Funeris
First Post
Lost - IV
Blood dribbled from an endless number of wounds. The fields surrounding the cathedral, the Black Spire, usually a light brown in the cool autumn sun were stained deep crimson from the spilt blood. The sun was rising on the second—no, third, or was it the fourth?—day of ceaseless battle.
Tierun stood in the center of the writhing mass of death, wounds weeping from beneath the tattered robes clinging to his lithe form. Around him, a handful of his army remained, pressed into a tight circular perimeter. Glancing over the forms, he could see the dark horde of orcs swarming, like rabid beasts, around other bastions of humanity in the tumult of war.
Somehow, the band of humans had weathered days of hard battle, exhaustion seemed their greatest foe. Exhaustion was the bringer of death here on the battlefield. Once a man slipped even close to its unconscious borders, his life would be extinguished by any of the beasts constantly poking and prodding. For those beasts, exhaustion just meant being shifted away from the first rank; a constantly revolving and constantly refreshed wall of death.
But the humans had lasted several days now, an eternity of sleeplessness. Most importantly, Toq had been delivered to his goal. Tierun stared upward, marking the lighter speck of shadow against the pitch-hued walls of the Spire. There, Toq hung or clung, still fifty feet from the jagged tip of the structure. Hundreds of feet the priest had climbed, no doubt with aide from some type of spell. The man was unburdened, save for his bastard sword, a religious medallion, and a pack of rations.
Tierun smirked. Today was the last day of battle, he knew it as he felt and saw the warming rays of light crest the wall of earth to the east. Today, Tierun would join his ancestors beyond the war torn world of his life. Hopefully, it would be an existence of bliss and contentment. Hopefully, he mused, this life would end quickly and painlessly.
A shout ahead brought Tierun’s attention back to reality, back to the dying surrounding him. The farmer bellowed in pain, doubling over as a vicious falchion rent through his stomach and through his spine, severing the cord in a deft move.
Tierun’s arm reacted instantaneously, flipping the barbed chain forward. The jagged edges snapped like a viper attacking, shredding the flesh of the dead farmer and slamming into the face of the charging orc. The ugly brute shrieked in rage, the spikes finding purchase across his porcine visage and more painfully, within his eyes.
Howling, the beast fell backward, pulling the chain tight but Tierun shifted his weight, turning the chain with the revolution and taking several layers of flesh along for the ride. The chain flew left, Tierun released a little more of its length, and it pummeled into the next attacking orc.
The first orc fell to its knees, eye-less sockets gaping angrily about for some foe aside from the impenetrable darkness. Another of its kin stepped to the fore, ending the beast’s hopeless search.
The general wrenched again on the chain, snaking the rabid metal through the air toward the replacement. It impacted, just short of the mark, as a young male stepped in to fill the line. The sudden interruption redirected the chain, looping the weighted end around the boy’s neck and projecting the deadly weight toward the general. Tierun dropped to the ground, pulling the chain with but not before the solid end smashed into another soldier’s head.
Behind, the man dropped allowing two orcs to flow inward through the gap. And ahead of the general, the child’s head disconnected under the sharp strain of metal. Tierun struggled to stand, caught off guard by the horror stricken head that rolled to a stop mere feet from him. The child’s eyes lolled about impossibly inside the skull, blame and pain engraved in the flesh.
In that split-second, the human-crafted bastion of protection around the general was severed, split in twain by a line of savages and brutes, quickly working to extinguish the fires of hope.
Tierun screamed with rage, leaping to his feet, but the sharp bite of metal ripped through his arm, severing the limb at its midpoint[1]. A burst of blood sprayed across the ground and into the air as he collapsed to the ground.
Today, I will die, the general admitted silently to himself. The sudden rush of blood had left him light-headed and accepting of the fate. “But, I will take you all with me!” he screamed as he wrapped the spiked chain around his torso. The razor edges dug into his flesh as the chain was looped about his shoulder and down the bleeding stump of an arm. He shook the new appendage, and though the edges vibrated, they would not release their hold upon his flesh.
The general smiled wickedly, kicking out and shattering a porcine nose. More of the beasts encircled, mixing allies and foes. The general lifted his left arm to serve as a counter balance and spun. The chain danced off the ground, creating a whirling wheel of death and pain as he fell into the motion. Around, the heads and appendages of his enemies and allies exploded with agony. The ranks fell back away from the wheel of death, caught by utter surprise.
More wounds dumped blood down the general’s twisted form, holes opened by the chain itself. The ranks of orcs stood outside his reach, dumbfounded. But the surprise couldn’t last and the ranks parted slightly. Two ogres filled the gap, lifting giant bows and aiming at Tierun.
Tierun laughed maniacally, breaking into a run. The chain whipped outward, shattering one of the composite bows and raking across the ogre’s chest. It bellowed, a cry short-lived as it fell to the ground utterly dead. The second ogre unleashed its projectile, which flew true over the short range and sprouted from Tierun’s chest.
The general screamed and brought his chain twirling around the giant’s legs. The blades along the lengths rotated quickly, severing the meaty thigh. The ogre shrieked and fell backward.
Pain echoed across the general’s mind as he turned, to find two more archers at the other end of the circle. He charged toward them but kept his mind at the rear where he heard, as he had expected, the twang of more bowmen. Tierun dropped to his knees, pivoting into a roll. The chain-arm scraped the wet earth, creating a wall of dirt and dust for the orcs. His momentum carried him through the legs of an orc, his chain whipping above his head and severing those legs.
Tierun leapt upward, chain still in motion, killing as many of the beasts as he could. His body arched up, over the heads of his foes and he brought his legs around in a mid-air flip. With his feet, the fighter broke the faces and necks of two opponents as he landed. The circling chain followed him, taking those directly around.
As Tierun felt the earth rush at him, he felt also the last warmth flee his dying body. The chain whipped about limply one last time, before it joined its master useless and broken upon the ground.
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[1] - More shades of Star Wars
Blood dribbled from an endless number of wounds. The fields surrounding the cathedral, the Black Spire, usually a light brown in the cool autumn sun were stained deep crimson from the spilt blood. The sun was rising on the second—no, third, or was it the fourth?—day of ceaseless battle.
Tierun stood in the center of the writhing mass of death, wounds weeping from beneath the tattered robes clinging to his lithe form. Around him, a handful of his army remained, pressed into a tight circular perimeter. Glancing over the forms, he could see the dark horde of orcs swarming, like rabid beasts, around other bastions of humanity in the tumult of war.
Somehow, the band of humans had weathered days of hard battle, exhaustion seemed their greatest foe. Exhaustion was the bringer of death here on the battlefield. Once a man slipped even close to its unconscious borders, his life would be extinguished by any of the beasts constantly poking and prodding. For those beasts, exhaustion just meant being shifted away from the first rank; a constantly revolving and constantly refreshed wall of death.
But the humans had lasted several days now, an eternity of sleeplessness. Most importantly, Toq had been delivered to his goal. Tierun stared upward, marking the lighter speck of shadow against the pitch-hued walls of the Spire. There, Toq hung or clung, still fifty feet from the jagged tip of the structure. Hundreds of feet the priest had climbed, no doubt with aide from some type of spell. The man was unburdened, save for his bastard sword, a religious medallion, and a pack of rations.
Tierun smirked. Today was the last day of battle, he knew it as he felt and saw the warming rays of light crest the wall of earth to the east. Today, Tierun would join his ancestors beyond the war torn world of his life. Hopefully, it would be an existence of bliss and contentment. Hopefully, he mused, this life would end quickly and painlessly.
A shout ahead brought Tierun’s attention back to reality, back to the dying surrounding him. The farmer bellowed in pain, doubling over as a vicious falchion rent through his stomach and through his spine, severing the cord in a deft move.
Tierun’s arm reacted instantaneously, flipping the barbed chain forward. The jagged edges snapped like a viper attacking, shredding the flesh of the dead farmer and slamming into the face of the charging orc. The ugly brute shrieked in rage, the spikes finding purchase across his porcine visage and more painfully, within his eyes.
Howling, the beast fell backward, pulling the chain tight but Tierun shifted his weight, turning the chain with the revolution and taking several layers of flesh along for the ride. The chain flew left, Tierun released a little more of its length, and it pummeled into the next attacking orc.
The first orc fell to its knees, eye-less sockets gaping angrily about for some foe aside from the impenetrable darkness. Another of its kin stepped to the fore, ending the beast’s hopeless search.
The general wrenched again on the chain, snaking the rabid metal through the air toward the replacement. It impacted, just short of the mark, as a young male stepped in to fill the line. The sudden interruption redirected the chain, looping the weighted end around the boy’s neck and projecting the deadly weight toward the general. Tierun dropped to the ground, pulling the chain with but not before the solid end smashed into another soldier’s head.
Behind, the man dropped allowing two orcs to flow inward through the gap. And ahead of the general, the child’s head disconnected under the sharp strain of metal. Tierun struggled to stand, caught off guard by the horror stricken head that rolled to a stop mere feet from him. The child’s eyes lolled about impossibly inside the skull, blame and pain engraved in the flesh.
In that split-second, the human-crafted bastion of protection around the general was severed, split in twain by a line of savages and brutes, quickly working to extinguish the fires of hope.
Tierun screamed with rage, leaping to his feet, but the sharp bite of metal ripped through his arm, severing the limb at its midpoint[1]. A burst of blood sprayed across the ground and into the air as he collapsed to the ground.
Today, I will die, the general admitted silently to himself. The sudden rush of blood had left him light-headed and accepting of the fate. “But, I will take you all with me!” he screamed as he wrapped the spiked chain around his torso. The razor edges dug into his flesh as the chain was looped about his shoulder and down the bleeding stump of an arm. He shook the new appendage, and though the edges vibrated, they would not release their hold upon his flesh.
The general smiled wickedly, kicking out and shattering a porcine nose. More of the beasts encircled, mixing allies and foes. The general lifted his left arm to serve as a counter balance and spun. The chain danced off the ground, creating a whirling wheel of death and pain as he fell into the motion. Around, the heads and appendages of his enemies and allies exploded with agony. The ranks fell back away from the wheel of death, caught by utter surprise.
More wounds dumped blood down the general’s twisted form, holes opened by the chain itself. The ranks of orcs stood outside his reach, dumbfounded. But the surprise couldn’t last and the ranks parted slightly. Two ogres filled the gap, lifting giant bows and aiming at Tierun.
Tierun laughed maniacally, breaking into a run. The chain whipped outward, shattering one of the composite bows and raking across the ogre’s chest. It bellowed, a cry short-lived as it fell to the ground utterly dead. The second ogre unleashed its projectile, which flew true over the short range and sprouted from Tierun’s chest.
The general screamed and brought his chain twirling around the giant’s legs. The blades along the lengths rotated quickly, severing the meaty thigh. The ogre shrieked and fell backward.
Pain echoed across the general’s mind as he turned, to find two more archers at the other end of the circle. He charged toward them but kept his mind at the rear where he heard, as he had expected, the twang of more bowmen. Tierun dropped to his knees, pivoting into a roll. The chain-arm scraped the wet earth, creating a wall of dirt and dust for the orcs. His momentum carried him through the legs of an orc, his chain whipping above his head and severing those legs.
Tierun leapt upward, chain still in motion, killing as many of the beasts as he could. His body arched up, over the heads of his foes and he brought his legs around in a mid-air flip. With his feet, the fighter broke the faces and necks of two opponents as he landed. The circling chain followed him, taking those directly around.
As Tierun felt the earth rush at him, he felt also the last warmth flee his dying body. The chain whipped about limply one last time, before it joined its master useless and broken upon the ground.
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[1] - More shades of Star Wars
