they could muster to scream out but to no avail.

"Goddimus?," the priest looked to his brother, worried that he had spoken no word to him since the trip started. "Are you well? We are to continue on to assist in the seige on the castle, not stop and bask." The words were harsh, but needed to get the robbed Barbarian back to moving.

Goddimus raised his hand for silence and moved on. His soldiers picked up the pace quickly, drawing weapons as they formed up around him. "I am well brother, but I don't need this. This battle is not our own. We are slaves to a cause of filth, brought in to help defeat a creature who surpasses even our views of evil." His fist clenched around the short-sword at his thigh.

"I cannot promise I will be true to this cause, and I do not wish for any of you to follow me into that act of dishonor if it comes about," Goddimus released his grip on the sword, letting his temper fall. "Once it is decided where we are to breach, do not become seperated. Enough of us were lost escorting those supplies, I don't require a loss of all the two-thousand we started out with."

A mumur of agreement surrounded him as the commanders of each horde considered his words. Hundreds within their tribe had been tricked into this 'war', bribed mostly. Others simply over-powered and forced into this like these neophytes. An uncomfortable fact to admit, but necessary.

They entered a fortified camp, going their seperate ways to keep the order as Goddimus, their chief, continued on. His steps were forced, and the look upon his face showed his regret at this experience, but he was loyal. No matter how he came to be here, he was to do his best and keep his word.

The tent he entered was large and squared off, flags covered with symbols of those meeting flying in the crisp breeze. He rested himself across from a heavily armour paladin, who's helmet rested on the edge of a bloody map.

"Goddimus arrives gentlemen. We may begin discussing the battle." Vermot, the Overlord, smiled adn returned to his seat after mocking the Barbarian. Whatever they spoke of, he was sure, meant the death of him and the rest of his people. "We prefer tact commanders here foreigner. Your clumsiness will not be allowed for long."

Goddimus took in the critique from his superior without word. His expression was held in check, mostly by the fact that 'he' was the one who slayed the larger portion of his clan. He would be considered great if most of those numbers were not children.

"Now, we will attack late this night. The strongest of our forces will be divided, meaning your tribe shall be split, so say all of your goodbyes. You will be granted a number of gnomes to make up the number..I see you do not agree with my plan?" Goddimus had half risen from his seat, his hand firmly wrapped around the hilt of his sword.

"No m'lord. It is simply nerves. I have not been feeling well in the past days. I feel I must rest." He placed his hands flat against the oak table, tapping his fingers lightly to unfetter his stress. Then word was true. He was feared above all others, and to eliminated, probably by an arrow in his back.

"Their will be time enough for that later," he continued with the plans of battle," The force you will lead is assigned to the western side. We will need you to remove their larger defense weapons so we may press on to their infantry. Once done, and if you have the numbers, I permit you to move aside. Their is no need for your presence in 'real' battle." The room filled with laughter, and a pounding from gloved hands. No one here appreciated the company of Goddimus or his people, and with a small portion of this army, the Barbarian could do nothing. "That is all you need to know fiend, take your bastard self elsewhere."

"If m'lord commands it, it shall be done," Goddimus rose before the gathered men, bowed, and walked out. He welcomed the fresh air as it tossed his short hair over his ears. Never had he been so gay to be away from such arrogance in his life. Soon enough he would be rid of it though, and death was much more welcome than a life at the command of someone he knew to be weaker.

He stepped heavier from the display before him. Already his kinfolk had been moved off, pulled away at the edge of blades to be placed under the command of foreign generals. At the ground, lay those he left in command, twenty or so of his best, slaughtered and maimed, stripped of cloths and weaponry, prepared for the fire. He expected such, and did not waste time counting what he had. Ten young, frightened kin. Each had been severely whipped, but their spirits not broken. They would not die like dogs.

Quickly they came to him, explained what happened, but his ear was not to them. He distanced himself mentally from everything, hating even their sight, smell, everything. This is what the Elders of his people told him of, suppression. The Humans of this continent could not stand to be outclassed in any way, and this was how they made up for it. "Soon.." He mumbled the words, fighting back a deep rage inside.

He stepped into his personal tent, small and comfortable. The treasured sword he had found years ago lay upon his cot. It was sheated, unused, and wrapped with a white cloth. He felt this may be that precious time, a time to use a weapon that carried such hatred, to free himself from all that disturbed him. Slowly he rubbed the scabbard, not disturbing the wrapping at the top that covered the sword's guard.

"I walk into death tonight, and you will be my guide," his fingers tapped the scabbard before he snatched the weapon from it, holding it truly for the first time. It was much like the moon, except it had a darkness beneath it, almost like a stain upon one's soul. A smirk crossed his face, only for a short time, before he layed down with the sword over his chest. He would cherish this moment for as long as he live, for however long that was.

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Replies:

Re: <Sample2> -- ridcully, 18:40:33 03/31/02 Sun