Vandor Maravar's Donation

Post Reply
vexedart
Posts: 1
Joined: Mon Sep 13, 2021 6:18 am

Posted by vexedart »


A Windswept Reverie


The winds bellowed rapaciously as the company held for the signal, lighter debris whipped around the clearing, crashing against whatever dared to stop them. Shining soldiers with white tabards and silver highlights, shoulder to shoulder, gripped the haft of their spears, biting into the earth to find balance, their shields to aid in bracing against the relentless gale. The charge of electricity in the air tickled the nostrils of every living thing around this wooded clearing. The rains would soon follow, the taste and smell of petrichor pervaded heavily through the windswept lands. Deep rolling thunder resonated with the nearby oaks. The heavens wept for what they knew we were about to do, the hubris of taking from gods, denying our enemy entry into a slice of heaven we built together, there was no greater revenge. We all knew this would soon be our grave, the mages concluded such. We were here to simply buy time against an invader, and give glory to those who would survive. This revenge, built for eons on either side, until it had finally escalated to this moment, and with it, hopefully, the end of these petty escalations. Even now, the polished granite tower behind you, would occasionally reflect what beams of light dared to pierce through the unnaturally swirling cloud cover.

A loud and low toned horn of war blared, a momentary relief from the sounds of the pandemonius winds. The soldiers knew the meaning of the signal, and lockstepped up the hill to meet the foe. The trees swayed, some to bow, some to break, branches not secured enough to defend against the wind were ripped from their rightful place. The clouds would dance and race, parting to allow for a few brief beams of light to kiss the earth below. The weight of your gear finally taking notice, as you marched up the hill against the wind. You'd already marched for weeks getting here. The shining helmet annoyingly pinching into it's usual spot on the back of your neck, didn't help to alleviate any of the building tension.

Another horn of war, not yours, masked by the sound of thunder could barely be heard over the berm. A red arrow would land in the dirt a few feet in front of our leader. The commanding officer bellows an order, "Shields- up!" as the rainy grey skies above would quickly darken. They had to be quite skilled to find their mark during this chaotic wind, but we were also prepared, and picked up our shields in unison to meet their weapons. One- two- seven, yes, seven black tipped arrow heads would peek through your shield to greet you, a biting pain running deep along your arm, nailing your hand to your shield in quick succession. A purple white gleam of the arrowheads reflecting that chiaroscuro could rule in only one material... adamantine... and that the light behind you was not of this world any longer. A few soldiers on the outside having had their shields pierced would quickly fall to their knees to curl up and die. Peaking over the berm, would be the assailants, clad in black with white masks covering their faces, to witness their damage.

A pressure could be felt building behind you from the tower, a pillar of illumination as whatever light behind you reached down for the tower. But you could also feel something else changing inside you. A poison perhaps... a chill would soon take over you, and sweat would begin to rapidly bead off of your forehead. Another call from your commander would be heard, "Spears forward!" as your rally to use what senses left to push forward, the shock of the event decaying quickly as the pain in your arm starts to amplify in waves. A few bolts of lightning would crash around the oaken tree tops, starting small fires that quickly fade from the rain, the thunder getting louder as the earth would gently begin to rumble. The enemy would move quick toward you, sprinting to meet you with their permanently smug smiles etched into their grinning white masks. The pain makes it no less easy, you bite your teeth down hard to distract from the fiery throbbing sensations, a trembling wounded arm raises to clash against the coming enemy, who would still be a fool to charge a readied spear.

"One-," you think, as the spear finds its mark, punching through the boiled leather of your enemies neck, they clasp their throat and fall quickly to the ground, that smug expression still etched on the mask. Another two quickly run up to you, longswords drawn, your spear quickly ripping out of the first kill, you hear a wet twisting stab from behind you as your ally sticks the one on your left. The third slamming his self against your shield as the feeling of the pain haunts you again. A sanguine drip coming from your mangled hand and the flashes of momentary brilliance behind you seem almost dazzling. You back step and your spear finds the belly of the other fighter on your right. "Two," you count again in your head, a dizziness starting to take rapidly gain gravity. Another flash of lightning as the earth moans, and starts to give way.

A moment of weakness, or perhaps the poison finally ticked in, maybe it was the roll of the earth, but you are jolted forward, your shield side covered in bloody stains flashing with the coming bolts of lightning. You try to find your knees, but fail to pick yourself up, the weight of your armor, the fatigue of marching, the pain in your arm, the poison making you clammy and slow. Another sharp pain as one of the masked bastard's blades find you, trying to pick yourself up. You begin fading, in and out. Flashing lights reflecting in the blades of those trying to stand. Lightning flaring off the tops of the oaks, finally catch fire, as the winds wisp the bright embers around. The rain had stopped. Your final moments, your body moving, hoisted into the air, but not on its own accord, the earth shatters, and twists, and slides you around like a forgotten toy, until the crushing pressure and darkness take you.
Post Reply