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(( I just killed the Grimaxe Chieftain with Skaald Silvermane. Mid-battle, my spell buffs ended, and I was literally reduced to 3 hit points before I was able to finally put him down. There was a thunderstorm, and it was just kinda epic, so I felt I needed to write about it. xD ))
Chaos. A fire within. That is what stirred in the heart of the Northerner that day. Protected by an intricate web of magic, the Giant of a man had carved his way through the Orcs as a great tiller carving it's way through the grass. A path of death and destruction was left in his wake. The cries and the fires of war raged around him.
The very sky itself shook the earth with Thunder and Lightning almost as though to reflect the fury of Skaald Silvermane. A mighty roar was bellowed as the Norseman brought his mighty shocking Greatsword, Thunderstrike, down upon an Orc Shaman's head. Heads had rolled. Limbs were severed. Rivers of blood flowed upon the grass, washed away by the torrential rain.
That is when he saw him. The Giant Orc. The only one among all of them taller than the Jotunbrud that was Skaald. A rage filled his face, great anger at the man who had slain an entire legion of his tribesmen. A bloodcurdling scream echoed in the air and the Orc Chieftain succumbed to a rage that was as vicious as the storm overhead. The Orc raised his Greataxe, and he charged the Northerner as swiftly as the wind.
The Northerner responded in kind, entering a Blood Frenzy. As the rain collided with Thunderstrike, it ionized the air around him, electricity sparking around his very form as his blade began to swerve in a vicious dance of death and mayhem.
Sword and Axe struck one another, a cascade of light and magical castoff as the magical energies of their weapons collided. Sparks and lights danced around them as a swarm of Fireflies, their sparks the only illumination in the darkness of the valley, save for the lightning strikes among the clouds.
The Orc clearly had the advantage in this pure illumination, his bestial eyes and senses giving him the acuity of a Panther within the darkness. And like a panther, he slashed with his mighty ax, blinded by his blood-lust. The Orc brought down his weapon and sliced into the shoulder of the Northerner. A devastating blow. The Giant's knees buckled under the force of the strike, and he howled in agony.
But he would not admit defeat. Bringing Thunderstrike in an upwards motion, the Barbarian sliced the Orc across the face, putting out one of his eyes. He bared his teeth, as a rabid wolf, before shouting at the Monster
"HA! Now you are as deformed as your Heathen God!! He shall be pleased WHEN I SEND YOU TO MEET HIM!!"
But as the Berserker came forth to deliver the final blow, he felt the energies that had surrounded him, protecting him, began to give way. The Magicks that Lady Starweaver had woven around like a spider's web had begun to dissolve, the Arcane Energies binding them together beginning to unravel before his eyes.
As the arcane energies dispersed around him, almost as though Gruumsh himself had spat upon the Northerner for his insult, the look upon his face turned from Fury into something much worse. It turned into fear.
The once-proud Juggernaut was now truly afraid. The spells that surrounded him had enabled what would have been devastating blows to merely glance off of his magically-thickened skin. His muscles, now no longer magically enhanced, began to show their fatigue, his legs beginning to buckle under the weight of his armor and his sword, which until now he had so effortlessly wielded.
In that moment of weakness, the Orc saw the opportune moment to strike. He brought forth the blunt side of his axe to the Goliath's temple, sending him reeling, nearly off of his feet. Then another blow to the man's stomach, knocking the wind from his lungs. Skaald fell to his knees, expecting the rampaging orc to deliver the final blow and end the warrior's life.
As the Orc brought down his axe for the coup de grace, almost out of instinct the Barbarian raised his blade. Metal collided upon metal, and the killing blow was deflected...for now at least. Mustering all of the remaining strength that was within him the mighty Berserker brought up his sword again in one last, defiant strike. And that strike echoed throughout the valley more fiercely than the Thunder itself.
His blade caught the Orc upon the neck, and sliced through skin and bone. The strike was devastating, tearing through the Orcs carotid, then his jugular, his esophagus, and then finally rending his head from his shoulders in one clean, eerily destructive cut.
With that final blow, the Berserker feel to his knees, exhausted. He panted, his eyes widened with fear, but also exaltation at the joy of still being alive. Slowly, leaning upon Thunderstrike for support, the Jotunbrud finally found his way to his feet, still reeling from the blow to the temple. He walked over, proud in his achievment, and grasped the Orc's head, lifting it above his own in victory. The rain poured upon his face, washing away the blood and the gore as he shouted a mighty roar in hopes that Tempus himself would hear and smile upon his victory.
With the last of his strength Skaald proudly reached up, plucking the Grimaxe banner from it's post. In pride he tramped through the Viridale Woods, and took the banner, proudly raised high, back to the Mirakus Post. As he approched the Hold he forcefully staked the Banner into the ground....with the Orc Chieftain's Head mounted atop as a grisly, yet satisfying trophy.
Those in the post marveled at the Heroic, yet Barbaric display. Mutters of "Barbarian" echoed amongst cries of "Hero." Calls of "Orc Slayer" mingled upon signs of "Savage."
But one thing was clear: Skaald Silvermane had earned respect and honor this day. And Tempus, Tempus was proud.
Chaos. A fire within. That is what stirred in the heart of the Northerner that day. Protected by an intricate web of magic, the Giant of a man had carved his way through the Orcs as a great tiller carving it's way through the grass. A path of death and destruction was left in his wake. The cries and the fires of war raged around him.
The very sky itself shook the earth with Thunder and Lightning almost as though to reflect the fury of Skaald Silvermane. A mighty roar was bellowed as the Norseman brought his mighty shocking Greatsword, Thunderstrike, down upon an Orc Shaman's head. Heads had rolled. Limbs were severed. Rivers of blood flowed upon the grass, washed away by the torrential rain.
That is when he saw him. The Giant Orc. The only one among all of them taller than the Jotunbrud that was Skaald. A rage filled his face, great anger at the man who had slain an entire legion of his tribesmen. A bloodcurdling scream echoed in the air and the Orc Chieftain succumbed to a rage that was as vicious as the storm overhead. The Orc raised his Greataxe, and he charged the Northerner as swiftly as the wind.
The Northerner responded in kind, entering a Blood Frenzy. As the rain collided with Thunderstrike, it ionized the air around him, electricity sparking around his very form as his blade began to swerve in a vicious dance of death and mayhem.
Sword and Axe struck one another, a cascade of light and magical castoff as the magical energies of their weapons collided. Sparks and lights danced around them as a swarm of Fireflies, their sparks the only illumination in the darkness of the valley, save for the lightning strikes among the clouds.
The Orc clearly had the advantage in this pure illumination, his bestial eyes and senses giving him the acuity of a Panther within the darkness. And like a panther, he slashed with his mighty ax, blinded by his blood-lust. The Orc brought down his weapon and sliced into the shoulder of the Northerner. A devastating blow. The Giant's knees buckled under the force of the strike, and he howled in agony.
But he would not admit defeat. Bringing Thunderstrike in an upwards motion, the Barbarian sliced the Orc across the face, putting out one of his eyes. He bared his teeth, as a rabid wolf, before shouting at the Monster
"HA! Now you are as deformed as your Heathen God!! He shall be pleased WHEN I SEND YOU TO MEET HIM!!"
But as the Berserker came forth to deliver the final blow, he felt the energies that had surrounded him, protecting him, began to give way. The Magicks that Lady Starweaver had woven around like a spider's web had begun to dissolve, the Arcane Energies binding them together beginning to unravel before his eyes.
As the arcane energies dispersed around him, almost as though Gruumsh himself had spat upon the Northerner for his insult, the look upon his face turned from Fury into something much worse. It turned into fear.
The once-proud Juggernaut was now truly afraid. The spells that surrounded him had enabled what would have been devastating blows to merely glance off of his magically-thickened skin. His muscles, now no longer magically enhanced, began to show their fatigue, his legs beginning to buckle under the weight of his armor and his sword, which until now he had so effortlessly wielded.
In that moment of weakness, the Orc saw the opportune moment to strike. He brought forth the blunt side of his axe to the Goliath's temple, sending him reeling, nearly off of his feet. Then another blow to the man's stomach, knocking the wind from his lungs. Skaald fell to his knees, expecting the rampaging orc to deliver the final blow and end the warrior's life.
As the Orc brought down his axe for the coup de grace, almost out of instinct the Barbarian raised his blade. Metal collided upon metal, and the killing blow was deflected...for now at least. Mustering all of the remaining strength that was within him the mighty Berserker brought up his sword again in one last, defiant strike. And that strike echoed throughout the valley more fiercely than the Thunder itself.
His blade caught the Orc upon the neck, and sliced through skin and bone. The strike was devastating, tearing through the Orcs carotid, then his jugular, his esophagus, and then finally rending his head from his shoulders in one clean, eerily destructive cut.
With that final blow, the Berserker feel to his knees, exhausted. He panted, his eyes widened with fear, but also exaltation at the joy of still being alive. Slowly, leaning upon Thunderstrike for support, the Jotunbrud finally found his way to his feet, still reeling from the blow to the temple. He walked over, proud in his achievment, and grasped the Orc's head, lifting it above his own in victory. The rain poured upon his face, washing away the blood and the gore as he shouted a mighty roar in hopes that Tempus himself would hear and smile upon his victory.
With the last of his strength Skaald proudly reached up, plucking the Grimaxe banner from it's post. In pride he tramped through the Viridale Woods, and took the banner, proudly raised high, back to the Mirakus Post. As he approched the Hold he forcefully staked the Banner into the ground....with the Orc Chieftain's Head mounted atop as a grisly, yet satisfying trophy.
Those in the post marveled at the Heroic, yet Barbaric display. Mutters of "Barbarian" echoed amongst cries of "Hero." Calls of "Orc Slayer" mingled upon signs of "Savage."
But one thing was clear: Skaald Silvermane had earned respect and honor this day. And Tempus, Tempus was proud.