Author Topic: History from the time of the Daimon Arcane  (Read 5392 times)

Glaumring the Fox

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Re: History from the time of the Daimon Arcane
« Topic Start: March 24, 2011, 01:24:17 PM »
Part III

Tindle had changed, gone were the hanging racks of rebels... gone were the dogs and crows. The main commune town was silent and for the last while no rain had come.
Gathled saw the peasants in new garb, they all wore burlap tunics with the colors of Vlaandaran , a gothic "A" patched onto their uniforms. They no longer seemed the ignorant toilers of the previous days , now within their eyes there was a different look , not one of resignation , nor of contentment ... Gathled could not read it , he watched them waiting for one to break out from its order... But no such actions came . He saw that they barely reacted to their environment . They would dig endlessly, they would build without tire, they would answer and would do without the crack of the whip nor threats . They just did and they at least seemed to be enjoying themselves, they looked stronger ... They looked like people for once...
Gathled still hated them...
He surveyed the lands on horseback for once , instead of on foot like he usually did, the horse did not take well to him , nor did he to the horse , it was finicky and delayed with his commands, he hated this beast also...
When night slowly made its way across the star strewn wastes of the flat blackness , Gathled sat and wished he to was marching to Naraka... It seemed so long since his blade had drank the blood of infidels.
Until then he would continue with this place, make it work ... Bring honor to Arcane and glory to the empire.
He laughed to himself... Tindle brings glory?
He hated this place...

The dogs of the federation are drooling on the very gates of this kingdom...Not long until the very gold of our gates and women are dimmed with the very frost of their fetid breath. Here now we must stand against this assault , Vlaandarans , fellow Daimons ... United against vast hordes of these uncivilized godless sons of whores. May each one of us stand before the gates of Reeds and hold within our teeth the very names of all who fell before us... For if ,or when we are gone their names will at least echo throughout these lands long after we ourselves are ground out on the hooves and boots of our enemies. The names of our fallen will harry them like ghosts in the night and make for a frosted crop harvested on these lands forever more...
aye, bitter be the fruits of this land if it shall fall...
We must now , draw our swords , hold them high into the heavens and dip them into the very soil of the moon, and with one fell swoop drag the very skies down upon their heads...
Are we not ready to fight? For if not where shall we go now?

Several days before...
Gathled lunged forward into the battle , the mass of soldiers at his back roared like thunder into the plains of Watto.
There Gathled saw , lord Arcane ... His form had changed , or was it merely Gathled's mind playing tricks on him , Arcane was larger than before, Arcane swung into the crowd of oncoming Heenites and flung them ever wich way in a jumble of falling bodies. Heartened Gathled fought harder, and hacked deeper into the foray... He reached a point where all around him bodies and piles of weapons did lay about in stacks , he fought until he saw none of his own banners in the melee, nor his own men, yet he fought on...
Then, as if by strike of lightening he did feel great pain in his shoulder, and there lay an arrow, he chopped it in half with one fell swoop of his blade and continued fighting , but now another arrow had lodged itself into his leg , and then another into his chest... grazing his heart...
He fell to the ground and light did flicker in his eyes, he saw his men gathered around him in slow motion beating back the Heenite men, and then felt himself being dragged backwards across blood slicked grass and over the hills of the dead...


And there did he fade into blackness...


Naraka... Edge of the Heen empire... the wasteland...
Gathled stood and watched the grand and empty desert of dunes rise before him , he stood on the mere edge of the waste that stretched deep into the savage Heen empire, he had been here before , he had fought here , he would do so again. The contrast between Naraka was stark and defined , yet here there was no rain... none , for ages this land had sat empty , dry... dead and waiting for conquest and to be tamed...
Gathled prepared his equipment, loaded a feisty camel with water and and then his own riding camel with his weapons and gear , he wore now the long flowing robes of the desert nomads, he had left his platemail and bear cloak in the rearguard camp. Around his head he wrapped a black piece of cloth that covered his face from the sand, sun and dry coarse wind. He would dress like a Heenite, he would become one with the desert.
He waited , for Nymatal and Shintuk to arrive, he was sure that they would be close. He knew not why , but he was eager to be outside in the endless horizon of sand , the ocean of glass.
A dust storm rose on the wind and Gathled turned to go back to his tent... The howling wind made sounds , like voices , he heard them carried on the wind ... An Echo , as if the very ground beneath him was the boiling lid of hell.
« Last Edit: March 24, 2011, 01:40:50 PM by Glaumring »
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