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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Geron Raveneye" data-source="post: 1908774" data-attributes="member: 2268">AH! NOW I've got you...heh, okay, but be aware that those situations might sound constructed/artificial, as they are trying to portray a very rare situation, at least in my opinion.It was the final meeting, the battle to end 5 years of conflict. Time and time again, the heroes had crossed the carefully laid plans of Nemoras the Black, just an annoyance at first, then getting more and more devastating, until this moment, piercing his defenses with force of blade and magic, a young boy in their midst whose features, if looked at properly, mirrored those of the blackhearted general who had terrorized the kingdoms for a decade now.Blades were clashing for the last 5 minutes, with the fighter in his adamantite plate trading blows with Nemoras himself, his friends keeping the undead lieutnants at bay with spells and prayers. The elven bard who had come to them with the boy and a prophecy about the Fall of Nemoras had been the first to fall under the black, whining twin axes the general wielded as if they were made of wood. Thrice the fighter's blade had already scored, thrice with no trace of blood. The rumors about Nemoras' invulnerability were true. Nothing hurt him.The boy stared at the hulking brute clad in black and silver, with his two axes shearing away the fighter's adamantine like paper. he had alrady tried, but the slim blades of his dagger had as little success of hurting their opponent as the flashing blade of his comrade. Like a whisper, the elven voice repeated the prophecy in his head:"...undone by his own blood, the blood of his kin...". It hadn't worked...his attacks had shown no effect...he was useless in this battle, they all would die...Then it struck him. "My blood! Sereph! MY BLOOD! You need my BLOOD ON YOUR BLADE!"Like lighning, both combatants turned their heads, their deadly dance paused for a mere second. Understanding flashed in the fighter's eyes. Changing his stance enough to quickly stab his sword through the young boy's heart, his voice ringing with sorrow as he shouted the boy's name in a valiant strike at his foe's neck, plunging the bloodied blade deep into the rotten flesh, severing the spine, and ending the threat once and for ever.                   -------------------------------------------It was over. The remaining troops of Nemoras were scattered. Standing around a burial mound where the general's tent had stood, four friends mourned. The fighter, kneeling on his sword, gave a quick prayer to the brave young man who had sacrificed his life to fell his ancestor. "Undone by his blood, by the blood of his kin. I wish it would have been different." A small hand gripped his shoulder, and elven eyes caught his. "He knew it Sereph, and he gave it willingly. If he had wanted, he'd be with us, but his soul gained it's just reward. It's out of our hands now." "Out of our hands, yes...but never out of our memory."I apologize for (maybe) too much flavour text. Hope that's finally what you were after. <img src="https://cdn.jsdelivr.net/joypixels/assets/8.0/png/unicode/64/1f642.png" class="smilie smilie--emoji" loading="lazy" width="64" height="64" alt=":)" title="Smile    :)"  data-smilie="1"data-shortname=":)" /></blockquote>

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