29-07-2012, 01:00 AM
(This post was last modified: 30-07-2012, 12:18 PM by Shaman Oren of Staghelm.)
*warning, depressing death scene ahead*
Sacrifice...
Rain beat down heavily upon the man named wolf’s blood, rushing down from scowling dark skies. The clash of lightning and drumming of thunder was made further unnerving by roll of the fogs, coming up from the marshes at his feet. The trees around him twisted and gnarled in a visage of horrific disfigurement. As he walked forward, Wolf'sblood could smell the rot of the swamp, wet cold water rushed over his feet as he looked through the icy rain that now cascaded through the tree tops, splashing and thudding over his gear. Cold wind continually howled through the swamp, an eery testament to the name of this place... Fens of the werewolf...
He looked down, noticing a sprig of wolfs bane and laughed with a sick sense of humor. After staring at the dark blossom for a moment he lifted his eyes to the heavens. Rain washed over his long hair, dripped from his beard, cooled his darkening mind.
“Ironic... that this flower would usher in my doom...” He spoke as he stood in a pool of murky water. The swamps had extended for miles around him, veiled in mists and darkness. Wind's howled and strange animals lurked just outside of the dim moonlight. This place was truly evil, haunting, drowning to the hero’s mind.
“Welcome me Fathers... I'm coming home.” Wolf blood continued to talk to himself and calm his edgy nerves. It had been quite some time since his prey had made herself known, quite sometime since his hunter bared her jaws... His situation was grim, separated from the armies as they marched with fire into Nordic lands. Their caravan was attacked and he had charged his horse after the archer; her arrow having barely wounded the Jarl His eyes were dark, eyes focused as he pursued the lone assassin, he could smell her, her feminine scent discernible, a note-able trail in the cold ground. Thus over foothills and ravines he pursued her till he came to the coastal marshes near the Nordic sea. The rains had come a day before and these flood swamps were filling with icy and murky run off. His horse was not able to penetrate past the treeline and he had proceeded in on foot, catching scent and flashing glimpse of his mark. She was tall, wore a hunters fur, black leather and a black hood. Her bow was of fine yew; and she kept a keen axe at her side. She truly had the look of a mercenary.
Through deep pools of icy water, over tufts of mossy slop, between twisting trees he journeyed. His was was dark and blotted by fog and rain. Within four days he was lost and had not a hope of finding his way home. Thus he sang to his God's. He welcomed their presence as he knew that he would die in this swamp, it would be his icy tomb. Morning came on his fifth day, he awoke under his furs, smelling the soppy and moss burdened ice water; the feel of wolfs fur was welcome to his cold skin. He ran a hand through his sweaty hair, scratched his beard and wiggled his frozen toes in an attempt to warm his feet. Slowly he rose to his feet; he was hungry, thirsty, sick from the swamp's fever. Cold muscles were stiff and unwilling to continue. Yet still he gathered his unique blade and bow.
“I will die today” He rose and forged on to this anthem. As he peered about the blackness surrounding him he thought of his wife and daughter. Their radiant faces and beautiful blue eyes as ocean waves.
“Soon... soon my love” He spoke to the darkness now laughing at his face. Kneeling down into the murk he picked a bloom of wolf's bane and placed it in his hair.
“Know your mark hunter...” he said aloud as he drew his bow. He knew she was watching and began taking shot after shot into the cloak of shadows that played tricks on his mind. With a swimming mind he continued to attack a foe who watched quietly from above. Her scent was everywhere, he felt surrounded, overwhelmed... She watched him as he staggered about; he had succumb to the fever... this was no honorable kill.
Wolf's blood fell to his knees and looked down into the pool of water around his waist. He felt a warm, soft hand touch his face.
“Valerie... my love... take me home” He pleaded into the blackness, seeing the blonde curls and rosy lips he had once loved. Weeping quietly he leaned into his love, wrapping his arms around her. Bitter tears ran from dry eyes onto the black leather of the mercenary woman as she held him in her arms, his body weak and defeated by the dark marshes.
“Come home to me my love...” She whispered as her dagger found his heart. Thus amidst dark rain and frozen marshes, Wolf’s Blood found his fate in the arms of an assassin. There she remained holding him, stroking hair from his lifeless face as rain and fog held them in their morbid arms. Rising slowly and calmly the woman let him go. Watching as his body was taken by the Marsh, sinking into the mud and water. Her target had lived... her work was not done. So forward she continued to the enemy camp; the woman known as “Hench-Girl”.
Sacrifice...
Rain beat down heavily upon the man named wolf’s blood, rushing down from scowling dark skies. The clash of lightning and drumming of thunder was made further unnerving by roll of the fogs, coming up from the marshes at his feet. The trees around him twisted and gnarled in a visage of horrific disfigurement. As he walked forward, Wolf'sblood could smell the rot of the swamp, wet cold water rushed over his feet as he looked through the icy rain that now cascaded through the tree tops, splashing and thudding over his gear. Cold wind continually howled through the swamp, an eery testament to the name of this place... Fens of the werewolf...
He looked down, noticing a sprig of wolfs bane and laughed with a sick sense of humor. After staring at the dark blossom for a moment he lifted his eyes to the heavens. Rain washed over his long hair, dripped from his beard, cooled his darkening mind.
“Ironic... that this flower would usher in my doom...” He spoke as he stood in a pool of murky water. The swamps had extended for miles around him, veiled in mists and darkness. Wind's howled and strange animals lurked just outside of the dim moonlight. This place was truly evil, haunting, drowning to the hero’s mind.
“Welcome me Fathers... I'm coming home.” Wolf blood continued to talk to himself and calm his edgy nerves. It had been quite some time since his prey had made herself known, quite sometime since his hunter bared her jaws... His situation was grim, separated from the armies as they marched with fire into Nordic lands. Their caravan was attacked and he had charged his horse after the archer; her arrow having barely wounded the Jarl His eyes were dark, eyes focused as he pursued the lone assassin, he could smell her, her feminine scent discernible, a note-able trail in the cold ground. Thus over foothills and ravines he pursued her till he came to the coastal marshes near the Nordic sea. The rains had come a day before and these flood swamps were filling with icy and murky run off. His horse was not able to penetrate past the treeline and he had proceeded in on foot, catching scent and flashing glimpse of his mark. She was tall, wore a hunters fur, black leather and a black hood. Her bow was of fine yew; and she kept a keen axe at her side. She truly had the look of a mercenary.
Through deep pools of icy water, over tufts of mossy slop, between twisting trees he journeyed. His was was dark and blotted by fog and rain. Within four days he was lost and had not a hope of finding his way home. Thus he sang to his God's. He welcomed their presence as he knew that he would die in this swamp, it would be his icy tomb. Morning came on his fifth day, he awoke under his furs, smelling the soppy and moss burdened ice water; the feel of wolfs fur was welcome to his cold skin. He ran a hand through his sweaty hair, scratched his beard and wiggled his frozen toes in an attempt to warm his feet. Slowly he rose to his feet; he was hungry, thirsty, sick from the swamp's fever. Cold muscles were stiff and unwilling to continue. Yet still he gathered his unique blade and bow.
“I will die today” He rose and forged on to this anthem. As he peered about the blackness surrounding him he thought of his wife and daughter. Their radiant faces and beautiful blue eyes as ocean waves.
“Soon... soon my love” He spoke to the darkness now laughing at his face. Kneeling down into the murk he picked a bloom of wolf's bane and placed it in his hair.
“Know your mark hunter...” he said aloud as he drew his bow. He knew she was watching and began taking shot after shot into the cloak of shadows that played tricks on his mind. With a swimming mind he continued to attack a foe who watched quietly from above. Her scent was everywhere, he felt surrounded, overwhelmed... She watched him as he staggered about; he had succumb to the fever... this was no honorable kill.
Wolf's blood fell to his knees and looked down into the pool of water around his waist. He felt a warm, soft hand touch his face.
“Valerie... my love... take me home” He pleaded into the blackness, seeing the blonde curls and rosy lips he had once loved. Weeping quietly he leaned into his love, wrapping his arms around her. Bitter tears ran from dry eyes onto the black leather of the mercenary woman as she held him in her arms, his body weak and defeated by the dark marshes.
“Come home to me my love...” She whispered as her dagger found his heart. Thus amidst dark rain and frozen marshes, Wolf’s Blood found his fate in the arms of an assassin. There she remained holding him, stroking hair from his lifeless face as rain and fog held them in their morbid arms. Rising slowly and calmly the woman let him go. Watching as his body was taken by the Marsh, sinking into the mud and water. Her target had lived... her work was not done. So forward she continued to the enemy camp; the woman known as “Hench-Girl”.