(HOLY NO PARAGRAPHS BATMAN!/edit)
‘For Ferelden!’
He’d heard that, he was sure.
‘Archers, shift your fire right, keep them away from the walls!’
Screams, he heard screams.
‘Dane, on your right!'
He’d definitely remembered that last bit, it was from a voice he recognized, but he couldn’t see the owner’s face.
‘Hold the line damn you! Fight! FIGHT!’
Another voice he recognized, this one jogged his memory further, he knew these men!
His eyes snapped open. He was on his back, he was cold, very, very cold. He made a mental check of his body, and he found everything was numb from the cold, but he was able to move his hands and arms along with his feet and legs. He raised his head up and inch or two and glanced around him, it was snowing and he lay in a clearing, the forest surrounded this small area.
He tried to sit up but found that his head swam when he made the move to do so. He raised a hand to his head and when he pulled it back it was matted with grime and blood, clearly this was the cause of his light-headedness. He slowly rolled over and pushed himself up and onto his hands and knees. The feeling came again, but he was ready for it this time and closed his eyes, mentally steadying himself.
He slowly began the process of standing, which turned out to be more arduous than he had anticipated. The wound he sported on his head appeared to have stopped bleeding but was making the act of standing a very difficult one. He tried to focus on the tree line, forcing his mind to concentrate on something that wasn’t the pain flooding his body. He risked a glance around, pivoting his head slowly, and something at his feet caught his attention.
He looked down and forced his eyes to focus on the object before him, it was some sort of metal, half covered by snow. He slowly reached down, the wave of nausea and dizziness beginning to creep up again causing him to drop to a knee as to not fall over, and brushed away the top most layer of snow. Before him lay the head of an axe, an exquisitely sculpted body of a bird of prey was the center of the blade and he noticed the blades formed the outspread wings. He slowly cleared more snow away, discovering a long metal shaft was attached to the base of the axe-head, the sculpted birds talons appearing to hold the head of the axe onto the handle.
Not before long the excavated axe sat before him, he sat in awe of the weapon, so perfect was it’s craftsmanship. The handle was wrapped with a very fine cured leather, whereupon he saw silver-etched lettering. Every several inches he noticed a brass band wrapped around the handle with similarly etched words, all of which seem to repeat a name ‘Storm Hawk’. He examined the blades more closely, he could see a black, caked on substance that reminded him of blood, only it wasn’t red.
Judging it was time to move, he stood and reached for the axe. When he gripped it, he felt an unusual feeling pass through his body, almost as though the axe was greeting him. Stranger still the axe appeared to be a mere fraction of its weight, he easily shouldered the weapon and if he had not been gripping it, he was sure that he wouldn’t even have noticed the weight difference.
He began the process of searching the small clearing. He found several more weapons, all of which were damaged or broken in some way, and none of which seemed like anything he’d ever seen a smith make before. He continue his search of the clearing and nearby tree line only to find more broken weapons and armor, he did however stumble upon a backpack full of various items, one of which being a large clear vial fully of a dull red liquid.
“Thank the Maker…” he muttered to himself.
He took out the vial and popped the cork from the top of it and drained the contents, feeling the strange prickling sensations brought about by the healing concoction. He risked a probing finger on his head, feeling for the laceration, it was healing quickly and he felt a difference in his ability to balance himself.
There was a loud crack behind him, he spun.
Nothing. The woods were empty A faint wind kicked up snow and it danced amongst the trees.
Another loud crack, this time from his right. He darts his head to the right, a slight pang of nausea and imbalance washes over him.
Nothing. Trees and snow, not even the sound of wildlife.
Breathing. The sounds of breathing are all around him, he spins again.
Nothing. The clearing is as it has been, empty save him.
An arrow streaks out of the trees in front of him, slamming into the ground at his feet, and he shifts back several steps. He unshouldered the ax and brought it across him, holding it tightly with two hands, and he scanned the tree line for his assailant.
That's when he heard it. Or rather, he felt the presence of it and it wasn't just one small feeling, it was an overwhelming wave of understanding that finally dawned on him.
Darkspawn. As the understanding dawned on him, his memory flooded with everything he'd questioned when he awoke.
He was a Grey Warden, called from far North, Highever was his home. He remembered now!
They had marched for a whole week, he and his Grey Brothers and Sisters, and had met with the King. King Cailan, an exuberant youth, especially for one so politically intertwined. He'd accepted the Wardens into the gathering army with an excitement akin much to a child meeting his first knight.
He remembered the battle plans being drawn, prayer vigils being held, lovers embracing before the taking their places amongst the army assembled there.
Where was he?
Ostagar. Yes, Ostagar was right. The great fortress of the Imperium, now used by a different people for an entirely different purpose.
That feeling again! It threatened to drag him down with it's oppressive weight, it took him mentally steadying himself before he was able to concentrate fully on the memories flooding his mind.
The horns blared. The trumpets called. The army gathered in the valley below the great tower of Ishal, readying themselves for the monstrous enemy ahead of them. Men, women, mages, even the noble Mabari hounds stood side by side, their thoughts centered around the battle to come. He was there, standing next to other Grey Wardens, men and women, his friends. His brothers and sisters.
Screams. He heard screaming.
He snapped from his reverie and felt eyes on him. He risked a glance around at his surroundings, anxiety beginning to grip him. There were figures in the trees, some small, some normal, and some that dwarfed him, all of which seemed intently staring at him.
He remembered everything now, the screams, the death, and the end. The terrible end to the army at Ostagar, Darkspawn swarming them, hundreds of the foul beasts cutting, smashing, and biting at him. He saw his Brothers and Sisters fall, one by one, dragged down and torn apart by the screaming insanity that was the Horde. He remembered standing atop a mound of Darkspawn, Storm Hawk in hand, cutting a bloody swathe of destruction through the swarming groups of enemies. He and the remaining Wardens were pushed back into the tree line, further and further away from the fighting, until he no longer saw the great fortress ruins.
He gritted his teeth and let out a low snarl, these beasts were the same that killed his friends, his family, the innocents he was sworn to protect. They looked to kill him now, rend him limb from limb and feast upon his very soul, a truly gruesome thought that one.
"C'mon then beasties...I dinnae have all day here..." he said calmly, glancing about the clearing, trying to keep a constant pivot as to not be taken by surprise.
He heard the distinct creak of a bow being drawn from his right and sure enough an arrow streaked out towards him, aimed for his chest.
He side-stepped the missile at the last second and it sailed on past him, burying itself in the snow.
He stood still, his breaths coming out even and controlled, his warrior training taking over his body and readying it for the charge that was soon to come. His eyes rested on the nearest figure, a great hulking beast, donned with rusted and unkempt armor. The thing sported a greatsword of gruesome design, almost as long as the beast was tall, several skulls adorned the hilt, handing from strands of hair.
He smiled at the beast. "Come and get it you blasted demons, COME AND GET IT!" he finished with a yell.
The armored Darkspawn replied with a guttural yell and surged forward, he noticed a similar yell in response all around him, the woods were alive with activity as the Dark spawn exploded out of the trees and sprinted towards him.
The greatsword wielding Darkspawn reached him first, closing the short distance in only a few minutes, bringing it's weapon down in an overhead attack designed to smash the opponent aside.It would have worked on a normal man, but not this Grey Warden, and most especially not one using the great ax he currently wielded.As the blade came down, there was a loud clang of metal meeting metal, the two blades catching each other mid-swing.He looked at the Hurlock, hate and anger in his voice.
"Remember me well demon, for it is the last thing you will see!" he shouts.
He quickly retracts the ax, the blades grinding against one another in protest, and the Hurlock stumbles forward, suddenly bereft of the Warden's opposing force.
Some would say Darkspawn have battle reflexes akin to the most well-trained warrior, moving with speed and precision that should be alien to the foul beasts. This Hurlock was no different, it was an Alpha of it's small group, a true paragon of hate and destruction. But where most men would falter, smashed aside or down by it's murderous cleave, the one before it had parried the attack and now made a move of his own.
The momentum supplied by pulling the ax free of the deadlock allowed the Warden to go into a lopsided spin, which brought even more force behind the blow than if he had merely just swung the weapon.
The effect was devastating.
The Hurlock, unable to receive the blow on a shield or it's blade, came apart in a shower of blood and gore. The ax searing through the side armor of the Darkspawn, the weight of the blade moving so quickly carrying it through to the other side. Slowly, the Alpha fell, cut in two.
The spray of dark, sickly blood covered him, the violent end brining about a torrent of arterial spray.
He could hear laughter.
He allowed himself a small grin, noticing that the death blow he'd delivered had stalled the charge of the Alpha's followers.
"Come at me you foul, rotting, soulless beasts! There's plenty more death to be dealt today!"
He smiled as the charge resumed, clearly the Darkspawn were willing to oblige his request.
He let them come, taking stock of the situation while they ran. Thirty, he counted thirty of these vile things.
"Today, brothers and sisters, I make good on my oath taken so long ago..." He whispered silently to himself.
A squat Genlock wielding two crude daggers was the first to reach the Warden, launching at him, both blades angled in a downward stab.
He shifted his shoulder into the attack, moving between both blades, and he felt a satisfying smashing crunch as his armored shoulder connected with the Darkspawn's unarmored face. The force and violence of the blow threw the beasts body backwards, falling into several other charging Genlocks and causing them to falter, stumbling in their sprint.
'In peace...' he murmured.
The second to die was a Hurlock, wielding a spear made from what the Warden could only assume to be humanoid arm bones. It ran straight at the Warden, hoping to impale the warrior on the crude spear's tip, and the warrior continued to smile.
'Vigilance!' He yelled, dodging the thrusting spear. Storm Hawk swung sideways, a murderous arc that ended in the Hurlock's decapitation.
'In war...' he continued.
He was assailed by four separate attacks this time, two small Genlocks wielding daggers and two sword and shield equipped, larger Hurlocks. He knocked aside their weapons with the shaft of the ax, causing one Genlock to over extend itself and calling to the ground before him. Stepping forward into the vacant spot left by the squat Darkspawn, he stomped down hard with the heel of his boot, crushing the Genlocks skull with a sickening crunch of bone and brain matter. He continued his forward stride, carrying him directly into the massed ranks of Darkspawn group, shoulder-slamming the nearest beast out of his way and onto the ground.
'Victory!' he screamed.
Caught off guard by the Wardens sudden advance and explosion of rage, the Darkspawn hesitated.
He smiled again.
The ax swung out, slicing through rotted flesh and bone, removing hands and arms. Where a Darkspawn dared gather it's wits and attempt to strike at the fearsome warrior, the ax blade would flash out and end the hate filled, destructive life.
Not before long there remained only the Warden and three Hurlocks, two of which wielded greatblades and the other handled two swords.
He watched his foes, their every movement highlighted by his adrenaline heightened senses. He could feel the cool air on his exposed face, the sting where Darkspawn blades had caught him unaware, and the beating of his own heart, loud in his ears.
'In death...'
One of the greatblade wielding Hurlocks dashed forward, it's weapon in a low arc meant to sweep the Wardens legs out from under him, and the other two made moves to attack from opposite sides.
The Warden met the attack head on, smashing away the sword strike and away from him with his ax. Unable to bring the ax around for a proper attack, the Warden lashed out with his gauntleted fist, catching the Hurlock in the throat. The attack stunned the Darkspawn and it recoiled, grasping at it's throat, it's windpipe crushed by the attack.
Before the Warden could deliver the killing bow, a force smashed him from his feet sent him sailing through the air, knocked aside by one the other charging Hurlocks.
He crashed to the ground several feet away, sliding through the snow. He immediately tried to get up but found that his right arm no longer responded to his will.
Glancing down he saw why.
Where before he had a fully armored arm, he now had a shredded half of an arm, the blood dripping quickly into the snow. That's when the pain finally registered.
He let out a howl of pain and thrashed in the snow, screaming and cursing the damage done to him. Storm Hawk lay beside him, his right hand still gripping the shaft. He felt detached from the scene, as though he watched from another body. The pain was real, very real, but he couldn't process what had happened.
It took the war cry of the remaining two Darkspawn to shock him from his pain-filled stupor.
The Hurlock wielding the two swords was first to reach the prone Warden, throwing aside it's weapons in favor of it's fists and claws. The Warden receive the attack, sitting up in time to lash out with his remaining fist, but the defense was weakened by blood loss and shock. His gauntleted hand struck the Hurlock in the mouth, the momentum of it's lunge driving the metal-encased hand deep into it's mouth and throat.
The Warden felt the sickening crunch of bones breaking and was born to the ground by the Hurlock's body, dead from the sheer force of it's own attack.
The Warden lay there, the dead Hurlock locking his remaining arm in place, making it impossible to shift or move his position. He saw a shadow loom over him, and looked up to see the remaining Hurlock towering over him.
He smiled and whispered. "Sacrifice."
Modifié par FerreusVir, 14 avril 2010 - 04:47 .
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