28-07-2012, 01:10 PM
(This post was last modified: 28-07-2012, 01:15 PM by Shaman Oren of Staghelm.)
Blood Brothers, Pt. 2.
“Hya! 'Asee A'lo DawnStride!” Artisia spurred her mount to move faster in her native tongue as a whizzing arrow nearly struck her left ear. With her urging the horses picked up its pace, splashing through shallow water as the hungry Worg chased harder and harder. Looking back over her shoulder she narrowed her brown eyes and took aim. She fired... missed, the arrow veering too far to the right. In return the archer fired a sharp broad-headed arrow and just as Murrow brought her blade down to behead a dismounted foe she felt its sting. Her body jerked and seized in pain as she felt it pierce through leather and into her tender flesh. Slouching forward her rosy lips came to rest upon Art's neck, nearly unconscious and bleeding upon her lover's skin.
“Hold on!” She called back and wrapped Murrow's arms around her waist. And just as she had finished she veered a hard left into the seething melee, leaping her horse over pike and hammer in an effort to flee the pursuing archer. The feeling of her lovers soft lips upon her skin was a gruesome irony. Warm wet blood and sweat trickled down into Arti's Armor and she shuddered with worry and anger. For just the night before those same lips had graced her and her beloved Oren A union that solidified her love for the estranged Murrow, a feeling she would not forget, a feeling now mired by her wounded body. Her eyes flashed around the field looking for Oren's spear head, praying that he could halt the foe who continued to let loose his arrows behind them. Thus the chase continued. Her horse panting and splashing, maneuvering about corridors of allies and enemies alike until at long last she spotted her love's spear, flashing bright with the feathers of the raven. He was felling a foe, a shattering blow with the flat of his spear had knocked the enemy into the open creek, splashing down without a sound. His eyes looked up as his hood blew back in a strong wind. He could smell blood, sweat, leather and beasts as he drew in a labored breath. His hands were sore, body shaking, it was hot... hard to see through stinging sweat in his eyes. As he lifted his gaze he caught sight of his love riding frantically toward him, Murrow clinging to her from behind, bleeding down the side of her horse. Artisia's eyes were panicked and within moments he saw the archer atop his Worg, loosing round after round at the women he had become so dear too.
Thus with grim determination he looked up at Artisia, the cold water running over his feet, a bright sun silhouetting the two as they rode by. He met their eyes reassuringly and lifted a hand to brush theirs before stepping ahead toward the charging Worg, cape blowing in the wind of her passing. With a scowl he lifted his spear and hurled it, striking the rider below the rib cage. As the Worg closed he stepped aside, avoiding the heavy snap of its jaws and taking hold of his spear once again, pulling it through the body of the passing rider who's hands had come to grasp it in a bloody panic, screaming and gurgling in agony. The rider now fell into the water, eyes rolling back as the pain overwhelmed him. As Worg continued to charge on without direction it was struck down and Oren turned to face the man who foolishly pursued that which he loved.
“Pray to your false gods... wet my hunger and know that I am the wolf...” Oren's dark voice growled to the panicked warrior, lying in cold water as he looked down at the hole in his body. As his fading eyes looked up he could see the heel of Oren's book come down just before his skull was smashed down into the rocks.
“Pathetic dog... you know nothing of wolves...” he spat upon the headless pile that was his foe and turned to face his brother, just finishing off an enemy, his axe being pulled out of its chest with a wet sucking pop. The two brothers nodded and began their massacre. All about them roared enemy wolves, men screamed, steel clattered and shields rattled. Spears splintered and arrows shrieked through the air. Below them water ran cold and red, the sky above was a mocking clear blue with a bright sun. Surrounding the creek was a field of green grass and a dirt road. In the distance were tall snow capped mountain of the Rhodok lands and forests behind. A beautiful day to die...
As the brothers fought they noticed the armies growing thin and sluggish. Oren, his spear flashing and flickering between foes, kept his feet nimble, ranging himself and placing devastating blows into the charging wolves, then piercing their downed riders before they could even recover. His brother, stalwart and heavy in build would not yield his ground. Even when the jaws of a hungry Worg snapped down onto his mail he would not move. The rider, having seen his beast clamp down on the mighty Jarl's arm smirked. For surely killing the enemy Jarl would lead to a hefty promotion, a good life, and a swift victory. Yet despite this blow, that would have panicked many a man, he did not yield. Thus, with his axe pinned, Asgrim took his clawed gauntlet and threw a shattering jab into the eye of the Worg The beast yelped as its eye socket sprayed out its contents onto Asgrim's face. He continued to dig his hand in until he could grip the orbit from the inside and with his hand firmly secure he began to wrestle the mighty animal, pulling hard on its inner skull as the beast panicked and howled. Straining his thick muscles, Asgrim managed to pull the animal down and free his arm, thus taking his axe and splitting its head wide open. With an angry roar he hacked the wolves lower jaw off and approached its scrambling rider who had been pinned beneath the beast.
“you are nothing more than prey...” he sneered down at him, noting the mark of a Nordic captain on his helm, before slamming the severed jawbone over, and over, and over into the foes skull till nothing but pink slime remained. He did not recoil at the wet and choking gurgle of the enemy captain as his throat was plugged with bone and flesh. He had strayed close to the alpha and was taught his place.
The two brothers drew close to each-other, side by side, picking off and devastating any foes too foolish to draw near. The battle was coming to a close and Stag-helm warriors still prowled the field and brook, eradicating any enemies that remained. Those who tried to flee were picked off by archers and rode down by Joseph and the Swadian knights. The shame of being penetrated from behind by a rider, even one like Joseph vane was a painful and shameful experience.
The Pandion knights, crimson blade, Swadian knights and Stag-helm stood close now, all fighting in unison as they remaining foes attempted to surround them. Within the period of a few hours the battle was coming to an end... the casualties of the Swadian center... their milita and auxiliary was shattering. The creek ran red and black with blood, shit, and bile... too gory to pick up the dead and bury them. Those who remained looked about them, vomiting, panting, shock setting in as their friends and brother lied mauled and mangled at their feet.
“Brother... get them away from this... they must not linger amongst the dead...” Oren pleaded with Asgrim as he too looked about the carnage at their feet. And with his pleading Asgrim gave the order to move to the enemy camp... kill those that remained there and rescue any survivors. Asgrim himself lead the army which had suffered a shockingly low amount of loss to the camp where they butchered the remaining enemies... taking for himself a young Worg pup and looting the treasure found there. As he prowled the camp, Asgrim found a tent filled with cages. Beautiful young women lay bound and gagged as a source of food for the Worgs and men that they had just slaughtered. As he began letting them out he came across a woman of note, her head alight with fiery red hair and face wet with panicking tears. He lifted his axe and battered open the cell door, kneeling down to scoop the naked woman up in his arms and brush hair from her dirty face.
“It's over... the hunters were hunted and now lie as food for the crows...” he spoke to her reassuringly before striding out into the noonday sun. The camp of the enemy was burned... the creek itself set alight and the army moved onward. Following the river north toward enemy lands...
Still a work in progress as are many of the posts. All edited once and proofread once. More characters (bios) and content will be added as time passes. I hope you enjoyed seeing some of yourselves in the spotlight. Enjoy! ~~<3
“Hya! 'Asee A'lo DawnStride!” Artisia spurred her mount to move faster in her native tongue as a whizzing arrow nearly struck her left ear. With her urging the horses picked up its pace, splashing through shallow water as the hungry Worg chased harder and harder. Looking back over her shoulder she narrowed her brown eyes and took aim. She fired... missed, the arrow veering too far to the right. In return the archer fired a sharp broad-headed arrow and just as Murrow brought her blade down to behead a dismounted foe she felt its sting. Her body jerked and seized in pain as she felt it pierce through leather and into her tender flesh. Slouching forward her rosy lips came to rest upon Art's neck, nearly unconscious and bleeding upon her lover's skin.
“Hold on!” She called back and wrapped Murrow's arms around her waist. And just as she had finished she veered a hard left into the seething melee, leaping her horse over pike and hammer in an effort to flee the pursuing archer. The feeling of her lovers soft lips upon her skin was a gruesome irony. Warm wet blood and sweat trickled down into Arti's Armor and she shuddered with worry and anger. For just the night before those same lips had graced her and her beloved Oren A union that solidified her love for the estranged Murrow, a feeling she would not forget, a feeling now mired by her wounded body. Her eyes flashed around the field looking for Oren's spear head, praying that he could halt the foe who continued to let loose his arrows behind them. Thus the chase continued. Her horse panting and splashing, maneuvering about corridors of allies and enemies alike until at long last she spotted her love's spear, flashing bright with the feathers of the raven. He was felling a foe, a shattering blow with the flat of his spear had knocked the enemy into the open creek, splashing down without a sound. His eyes looked up as his hood blew back in a strong wind. He could smell blood, sweat, leather and beasts as he drew in a labored breath. His hands were sore, body shaking, it was hot... hard to see through stinging sweat in his eyes. As he lifted his gaze he caught sight of his love riding frantically toward him, Murrow clinging to her from behind, bleeding down the side of her horse. Artisia's eyes were panicked and within moments he saw the archer atop his Worg, loosing round after round at the women he had become so dear too.
Thus with grim determination he looked up at Artisia, the cold water running over his feet, a bright sun silhouetting the two as they rode by. He met their eyes reassuringly and lifted a hand to brush theirs before stepping ahead toward the charging Worg, cape blowing in the wind of her passing. With a scowl he lifted his spear and hurled it, striking the rider below the rib cage. As the Worg closed he stepped aside, avoiding the heavy snap of its jaws and taking hold of his spear once again, pulling it through the body of the passing rider who's hands had come to grasp it in a bloody panic, screaming and gurgling in agony. The rider now fell into the water, eyes rolling back as the pain overwhelmed him. As Worg continued to charge on without direction it was struck down and Oren turned to face the man who foolishly pursued that which he loved.
“Pray to your false gods... wet my hunger and know that I am the wolf...” Oren's dark voice growled to the panicked warrior, lying in cold water as he looked down at the hole in his body. As his fading eyes looked up he could see the heel of Oren's book come down just before his skull was smashed down into the rocks.
“Pathetic dog... you know nothing of wolves...” he spat upon the headless pile that was his foe and turned to face his brother, just finishing off an enemy, his axe being pulled out of its chest with a wet sucking pop. The two brothers nodded and began their massacre. All about them roared enemy wolves, men screamed, steel clattered and shields rattled. Spears splintered and arrows shrieked through the air. Below them water ran cold and red, the sky above was a mocking clear blue with a bright sun. Surrounding the creek was a field of green grass and a dirt road. In the distance were tall snow capped mountain of the Rhodok lands and forests behind. A beautiful day to die...
As the brothers fought they noticed the armies growing thin and sluggish. Oren, his spear flashing and flickering between foes, kept his feet nimble, ranging himself and placing devastating blows into the charging wolves, then piercing their downed riders before they could even recover. His brother, stalwart and heavy in build would not yield his ground. Even when the jaws of a hungry Worg snapped down onto his mail he would not move. The rider, having seen his beast clamp down on the mighty Jarl's arm smirked. For surely killing the enemy Jarl would lead to a hefty promotion, a good life, and a swift victory. Yet despite this blow, that would have panicked many a man, he did not yield. Thus, with his axe pinned, Asgrim took his clawed gauntlet and threw a shattering jab into the eye of the Worg The beast yelped as its eye socket sprayed out its contents onto Asgrim's face. He continued to dig his hand in until he could grip the orbit from the inside and with his hand firmly secure he began to wrestle the mighty animal, pulling hard on its inner skull as the beast panicked and howled. Straining his thick muscles, Asgrim managed to pull the animal down and free his arm, thus taking his axe and splitting its head wide open. With an angry roar he hacked the wolves lower jaw off and approached its scrambling rider who had been pinned beneath the beast.
“you are nothing more than prey...” he sneered down at him, noting the mark of a Nordic captain on his helm, before slamming the severed jawbone over, and over, and over into the foes skull till nothing but pink slime remained. He did not recoil at the wet and choking gurgle of the enemy captain as his throat was plugged with bone and flesh. He had strayed close to the alpha and was taught his place.
The two brothers drew close to each-other, side by side, picking off and devastating any foes too foolish to draw near. The battle was coming to a close and Stag-helm warriors still prowled the field and brook, eradicating any enemies that remained. Those who tried to flee were picked off by archers and rode down by Joseph and the Swadian knights. The shame of being penetrated from behind by a rider, even one like Joseph vane was a painful and shameful experience.
The Pandion knights, crimson blade, Swadian knights and Stag-helm stood close now, all fighting in unison as they remaining foes attempted to surround them. Within the period of a few hours the battle was coming to an end... the casualties of the Swadian center... their milita and auxiliary was shattering. The creek ran red and black with blood, shit, and bile... too gory to pick up the dead and bury them. Those who remained looked about them, vomiting, panting, shock setting in as their friends and brother lied mauled and mangled at their feet.
“Brother... get them away from this... they must not linger amongst the dead...” Oren pleaded with Asgrim as he too looked about the carnage at their feet. And with his pleading Asgrim gave the order to move to the enemy camp... kill those that remained there and rescue any survivors. Asgrim himself lead the army which had suffered a shockingly low amount of loss to the camp where they butchered the remaining enemies... taking for himself a young Worg pup and looting the treasure found there. As he prowled the camp, Asgrim found a tent filled with cages. Beautiful young women lay bound and gagged as a source of food for the Worgs and men that they had just slaughtered. As he began letting them out he came across a woman of note, her head alight with fiery red hair and face wet with panicking tears. He lifted his axe and battered open the cell door, kneeling down to scoop the naked woman up in his arms and brush hair from her dirty face.
“It's over... the hunters were hunted and now lie as food for the crows...” he spoke to her reassuringly before striding out into the noonday sun. The camp of the enemy was burned... the creek itself set alight and the army moved onward. Following the river north toward enemy lands...
Still a work in progress as are many of the posts. All edited once and proofread once. More characters (bios) and content will be added as time passes. I hope you enjoyed seeing some of yourselves in the spotlight. Enjoy! ~~<3