Post by shalbaal on Nov 6, 2009 15:53:10 GMT -5
A dull red sphere broke over the horizon. The first rays of light basked the soon to be battlefield in unnatural hues. A mist was seeping from the gorge, a thin blanket of fog that would soon cover the ground. It was a chill morning but that wouldn’t last. The standard hung flaccid atop the bearer’s staff, a portent for the pending struggle. Strogh kept pace with the other soldiers. The shield strapped to his back resounding off his full plate created an eerie melody in the otherwise silent morning.
A lone note from a scout’s horn echoed through the gorge, sending the men into motion. Archers checked their bows, carefully warming the frost off their strings to prevent snapping. The troops made their final preparations: checking blades and stretching their limbs.
Within seconds, as if a dam broke, the mountain path was overrun with swarming goblins and orcs. Carrying jagged blades, sharpened sticks, and an assortment of other crude weaponry, the mass moved forward. Screams and small brawls could be seen as those who were too slow were trampled by others in the overwhelming mob. The swarm surged through the gorge closer to the men with every passing moment.
“Archers prepare first volley!”
Strogh’s attention was momentarily drawn behind him at the twang of a hundred arrows loosed at once. The front unit of archers dropped to their knees so those behind could send their volley into the approaching enemy. Blood splashed and hundreds of goblins fell to their deaths, disappearing from view in mere seconds under the flood of oncoming greenskins.
A banner in the front line rose and waved sharply back and forth.
“Prepare for CHARGE! Stand ready men!”
With weapons pointed toward the enemy, the front line began a slow march toward massacre. It had begun.
*****
“Prepare for CHARGE!”
Strogh stretched his arms overhead then slowly squatted wincing as his knees popped.
I’m getting too old for this.
Strogh dried the sweat on his palms with a fistful of dirt, his gaze fixed on the oncoming greenskins. Their bestial cries reminded him of his duty, to keep such evil from the lands, to keep his son safe.
One more time ol’ boy.
Loosing the straps on his shoulders Strogh took the shield off his back and slid it over his right arm. Being left-handed had probably saved his life more than once, but Strogh would hear none of that nonsense. It would be his will and skill, not tomfoolery and tricks, which would decide his fate. Strogh’s hand unconsciously went to his chest, checking that the letter his boy wrote him was secure.
The standard bearer’s flag rose waving sharply from left to right. Unsheathing his sword Strogh started a slow march with the rest of the men. It was a good unit filled with veterans, men who had fought and bled on battlefields before. They drew closer to the foe with each step, Strogh’s slow march becoming a brisk pace that turned into an all-out sprint.
Lifting his shield Strogh knocked aside a goblin’s spear; he slashed his sword down cleanly lopping his opponent’s leg off. Disable and move on, too many to worry about deathblows. Taking a step backward as a soldier to the right of Strogh jabbed, Strogh watched a spear-head pierce an orc’s neck below the ear. A spurt of blood suspended momentarily in midair before splashing onto the combatants.
An orc’s choppa descended upon Strogh while simultaneously a goblin struck at his shins. Raising his shield, Strogh stomped forward. Boot meeting face, Strogh’s weight knocked the goblin to the ground. A satisfying crunch could be felt underfoot as the skull broke. The orc’s choppa glanced harmlessly off Strogh’s upraised shield. Turning his attention to the orc Strogh witnessed a halberd in full arc opening its torso like a ripe melon.
Strogh nodded in appreciation to the halberdier—as a mass smashed into his left side wrenching his sword from his hand and knocking him to the ground.
Idiot! Focus on keeping alive!
Grasping his shield with two hands Strogh rose as quickly and cautiously as he could. An orc kicked the sword aside bellowing with its choppa raised above its head.
Without hesitation Strogh charged. Planting his shoulder behind his shield he sprinted at the orc. Shoving the shield into the orc’s chest Strogh pushed forward with all his might. Stumbling over the corpses and goblins behind him, the orc fell backward. Strogh landed hard atop the greenskin, tore his shield free, and raised it with both hands over his head.
Ruthlessly he brought it down.
*CRACK*
The orc’s hand went for his neck.
*CRACK*
Leaving his shield imbedded in the mangled head of the orc, Strogh picked up the discarded choppa in both hands. Taking a moment to access his surroundings, he noticed all the goblins and orcs were fleeing from his vicinity.
“HA! Run from the power of Strogh foul beasts!”
A moment of clarity came to Strogh as the sky darkened as if the sun had been snatched from the sky.
Why am I alone?
Looking up Strogh realized that the sun had not moved; he was standing in a shadow. A gigantic pommel smashed into his face dazing him.
Darkness washed over Strogh as he fell forward crashing into the ground. Blood ran like water into his face as he passed into oblivion.
*****
The man pauses his tale and picks up his mug. Tipping it back he drains the liquid and gives the tell-tale "ahhh" that a man who loves a good drink lets out after an especially favorable taste.
“I never received a return letter from the old man, and I’m not one so naïve to think he’ll come back one day. I suppose that’s why I’m here. Never taught me how to use a blade, figure he didn’t want me to follow in his footsteps.”
The man clears his throat and the left corner of his mouth raises slightly forming what would be honestly a right handsome smile was it not for the faint mischievousness that glimmered in his eyes. He doesn't look like much, just an average man with a kind face. Not too bulky nor slim, adorned in modest garb.
“The name’s Shalbaal.”
A lone note from a scout’s horn echoed through the gorge, sending the men into motion. Archers checked their bows, carefully warming the frost off their strings to prevent snapping. The troops made their final preparations: checking blades and stretching their limbs.
Within seconds, as if a dam broke, the mountain path was overrun with swarming goblins and orcs. Carrying jagged blades, sharpened sticks, and an assortment of other crude weaponry, the mass moved forward. Screams and small brawls could be seen as those who were too slow were trampled by others in the overwhelming mob. The swarm surged through the gorge closer to the men with every passing moment.
“Archers prepare first volley!”
Strogh’s attention was momentarily drawn behind him at the twang of a hundred arrows loosed at once. The front unit of archers dropped to their knees so those behind could send their volley into the approaching enemy. Blood splashed and hundreds of goblins fell to their deaths, disappearing from view in mere seconds under the flood of oncoming greenskins.
A banner in the front line rose and waved sharply back and forth.
“Prepare for CHARGE! Stand ready men!”
With weapons pointed toward the enemy, the front line began a slow march toward massacre. It had begun.
*****
“Prepare for CHARGE!”
Strogh stretched his arms overhead then slowly squatted wincing as his knees popped.
I’m getting too old for this.
Strogh dried the sweat on his palms with a fistful of dirt, his gaze fixed on the oncoming greenskins. Their bestial cries reminded him of his duty, to keep such evil from the lands, to keep his son safe.
One more time ol’ boy.
Loosing the straps on his shoulders Strogh took the shield off his back and slid it over his right arm. Being left-handed had probably saved his life more than once, but Strogh would hear none of that nonsense. It would be his will and skill, not tomfoolery and tricks, which would decide his fate. Strogh’s hand unconsciously went to his chest, checking that the letter his boy wrote him was secure.
The standard bearer’s flag rose waving sharply from left to right. Unsheathing his sword Strogh started a slow march with the rest of the men. It was a good unit filled with veterans, men who had fought and bled on battlefields before. They drew closer to the foe with each step, Strogh’s slow march becoming a brisk pace that turned into an all-out sprint.
Lifting his shield Strogh knocked aside a goblin’s spear; he slashed his sword down cleanly lopping his opponent’s leg off. Disable and move on, too many to worry about deathblows. Taking a step backward as a soldier to the right of Strogh jabbed, Strogh watched a spear-head pierce an orc’s neck below the ear. A spurt of blood suspended momentarily in midair before splashing onto the combatants.
An orc’s choppa descended upon Strogh while simultaneously a goblin struck at his shins. Raising his shield, Strogh stomped forward. Boot meeting face, Strogh’s weight knocked the goblin to the ground. A satisfying crunch could be felt underfoot as the skull broke. The orc’s choppa glanced harmlessly off Strogh’s upraised shield. Turning his attention to the orc Strogh witnessed a halberd in full arc opening its torso like a ripe melon.
Strogh nodded in appreciation to the halberdier—as a mass smashed into his left side wrenching his sword from his hand and knocking him to the ground.
Idiot! Focus on keeping alive!
Grasping his shield with two hands Strogh rose as quickly and cautiously as he could. An orc kicked the sword aside bellowing with its choppa raised above its head.
Without hesitation Strogh charged. Planting his shoulder behind his shield he sprinted at the orc. Shoving the shield into the orc’s chest Strogh pushed forward with all his might. Stumbling over the corpses and goblins behind him, the orc fell backward. Strogh landed hard atop the greenskin, tore his shield free, and raised it with both hands over his head.
Ruthlessly he brought it down.
*CRACK*
The orc’s hand went for his neck.
*CRACK*
Leaving his shield imbedded in the mangled head of the orc, Strogh picked up the discarded choppa in both hands. Taking a moment to access his surroundings, he noticed all the goblins and orcs were fleeing from his vicinity.
“HA! Run from the power of Strogh foul beasts!”
A moment of clarity came to Strogh as the sky darkened as if the sun had been snatched from the sky.
Why am I alone?
Looking up Strogh realized that the sun had not moved; he was standing in a shadow. A gigantic pommel smashed into his face dazing him.
Darkness washed over Strogh as he fell forward crashing into the ground. Blood ran like water into his face as he passed into oblivion.
*****
The man pauses his tale and picks up his mug. Tipping it back he drains the liquid and gives the tell-tale "ahhh" that a man who loves a good drink lets out after an especially favorable taste.
“I never received a return letter from the old man, and I’m not one so naïve to think he’ll come back one day. I suppose that’s why I’m here. Never taught me how to use a blade, figure he didn’t want me to follow in his footsteps.”
The man clears his throat and the left corner of his mouth raises slightly forming what would be honestly a right handsome smile was it not for the faint mischievousness that glimmered in his eyes. He doesn't look like much, just an average man with a kind face. Not too bulky nor slim, adorned in modest garb.
“The name’s Shalbaal.”