the Vagabonds of the Defias Brotherhood

-guild forum-
 
HomeFAQSearchRegisterMemberlistUsergroupsLog in

Share | 
 

 The Saga of the Orchammer and the Legacy of a Man

Go down 
AuthorMessage
Derithor

avatar

Number of posts : 107
Age : 31
Registration date : 2007-01-29

PostSubject: The Saga of the Orchammer and the Legacy of a Man   Sat Mar 10, 2007 11:06 pm

Fear not vagabonds, over the next few days i'm gonna sorta make this thread my anthology sorta thing,..some of the writing you may have enjoyed, some of it may have been crap..but its all gonna end up here hopefully. I may need a hand from the moderators whenever they have the time to spare.

Anyways. Let the tales of the Orchammer bore you.
Back to top Go down
View user profile
Derithor

avatar

Number of posts : 107
Age : 31
Registration date : 2007-01-29

PostSubject: Re: The Saga of the Orchammer and the Legacy of a Man   Sat Mar 10, 2007 11:07 pm

Lets start with Battle Before Blackrock, got a good response from you lot Smile

He looked out across the barren landscape again, the banners of the human races fluttered in the wind. He could feel the leather padding beneath his armour starting to absorb the heat from the dark Black plates covering his body as the sun beat down on his armour like he remembered his father had done when crafting it for him. For that brief second his mind was in westfall the green grass around his home still damp from a rain shower duirng the night and the smell of his mother cooking breakfast on the stove downstairs and just as quickly as the memory came it had passed. his eyes focussed again, the generals were riding past his battalion again calling out ignorant commands like 'dont let them take an inch' or 'for the alliance' things he held in his heart as a stalwart warrior anyways.
He had been fighting with the alliance forces since the flight from stormwind,, in this time he had risen to command a detachment of men 20 strong...now he stood with black ash around his feet, with the roar of the blood thirsty horde awaiting him. It wouldnt be long now, through numerous skirmishes (to many to count he recalled) he had known when the commanders would send the sheep forwards. Today was different, the horde had the high ground. His battalion commander had relayed the fact that the generals were still to ignorant to believe that the Horde were to stupid to use the elevation to their strategic advantage, this didnt stop the horde loosing sporadic volleys of arrows and catapult bolts into the alliance ranks.
A shrill cry went up behind Derithor, he spun on his heels to see where it had originated, his eyes were met by crimson spewing from a deep wound caused by a stray arrow that no one had even seen coming. Derithor cursed the dark ash clouds swirling overhead for having concealed the bolt until the last moment. He marched over to the wounded man and put his hand on his shoulder.

'Stay still and stop bloody yelping!...', before he had even finished the sentence he had torn the arrow from the wound, another gout of crimson followed covering his already black and red armour further. 'take him to the aid station, have the wound plugged and bandaged'...
Another trooper ran off his chain mail hanging down to his knees grinding on the metal plates across them. Derithor turned again to face the horde, he scratched his face, the big red beard he wore rustled between his fingers as he pondered where his battalion would serve best should the horde attack. He noticed on the far left of the lines a small pocket of huge looking orcs wearing nothing but armour plates over their shoulders wielding massive cruel looking swords...If the attack came he would manoeuvre his men to that collection of orcs and hammer away at them. His eyes narrowed as another arrow whizzed by his head, the soldier behind him gasping to see it come so close and miss.

'Sir, that one almost hit you!',
'aye but it didnt...dont dwell on it.' he Reposted quickly looking at the man behind him.
'Aye sir, but...all this waiting, its playing on my nerves now'
'Just calm down and think about something you love', Derithor took his own words into account...again he let part of his mind wander, back to his Girlfriend, She was Lordaeronic but he loved her all the same, he had met her during the fighting in the North before his commander was ordered to move his forces into the dark Ashen lands just north of the Blackrock.
'aye just settle down and think of something nice', Derithor saw in the soldiers eyes he was thinking alright, he noticed his eyes glaze slightly as the man let his mind wander to his proposed or family. Under his breath he uttered simply
‘It’s those we fight for’
Without warning the Drums sounded, Derithor didnt really have to strain his neck, he was a tall muscular farm boy from Westfall none the less. None of the alliance musicians were playing the beat. He looked out across the ash plain and could see the Horde beggining to move forward, perhaps the generals were right after all. Behind the Orcs in the distance rose the tall forboding spire of Blackrock Mountain, making the horde seem even more Imposing. Derithor bunched his shoulders and unhooked his long dull sword, the blade still caked in blood and dirt. Derithor had seen first hand the results of infected wounds dealt by the horde and had adopted the tactic himself, much to the dismay of his commander who believed in maintaining all armour and weapons to the highest standard...in a war of this scale Derithor knew it would be almost impossible to meet his standards so stopped trying.
The horde had moved into a run now and the crude horns and drums were sounding amidst the roars and battle cries of the enemy. Derithor let his fingers go limp the huge blade in his hand finding its balance perfectly in his grip as he waited, to his left he could see men and dwarves rushing forward to meet the attack of the right wing of the horde, in front of him he could see the huge Orcs he had targetted earlier lumbering forwards, sometimes barging through their own kind to reach the front of the charge. Derithor now narrowed his eyes and almost whispered to his standard Bearer to wave the banner, the signal for his troop to move forward, when his commander burst out of the ranks on foot.

'Derianine, your troop has been ordered by the commanders, to move forward and press on the right flank'.
Derithor nodded his agreement to his commander, the man wore pristine armour, with his family crest emblazoned on the chest plate. He knew deep down his commander had had no hand in giving the orders to his troop so far, in many respects Derithor had led most of his batalion at times, but now wasnt one of them, unless fate insisted that it be so...
On the left flank of the alliance forces the Horde crashed into the lines with devistating effects, Derithor could see the lines were no longer paralel. He ordered the banner to wave again and held his breath for a brief second, picking the first orc his sword would meet. His eyes met a giant Orc almost 7 or 8 feet tall lumbering forward with uncanny speed. He exhaled quickly amidst an earthshattering battle cry, hurling his body weight forward onto his right foot as he began his charge. He did not even bother to look to see if his men followed, he knew by now the veterans in his group would be spurring the green recruits on. within seconds he had met his target, the huge orc swung its cruel blade towards Derithors head, with a skilfull manouvre derithor had turned his body and raised his sword to deflect the shot, ready for him to bring it around himself at the orcs back...It worked, the sword bit deep into his foes back, the Orc growling in primal frustration at the wound immediately swung its elbow towards his head, his sword however was still embedded in the orc, leaving only his massive black spaulder to bear the brunt of the attack, the elbow ricochetted from his armour but his shoulder was still tingling on the verge of numbness, he knew now the initial charge was over he had to maintain discipline.

'Kalthor, take three men out to the right and move around behind them,...i'll meet you in the middle, Arbingham, take your 5 men to the left and begin pushing forward, the rest, focus your attacks on the fighters...you men at the back,..finnish the remains off', his orders rang out like steel hitting steel over his troop.
The Battle ground on, by the end of the day his magnificent red beard was matted with black orc blood and red from his slain comrades. His armour was doused in blood and the ash that clung to it. His arm was numb from the fighting but it was still not over, both sides had been throwing their reserves into the meat grinder and results were yet to be found from such tactics.
At what he assumed to be around 7pm Derithor could see the sun dipping below the mountains, a man in blood caked armour rode towards him a big dark sword on his back.

'Derithor, the commanders dead your being given command of the batallion! Wait till Elrya hears of this eh! she'll marry you for certain!', Derithor looked up at Jakeron, Elrya's older Brother.
'If we ever get out of this bloody mess Jake'...how is your troop fareing?', his words came out in a shout of the din of the still rageing battle.
'Have faith Derithor, you'll make it out, for her sake you will! Anyways gather your assisstants around you, the troops yours!'


Last edited by on Sat Mar 10, 2007 11:19 pm; edited 2 times in total
Back to top Go down
View user profile
Derithor

avatar

Number of posts : 107
Age : 31
Registration date : 2007-01-29

PostSubject: Re: The Saga of the Orchammer and the Legacy of a Man   Sat Mar 10, 2007 11:08 pm

Derithor’s heart was almost beating out of his chest, he was desperate to get to Elrya. He could feel in his fingers what he suspected was frost bite setting in but he paid it no heed, his mind was set on getting out of this frozen waste, and of getting back to Northdale to see her.
Two days before he had received a letter from Mrs. Andrel, A plump woman who lived on the west side of the village. She always had the villagers best interests at heart and even Derithor felt a sort of motherly bond from her. Unfortunately the letter didn’t come with a batch of her gorgeous muffins or news of Northdale and of Elrya, no. It was different. He couldn’t believe the words as they were written

“Derithor luv, we’re all proud of what your doing up there with the Prince and we’re all hoping you’ll get back here in one piece. The village has finally been exposed to the plague. The men in the village are currently burning the livestock and cremating thebodies of those who have already died, but something has happened luv and it pains me to have to put such words to paper. My heart breaks to think of how this will make you feel. It’s Elrya luv…She’s taken sick. None of us know how or why she is ill but it doesn’t show signs of the plague, thank the light. However her health is declining daily and we pray for your swift return, Our prayers go with you and with Elrya in this dark time

Mother Andrel”



He slumped to the ground the smoke from the recently cleansed village filling his nostrils, and as if suddenly smelling the vile stench of death and burning bodies, he felt his stomach heave and wretch as he threw up on the ground. How could this be? He was risking his life for all that was good and now his wife was sick…possibly even by the plague. What kind of repayment was this? Again he vomited as a strange wave of betrayal washed over him, tears now rolling down his cheeks leaving clear streaks of skin through the dirt and ash.
He drove the tip of his sword into the ground and got to one knee as if to pray, but instead turned his head to the sky and simply bellowed as his emotions set about tearing him apart. Screaming his utter frustration he roared until he could feel the bloodvessels in his head begin to ache yet still he didn’t stop. Two soldiers came to his side to try and calm him down. The tears were rolling freely down his cheeks and his throat felt as if it would explode if he made another sound. So instead he didn’t, he simply swung a meaty fist at the man on his left, his face was utterly unrecognisable. The man was Jakeron he was desperately trying to calm Derithor to find out what was wrong, but to Derithor the face was unrecognisable, everything around him had changed as he felt his mind falling into utter despair.
Jakeron got to his feet and rubbed his jaw, swinging the back of his hand at Derithor, not out of revenge but rather to quell his Hysteria. Derithor grunted and spat out a mouthful of blood onto the ground.

‘Now what the bloody hell is wrong with you Deri?’ Jakeron’s voice was firm and flat. But Derithor’s had gone utterly quiet and low now
‘She’s taken sick,…they don’t know what it is, but Mother Andrel fears the worst, How can this be…’

Derithor scrambled to his feet and began stumbling away ignoring everything around him, he simply began backtracking on the course the army had taken up to this point. Jakeron spent two hours riding along beside him trying to convince him that, going AWOL wouldn’t make everything better, eventually he settled into the saddle and decided to accompany him home.

After almost 2 weeks of walking, riding and even sailing on a crude goblin sea vessel they were back in Northern Lordaeron. Jakeron however was completely worn, his sister was sick and he indeed loved her but Derithor could see that Jakeron didn’t share his stubborn determination. His armour was in tatters now, he and Jake had fought off numerous attacks from the risen dead and were pressing on hard into the far eastern reaches of Lordaeron, to lands surrounding the now undead city of Stratholme that he had helped Arthas purge. The green tree’s were now dieing by the acre and the sky was no longer blue but now a dull yellow in the numerous clearing they came to, the two men could see pillars of smoke rising into the sky and drifting on the wind into the west. Before finally he was on the edge of the lake on the south west of the village. His skin was almost completely black with dirt, his tabard was torn over one shoulder and flapping lazily with each lazy step. His sword was utterly broken yet he still carried the hilt and the broken remnants of the blade in the sheath.

The village square was dead quiet apart from two men with a cart on which were the bodies of people Derithor had known, or pets they had kept. Both of them moved doggedly, knowing their job had to be done, but that they rather wouldn’t do it. Smoke from the funeral pyre was hanging in the air like a vile smelling mist, the hot ash burning his eyes as he walked closer and closer to his cottage on the edge of the village. When he stopped dead and turned his body to face the pyre, amidst the pile of burning bodies he could see the grey curls falling unkept over Mother Andrel’s lifeless face. His stomach twinged as he and Jake both uttered a prayer in her honor.

On the door of his cottage was smeared a red mark, he had noticed them on the other houses, only his was boarded up. Without even thinking he drove his shoulder through the lattices across the door and walked almost casually into the main room where he saw her.

Her chest was rising and falling peacefully, and her hair was spread across the pillow almost ornately, her lips were no longer full and vibrant but were now dry and pale. Her proud cheekbones still accentuated the beauty she held on her face and her eyelashes fluttered slightly as she slumbered. Derithor again uttered a prayer, he knew that Mother Andrel had taken care of Elrya up until her last breath.
Derithor strode over to the bed and sat gently on the edge running the backs of his fingers gently down her cheek as he again felt tears falling…what was wrong that she was in this comatose state? He began to weep silently to himself and began talking to her, he knew she could hear him as he uttered his silent reveries and serenades. Outside he could hear raised voices as a fat villager strode uninvited into his house as Jake tried to stop him.

‘What in all of Lordaeron do you think you are doing breaking into a house that has been marked as a plagued house and conversing with that dieing bitch’ with every consonant and ‘ess’ or ‘tee’ the man spat on Derithor’s torn tabard his voice raised in anger.
Derithor stood up and drew the broken end of his sword and swung it at the fat man, the blade bit deep into his neck. As Derithor removed his eyes from the man now drowning in his own blood he realised Jake had driven his sword deep into the man’s lower back and concluded that was the reason his legs were in spasm. Derithor dropped the broken blade on the floor and returned to Elrya’s side as Jake dragged the dieing man outside by the feet.
‘I’m sorry you had to see that darling, but no man enters my home and calls my most beautiful Elrya a bitch. I said I’d be here in sickness and in Health, but it seems I have failed you my love…’, Derithor’s heart stopped beating and he held his breath for what seemed like an eternity as her chest rose, but did not fall back again,
He rested his hand on her check and whispered simply ‘I’m Sorry’ into her ear, this time no tears fell. Instead he pressed his lips against hers and moved his hand down to her chest and rested it on her heart then buried his face into her neck and lifted her body against his and gave thanks that she was ever in his life at all.

It was an emotion i had never felt throughout our entire marriage, we had loved each other so dearly and i had failed her in her time of need, should it come to pass that i have ever said Sorry and not meant it, this one moment in my life, showed me what it was to be truly remorseful.


Last edited by on Sat Mar 10, 2007 11:39 pm; edited 1 time in total
Back to top Go down
View user profile
Derithor

avatar

Number of posts : 107
Age : 31
Registration date : 2007-01-29

PostSubject: Re: The Saga of the Orchammer and the Legacy of a Man   Sat Mar 10, 2007 11:16 pm

The only thing stopping the snow falling now was the thick of ash and miasma in the air. The pestilence in the village was now out of control, even the two cart bearers had fallen to the plague. Now, Northdale was dead in every respect, except for the slow calm breathing of its one living inhabitant.
Stooped over in a small wooden chair, he hadn’t moved for almost two weeks, his grey locks were still matted with weeks of dirt and mould was beginning to grow within them feeding on the dry and decaying blood. His beard was growing wild and out of control now, tatted and ungraceful.
His eyes however were still keen, though his gaze was distant as if seeing through everything he looked at. Her face was still immaculate and he wondered why she had not yet began the slow and horrific process of decay, no, her skin was still as unblemished and silken as he had remembered as he again felt himself caressing her cheek.
His armour was covered in dust but he paid it no heed, he didn’t want to leave her presence, not for food, nor to use the lavatory, all he wanted was her.

I don’t remember the time I spent in our cottage after she passed, nor really of many of the events that have come to pass up until the moment I met the white haired priestess south of Lakeshire, occasionally I feel myself slipping in and out of conscious thought, losing control of myself no matter how hard I try. But after Elrya departed to take her place amongst the dead, I simply stayed by her side. Im unsure why, perhaps It was a refusal to accept that she had died, perhaps I was simply trying to ensure that she could always look back at the ageing warrior she left behind and take solace in my presence as she made the journey into the beyond. I don’t know, all I do know is that I sat and I marvelled at how beautiful she was, and gave thanks that I had ever been so lucky as to lay beside her at night and watch her carefree expression as she danced through her slumber and drank deep of the well of dreams. Yes, I gave thanks. Eventually however, my Solitary situation was broken, outside I could hear shuffling and occasionally wailing sounds.

With a soft groan and long exhalation that his grieving process was now ending, he hauled himself to his feet, with small puffs of dust rising from the moving surfaces of his armour, the plates themselves grinding and squeaking as he moved, after weeks of ill keeping. He strode purposefully over to the window to try and garner the source of the noises. He peered through the windows with a look of contempt at the risen bodies of villagers he had known, their faces transfixed in the expression they had worn upon their demise, many wore a death mask of tranquillity, others with a look of agony, again a shrill wail went up on the south side of town, he moved to another window to look.
His heart sank as he saw the blacksmith he used to spend long afternoons in the Lordaeron summer smelting large shipments of Dwarven ore with, slouching over his lost forge.
Derithor found it hard to take his eyes off Alric, a trusted companion in the village. The blacksmiths eyes giving a look of sheer horror as he was forced to consciously endure the process of his dead body rotting. Under his breath he uttered an oath for the blacksmith and promised to release him before he left the village.


Last edited by on Sat Mar 10, 2007 11:41 pm; edited 1 time in total
Back to top Go down
View user profile
Derithor

avatar

Number of posts : 107
Age : 31
Registration date : 2007-01-29

PostSubject: Re: The Saga of the Orchammer and the Legacy of a Man   Sat Mar 10, 2007 11:16 pm

I spent the next several days deciding what I could do with my life, I had finished grieving for Elrya, but I knew nothing would be the same. My wife had passed away before we could even contemplate raising a family, our village had been overrun by a plague of undeath and for all I knew at that time, the rest of the Eastern Kingdoms. I knew I had to inter her body, though I was still uncertain why she had not began her process of decomposition. I also knew, leaving the village in full plate armour would alert every un-living thing in the village to my presence. I had thought about walking out into the place in my massive black plates wielding my war axe and killing as many of them as I could before I either succumbed to fatigue or until I was simply overcome. Now Elrya was gone, I had nothing left to live for. The only thing left in my life was vengeance.

Derithor stared idly, not focussing on the part of the world framed by his window. His mind was wandering amongst thoughts of how he could leave this place without announcing it to the risen dead bodies. He looked over his shoulder at her peaceful body, without thinking of how strange it would seem to others that he was living with his deceased wife.
He hauled himself to his feet with a noise that only ageing bones can garner and nodded silently, chuckling at the motion slightly, who was he acknowledging his decision to? His wife?
“Its time to leave you petal, and though It may kill me to do so, I must bury you in an unmarked grave, I would not have necromancy played across your body.” His words were a whisper, with no heed that they were falling on deaf ears. “But I promise that I will never forget that you were ever in my life, love”, his voice was so quiet now it was barely audible but he didn’t care. He thought about her family colours, searching through the dim light inside the cottage for them, making an unconscious decision to bury her in them.

I hooked the axe over my back, and unbolted the door that overlooked the garden. I stepped out with a deep breath, I didn’t care about the cadavers stumbling around in my peripheral vision, I strode purposefully to the shed where Ulath was stabled. It looked like he had broken out, probably to find food. The sight of the open shed and my horse missing twisted my chest slightly, I couldn’t help but feel that everything was being taken away from me. I dismissed the thought immediately and took the shovel and found a place I could remember in the garden, I chose her vegetable patch, the area of the garden she was so fond of. The vegetables now were no longer plump and ripe, but had since degenerated into a pale slime.

I returned into the house and wrapped her body in one of the linen sheets and covered her with the colours, the silken flag draping over her body accentuating her curves. I pulled it up over her face. I knew it would be even harder if I had to see her face. I placed her body into the ground failing completely to hold back the tears as I cast the first shovel of dirt across her body.


He had filled almost half of the hole before he thought of his armour. He knew he couldn’t wear it to leave, the noise of the plates clattering would give him away. But he didn’t want to leave them in the house, they would eventually rust and fall apart, or worse, would fall into the hands of someone completely unworthy of wearing it. Quickly he emptied the contents of the chest containing the bedding and linen and began filling it with his armour.
Derithor carried the large chest with some difficulty into the garden, he thought about how burying his armour with her maybe seen as an insult to her grave, but he knew how she loved to look at him in the armour and the sultry look she gave him before he set out for Lordaeron city upon the call to arms. He knew she would not mind the plates in the grave with her.

The sky was growing dark now, in the west the sky was blazing red as the sun sank amidst the hundreds of funnels of smoke rising across the horizon. Her grave was completely filled now and he sank to the earth with a heavy heart, weeping silently that she was now gone. He uttered several oaths and even something in the Dark Iron tongue that one of the dwarves so many years ago had said to him. A strange noise met his ears, a weak whinnying coming from the east. He stood up and grasped the shovel tight prepared for anything. Ulath’s face met his as the horse paced carefully towards him baring his teeth.
“You can put those away now lad. Its me, Derithor…” the horse’s maws were covered in blood, Derithor could only assume the roan had defended itself against the undead and now assumed he too was one of them. Carefully he walked to Ulath and placed his hand on the flat of its face rubbing up and down above the nose. For some unknown reason he placed his arms around the horses neck and embraced it, another tear rolling down his cheek that there was still something he cared about, living in this world. Ulath pawed the ground and shook his head at the gesture, Derithor grinned and released the ageing roan.
“Lets get out of here then.”
Back to top Go down
View user profile
Derithor

avatar

Number of posts : 107
Age : 31
Registration date : 2007-01-29

PostSubject: Re: The Saga of the Orchammer and the Legacy of a Man   Sat Mar 10, 2007 11:46 pm

Something to finnish it all off with

He hauled himself to his feet, the massive ageing black plates strapped around his huge frame groaning and grinding with an intense squeal as if objecting to his chosen course of action, the chair below him cracking in relief that the great weight of the Orchammer and his legendary black armour were now off its four legs. He lifted the massive flaming axe over his pelt clad shoulders and hung the leather strap about him, the familiar weight of the weapon on his back bringing back a plethora of memories. Perhaps history would repeat the victories and combats he had fought in bygone days, now the face of the weeping knight was turned to the freezing north.
Winter had just begun its decoration of the landscape here, touching the hillsides with the delicate touch of the snowflake and the gentle caress of the north wind. His destination however would be on the doorstep of a freezing hell.
Behind him on the table, lit only by the single candle he had been writing by, was a piece of delicate parchment with the name of she he had pledged his love to at the top, written in a fine script but in his dialect local to westfall. The words on it what could only be a eulogy.

And so I look back on my life like a fire that is burning out, the logs and papers fuelling it now burned down to ashes. And yet within those ashes I find a solitary scrap of paper with the edges blackened and singed. And that scrap of paper reads the good deeds I have done and I know those same deeds cannot be blackened or destroyed or die with the rest of the fire. I know my deeds will be remembered after I travel into the halls of the dead And I’d like to think that this dying fire has warmed all who stood by it, and burned all those that tried to quench it.

He tugged the pelt tight around his shoulders as he looked out at the snow drifting gracefully towards the earth, the great grey fur keeping his neck warm as he stepped out into the snow. Not giving a second thought to his writing he shoved a foot into the stirrup and hauled himself onto the massive black warhorses back.

The sun was slowly declining now, it had passed below the horizon leaving behind it vast crimson streaks across the cold sky, almost warming him deeper inside. Taking this last sunset with him to his death, he kicked his heels back and began his journey to his ultimate destiny, the depths of the dread Citadel to face whatever horrors would await him, to slaughter his way to the Lich, the man who had nurtured the plague which he still blamed for her death.
There was nothing left for him here now, that same feeling he had had back in Northdale, again filling his soul. Soon he would face him, on which side of the blade defeat would rest was up to time itself. He breathed in a lungful of the cold air, burning his chest uttering a single goodbye to her, praying she wouldn’t wake to try and stop him.
Back to top Go down
View user profile
Derithor

avatar

Number of posts : 107
Age : 31
Registration date : 2007-01-29

PostSubject: Re: The Saga of the Orchammer and the Legacy of a Man   Tue Mar 20, 2007 8:57 pm

The sky rumbled under the weight of the dark clouds, straining to withhold their payload of rain any longer. Derithor imagined the trees swaying frantically in the wind as the storm carried on its build up under the violent caress of the wind, but this landscape had long been devoid of life. Another great crack of lightning sundered the sky followed by the quick tumult of the thunder rolling down the hillside towards the alliance line. The rain began hammering his armour, as if the thunder had finally hit the straining clouds and they had lost their grasp on their contents, the sound humming across the alliance lines as the lightning carried on, coming harder and faster than the last.

Behind him were spread out no more than two hundred men, this was the last charge. he could feel it deep inside of him. He bunched his shoulders together, letting the heavy black plates rattle together as they settled again. His plaits were soaked through now and the rain was simply running off them rather than soaking into them. Yet he looked to the sky with a small smile at the corner of his mouth and allowed the rain to wash the filth and the blood from his face. If this was to be the last fight, he wanted to greet the ancestors with a clean face and his battle scars. The charge was vast, a massive expanse of open land with little or no cover, and uphill towards the enemy aswell. He grunted and wiped several stray hairs from his face, turning to speak to those lined up behind him, he was no commander here this day, but his name was synonimous with blood shed.

"We have been set our task by the gods, we have no choice but to fulfil their wish." , His voice rumbled out over the humming of the rain on the armour and boomed louder than the thunder as his words washed over those lined up behind him. "We have seen glorious days of sunshine and remarkable days of victory. We have faced the Orcs with no fear of dying and no thought of surrender!" His brow lowered into a slight glare, all the men aligned behind him looked on knowingly as he raised his voice into a bellow of inspiration and rage "So why should today be any different, lets extend these bastards the same courtesy!" He nodded and turned again to look up the hill, his gaze was lowered on the entire of the Orc line. Then with a sure step, he again hurled his weight forward and bellowed his battle cry, "If need be, then we'll die free!!"

_________________
I have a shocking belief in the ruling class
Especially since i rule.
Back to top Go down
View user profile
Sponsored content




PostSubject: Re: The Saga of the Orchammer and the Legacy of a Man   

Back to top Go down
 
The Saga of the Orchammer and the Legacy of a Man
Back to top 
Page 1 of 1
 Similar topics
-
» Star Wars Legacy Collection
» CEGT - rating lists February 17th 2013
» KILLER SAGA 2013.1.ctg
» Legacy
» maslah belting berbunyi

Permissions in this forum:You cannot reply to topics in this forum
the Vagabonds of the Defias Brotherhood :: The game :: Roleplay-
Jump to: