Prelude: A novel based upon the MOD "Nord Invasion" PG 13 + (adult content)

[Mr_Awesome]

Name - Raised by as orphan he Never Knew his real name or family and he was known as  That_One_Guy

Class- Sniper

Gear - heavy longbow, Good leather backed mail, leather gloves, 1 handed scimitar on his side, knee length leather boots, Heavy brown cloak with patches of green cloth scattered around.

Looks - 5'9" -  170, With long shaggy brown hair, fit, young but capable looking man. His clothes and armor look worn but in good repair. (he's been on the road for some time on his own until recently, where did he come from and why? he hasn't said until now)

Gender- male

Age - 21

House - Pandion Knights

Personality -  A good guy to have around,lot's of jokes and he loves to drink beer. A good dependable guy to have in a fight.  He can also he very quiet and full of wisdom when needed. He is also quite extraordinarily bad at talking to young woman. (good intentions, just always say's the wrong things) 

Requested Literic Role: Will do anything for the survival of his friends.

[Shaman Oren of Staghelm]

Thank you for all of the bios and reads (175 at this time!)  I am looking into publishers and some copyright laws to see if I can get this published for mainstream literature!  More to be posted soon.  I've been battling some illness and fever and once I come out of it the writing will come more often!  Much love!!!! ~~<3

Edit:  I will be adding more and more of the profiles as the story progresses.  ALL CURRENTLY POSTED BIOS will be present in the next scene with depicts a battle in the swadian snows between the resistence heros (you guys) and a pack of nordic worg keepers/trackers.  Expect lots of graphic violence.  Also, this is an adult novel and I would like an active opinion from you guys on two things: 
Are you ok with love scenes being written in (Rated R to X)
Are you ok with Graphic violent descriptions (Skulls and other body parts being violently destroyed etc. etc. etc)  Please post a yes or no; also if an administrator could give me a yes or no if its ok to post that would be lovely.  Thank you!

[Mr_Awesome]

We've been enjoying reading it here in teamspeak as we play. keep it up and get better soon. \


Yes just no love scene's with another man....I'm not a homo.

[Legend]

oh wow i like this!

Name:Legend

Class: Commando

Gear "looks": 1-handed sword +shield and an extra shield, covered with blank but no more  shiny steel all over the body, tall with long black hair and a big scar , nearly dividing his face in two halfes. Strong arms made out of wearing those shield and the sword in battle.

Age:late 20`s

Gender:male

House *if applicable: VLKA Fenryka (In Norse mythology Odin is killed by Fenrir the wolf.)

Personality:a silent, sarcastic guy who doesnt believe in anything until he sees it for himself,          dissapointed in humanity over and over again.

Requested Literic Role *Good guy, bad guy, stagnant, dynamic etc. etc.: A good guy with a clear mind and no pushing himself to a heroic life , and  critically examining everything (mostly only in his own mind), who stands beside his mates but doesnt like the most of them.


or something like that oh man thats just amazing! keep up the good work.

About the violence and pornography, well as it gets not too shaby im fine with this

[Wolfsblood]

i am ok with any suacy sex scenes and R rated killing, as long as i am involved in both  ;D

but ur prob gonna have to have a moderater answer that

[RookieGIadiator]

Are you ok with love scenes being written in (Rated R to X)
Are you ok with Graphic violent descriptions (Skulls and other body parts being violently destroyed etc. etc. etc)  Please post a yes or no; also if an administrator could give me a yes or no if its ok to post that would be lovely.
Yes to both

[Holo Steel]

Name: Holo Steel

Class: Sharpshooter

Gear: Silk white crossbowmans tunic with heavy scales hidden behind it beind it, plate helmet and gauntlets, leather plated boots, a legendary crossbow by the name of the Bolt Tosser, the legendary axe known as the Fell Edge, and Bolts hand crafted by the best Rhodokian blacksmith given the name of Onyx Bolts.

Age: 14

Gender: Male

House *if applicable: The House of Rhoduckia

Personality: A traitor, evil, smart, revenge seeking, snotty, rich kid, a real B****, Always well protected with his group of Rhodoks.

A little thoughts about my character: After many years training as one of the Rhodok Crossbowman, the king of Rhodoks granted him his special hand crafted weapons to help the nords with their domination. Soon after he reached the leader of the Nords pack he was told to join the battle field with his special trained group of commandos and sharpshooters, but not willing to fit into a line Holo Steel went his own seperate path, with his group of heavily trained and heavy armored men this young, but very powerful and rich young boy went on a journey to kill his long and most hated friend... Gladiator William.

But, you can do whatever you want, but I think thats how my character would fit in. Nice story man, I was writing one myself, but I think I'll leave the story telling to you. 

[Hypernoma]

Thank you for all of the bios and reads (175 at this time!)  I am looking into publishers and some copyright laws to see if I can get this published for mainstream literature!  More to be posted soon.  I've been battling some illness and fever and once I come out of it the writing will come more often!  Much love!!!! ~~<3

Edit:  I will be adding more and more of the profiles as the story progresses.  ALL CURRENTLY POSTED BIOS will be present in the next scene with depicts a battle in the swadian snows between the resistence heros (you guys) and a pack of nordic worg keepers/trackers.  Expect lots of graphic violence.  Also, this is an adult novel and I would like an active opinion from you guys on two things: 
Are you ok with love scenes being written in (Rated R to X)
Are you ok with Graphic violent descriptions (Skulls and other body parts being violently destroyed etc. etc. etc)  Please post a yes or no; also if an administrator could give me a yes or no if its ok to post that would be lovely.  Thank you!

Fine but please edit the topic title to reflect an appropriate age rating/ NSFW etc

[Shaman Oren of Staghelm]

Blood Brothers...

The smell of spring flowers filled the air, wind blew gently through leather, steel, and fur.  The sun, peeking around clouds watched down as the men of Stag-helm, remnant of Swadia  Heroes of the land gathered with spear and sword and axe at the ready, prepared to meet their gods in glory.  As lazy clouds passed by one could hear horns of war blowing and the howling of the winter Worgs.  The Stag-helm resistance was now near the Rhodok border, a river between them and the trackers of Sargoth, an elite force of Worg tamers and riders.  The day was clear, sunny, fresh from a night of soft warm rain.  The smell of spring was a welcome fragrance... soon to be mired with the scent of blood, shit, and the bowels of man and beast.  Across the river from the Swadian army stood rank after rank after rank of Sargothian Worgs and their spiteful masters.  These were no run of the mill soldiers.  Expert hunters, ruthless and cruel.  They spent their days raising blood hungry wolves with the purpose of eating the flesh of man.  They had been sent from the cold north with one purpose... feast upon the stag...  With bow and spear they waited, forming ranks of horse and wolf, their helms ragged and animalistic with bone and fur adorning them, some wore the shaven faces of their kills, a ghastly and grim site for those they would face.  The entirety of their army reeked of blood and beast.  They've been blowing their horns for hours now, pounding on drums wildly as they intoxicated themselves with dark poultices.  Drugged, blood thirsty, wild... these men were ready to dine upon those opposite of them, or die trying.
Facing them from the hill opposite the river stood the men of Stag-helm, hardened warriors of the far north, the knights of Swadia, and the mercenaries who have come to not only fight for gold... but their homes.  As well as the Stag-helm banner flew a banner of Swadia  The Pandion knights also let their flag aloft, several of their surviving warriors alight with righteous fury at the enemy now raping their beloved home.  Amongst their ranks stood Wolf's blood, Gashy, a man referred to as “the working class hero” for his time spent aiding the poor and destitute and more often called Worker, another fellow simply called “guy the blades-man”,  and the fiery Murrow  Their banner waved hard in the winds above their heads and despite the grim nature of their business here they continued to joke around, wolf's blood and his friend punching and paling around despite Murrow's obvious disgust.  They had all been friends for a long time, nicknaming each-other, fighting and bleeding together... they were family defined.  Along with the banner-men and knights of Pandion, stood several auxiliaries  Sir Talgion, the self proclaimed defender of cheese, mentally damaged as a boy and molded into a white knight figure stood next to sir William the gladiator, a stoic and foreboding young man who's armor and weapons revealed his profession well.  For in his right hand rested the blade known as “Swadia's hope”  and in his left was the shield passed down to him by his fathers “royal shield”.  He was a hopeful lad, carrying the last of his blood line.  Despite the burden upon him to be great and honor his fathers' he was happy and always carried himself without fear. 
At the tip of their formation was Jarl Asgrim of Stag-helm, his Gothi and Brother Oren of Ashwood with his Lover Artisia Derya who rode atop her mighty steppe horse “dawn stride” with bow and saber at the ready.  Along side them was Sir Joseph William Vane, the knight of Rhodok lands, his plated warhorse shining brightly in the midday sun, his hair pulled down into his silver plate mail “heart's ward”.  Atop his head was a winged plated helm, and a-clasp his breath was a long green cape with the bear of Rhodok lands woven into the thread.  His longsword remained sheathed as he held his shield and lance “Wyvern tail” at the ready.  Despite his feminine air he was truly a sight to behold.  The mighty tip of the Swadian cavalry... a force not to be taken lightly.  For it was in this state that he earned his name “The thundering rider”  for his horse and lance had laid to waste the mightiest of foes that challenged him.  As he looked down from his horse at Asgrim and his brother he couldn't help but put his faith in their command.  Both brothers stood tall in their armor.  Asgrim, adorned in a heavy layer of mail and gambeson was wearing his renowned horned helm of the stag, with axe “Bone Seeker” and round shield at the ready.  The fur of dire wolves hung about his shoulders in an ironic display to his foes that the wolves of Nordlund were not a threat to the mighty stag.  The elder brother, Oren, wore his Hood of the Raven, dark and adorned with the ravens of Odin's messengers.  Around his neck was a cape woven of thick bear hide, hemmed with light gray fur.  His chest was adorned with a  thick leather jerkin, padded and reinforced with splints of thick steel here and there.  Both brothers wore dark green pants and leather boots that bore the claws of wolves at the toe.  A secret but deadly weapon in a pinch.  Oren held his mighty spear in his right hand, created of a thick Ashwood from his home village and adorned with a heavy tip at the end.  On his back was his longbow and a quiver of the finest arrows found in the north.  Behind them stood the ravenous wolves of Stag-helm, lean, hungry... menacing as their shields thundered, heralding in the old gods to walk this battlefield.  They could hear the horns blowing across the stony brook.  The wild drums, thundering and pounding as their foes drugged their minds to dull the pain and send them into a wild frenzy.  They were all ready, for across the field stood those who sought not to kill them... but to devour them in body and in mind, then to find and repeat the same gory task to those they loved and cared for.  It was personal...
“I hate the smell of wet dogs...”  Asgrim growled as he raised his hand.  This would be the start of a bloody affair, all the more reason for him to pick the fight.  Look back over his shoulder to his brother he nodded and returned his frozen gaze back toward the traitorous Nords only dozens of yards away.  His brother, receiving the order grinned menacingly and lifted his hand back to draw a long, thick arrow, the tip of it broad and jagged... fashioned into a flat stag's horn symbol; the edges razor sharp and pointed.  As he knocked his arrow so too did his followers, foresters of Nordlund, un-matched in accuracy and cunning.  He drew his bow back slowly after lifting it high, the slightly re-curved edges adding an intense weight to the draw, the dangerous draw became visually apparent as the ox sinew string let out a jet of dust at each end and strained under the heroic draw pressure.  The shrill creeks of the string would cause a lesser man to fear for a snapped lash into his eyes.  Thus with a hawk like shriek he cried out to his foes and released the deadly draw.  Following suit his men loosed their arrows, the renowned “cry of the hawk” sounded out in force as a deadly rain soared through the air like so many hunting barbs.  As they came to descend they taught their foes a true and fore-boding lesson... all men can bleed.  With thundering force the arrows found their marks; piercing mail, and leather and skull alike.  Howling and shrieking floated across the river as man and beast were struck down by the gruesome stag arrows.  After a moment a unsettling silence came and the hungry wild men howled back in anger.  Their wolves followed suit and a haunting droll of eery cries floated to their ears.  In response Asgrim lifted his head up and let out a bellowing roar which was in turn answered by his own men.
“It seems we're all introduced brother... shall we play?”  Oren spoke darkly from below his hood, bow at the ready.  And with a slow nod and a lowering of his broad shoulders Jarl Asgrim charged forth, his wolves at his heals, eager for blood and death.  They moved in unison, a pack, a flock of death.  Their dark furs and helms making them appear to be a single mass, moving and fluctuating like a black river...  following Stag-helm's charge were the Crimson blades, Pandion knights, and the thundering roar of Joe and his knights.  Within moments the earth shook as the forces of Swadia seethed forward, hungry for glory or doom.  Artisia rode past and Oren looked up at her, the woman known as Murrow riding behind her, blades drawn and ready and for a moment he contemplated her new lover.  It did not burden him to know that Murrow and Artisia had frequently made love, even with him there.  In fact the experience, although knew, had helped him come to understand and love them both more then he would have been able to before.  As his trailed forward again he saw them, rank after rank of dark and powerful wolves.... the size of horses but with the teeth and ferocity of a rabid animal.  It almost appeared that their foe were riding bears as they might as well have been.  Soon the battle was joined and the creek at their feet ran red with dark blood.
Joseph vane and his knights were the first to meet the enemy.  With lances lowered and shield ready they immediately came to blows, splintering and exploding lances resounded as the yelps and cries of wolf and rider sounded out.  After meeting the heart of his first foe and passing by the wolf he veered his horse and spurred himself forward again.  Joe's lance, the Wyvern's tail met its mark again, and again, and again.  Piercing Mount and rider alike.  Deadly accurate and precise were his strikes over and over he penetrated his foes without missing a mark.  The battleground about him raged and turned and soon he found himself corned by the ravenous bites and attacks of his hungry foes.  Thus he fought, thrusting his lance again, and again into the jaws and faces of his enemies till at long last his horse was halted and reared, sending him hard onto his back in the creek.  As he fell he reached for his sword calmly, staring up through his visor before feeling the percussive thud of the stones below him, the water rushing into his armor as he rose to see the opened maw of a Worg, hungry and starving for his blood.  With a grand thrust his blade met his foes brain.  Rising to a knee he threw his sword arm out wide, legging a charging Worg and sending its rider down into the creek.  He could hear the snapping and wet grinding of the riders spine as he folded in on himself, crushed by the weight of his mount.  As he finally made his way up to his feet he instinctively lifted his shield to halt the deadly strike of a passing rider's jagged saber  The blade slid slowly across Joe's shield, humming with a sickening harmony before his own blade retaliated, striking true into the groin of his foe and taking him from his wild mount.  Joe looked down at the dirty man below him, mostly naked, young... teeth jagged and hair messy.  Again and again he thrust-ed his blade into the young boy, penetrating over and over till the life left his eyes.  He lifted his hazel eyes up to the raging battlefield about him and watched as man and animal fought ravenously for their lives.  On the far side of the creek, where blood ran thick about their ankles were the Pandion knights. 
Guy the blades-man, with bow at the ready dodged and strafed unrefined foes as arrow after seeking arrow found their marks, splitting skull and piercing flesh.  His eyes watching and waiting for targets, taking rider from wolf over and over.  Next to him stood worker and his long time friend wolf's blood.  The two of them slung around each-other war-cleaver and eastern blade swinging in unison.  The battle had hit the knights hard and wolf's blood's bow had been shattered in a sudden attempt to shield himself from a jagged maul.  Thus they fought, the two men a force to recon with.  Worker, was a hefty, large man, and each blow of his war-cleaver split flesh from bone and shattered his foes armor and shield.  With precision Wolf's blood swung his blade, cutting with exact strikes over, and over, until blood and fur caked himself and his weapon.  A stray wolf caught site of the Pandion unit, nearly pinned down and charged from behind.  Its jaws wide it snapped down hard onto guy, nearly forcing him to drop his bow as it slung him down hard into the river bed, bubbling blood and screams came from him as he pounded his fists into the beast.  Just as he thought himself dead... a meal for his enemy he saw the shield of his long time friend and ally, Gashy, slam into the beasts head from the side, throwing his shoulder into the blow Gashy pushed his blade straight into its eye and tackled it down.  With desperate and manic blows Gashy hacked the animals skull until an eye and brain matter stuck to his wildly swinging weapon. 
The four Pandion knights fought, and continued to fight, even the wounded man guy continued to fire his bow from his place on the creek banks.  Nearby to that in the center of the storm stood William, the young child who had made his way as a mighty gladiator.  His shield and sword swinging with thundering force as the allies around him were torn apart, the jaws and spears of his foes tearing into their flesh and ripping them limb from limb.  The young boy was not wide eyed as he witnessed the man next to him screaming, gurgling, choking on his own blood as his head was viciously torn from his shoulders.  He did not flinch as the rank in front of him was battered down with hammer and maul, their skulls and bodies breaking below the swings of their foes. 
“Keep fighting... Keep fighting... Dodge... parry... attack... forward, wait now back... to the left”  His thoughts were calm, collected, driving him to fell foe after foe in a never ending river of fur and blood.  At his side stood the man called “Legend” by those who knew him.  The two were similar, calm... practical men.  Legend also favored his sword and shield, standing in plates next to the young boy as they relied on each-other for support, seeing the army around them thinning.  He was a tall man, shining in his blood soaked armor with thick arms and a broad chest.  They were quiet, the sound of their grunting and splashing helped to drown out the screams and roars around them.  Legend used his shield skillfully, throwing it out often as a more deadly weapon then the sword in his hand.  Even the shield on his back was a useful tool, littered with arrows and a broken javelin that he had blocked from behind.  They had come to fight well together, Legend and William.  Their shields and swords were a union and they capitalized upon it well.
They stood back to back, with a quick juke William dodged the jaws of a wolf, legend bringing his sword up to stab into the soft underside of its head before throwing his left arm out to slam it into the rider, William, rolling over the animals back stabbed into the chest of the dismounted wild-man and kicked him away, sliding his blade out.  They spun, William ducked and legend's blade swung over his head, taking the arm of the enemy that had appeared suddenly behind him with weapon high, following his swing in full legend lifted his shield to block the enemy bringing his blade down and William spun around him to cut the foe down, again back to back they stepped forward and spun their shields inward to slam them onto both sides of the head of a Worg that had attempted to lung between them.  As their shield pounded in unison in a spin against the beasts skull the brought their blades down at once, taking its head off and sending the body into a convulsive fury, spewing blood and bile into the water. 
On the outskirts of the field Murrow and Artisia rode.  Arrows flying with a howl from the Khergit woman's bow as Artisia fought off the closing enemies.  Her blades, Graben and Sky-scorcher, hummed and twirled almost independently in her hands as she warded off the jaws of snapping wolves.  The two women were clad in tight fitting leather armor, Artisia wearing a lammelar vest and hard leather pants with knee high boots and Murrow in her dark brown and gray, tight fitting attire.  Their lithe and thin bodies worked well atop Art's horse as they rode the outskirts of the fight, loosing and loosing barbed arrows into the fray.  With keen green eyes Murrow kept her targets in sight, striking them down and tearing their flesh and fur as they strayed far too close for their own good. As they rode they found themselves pursued by a mounted archer.    continued...

[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