"Use this sword. It won't keep you safe, for that is not in the nature of a blade. It can only ever do one thing, and one thing only. Please, forgive me."
- Valerius to his son, Praesus on the eve of the Second Bloodmaim War
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Tears stung my eyes. I looked around the battlefield, and I only saw death. My breath came out in measured gasps, and the air stung my throat raw as I looked upon the carnage. A field of red shields and helms, faced against monsters that looked as though they crawled their way from my nightmares.
"Loose Sagittarii! Loose!"
Massive, bloody beasts with teeth cracked and jagged. Their skins, painted with the blood of my Legion. Their weapons, stained with the most intimate parts of the people that I knew and had served with. The horrible, bone shattering screech as they charged our lines with their axes ready to rend flesh and bone. And their eyes, burning with hatred beyond anything I could comprehend.
"Come on! Forward to their flank, I need Scholii to focus their fire on our column sides!"
I watched. And as I watched, time slowed for the briefest of moments and I was only left with the fear. That fear you get when you know you are hopelessly, inevitably going to die in the next few moments. The fear is almost comforting, the way it coils around your heart and squeezes the life from it. You give in, helplessly, because you know that fighting against it would be like fighting against an approaching tidal wave or the crushing weight of the water as you tried in vain to reach the surface.
"Clinicus! I need a gods damned clinicus!"
It was there, and it made me feel as though I were a child again and I was watching my brother fall from the tree in our orchard. The autumn light had been glimmering through the branches, and the air had been cool on my face, with only the slowly falling shadow of my brother moving. And then there was the sickening thud as he hit the ground that made me almost gag in sympathy pain. So long ago.
"Second Legion, retreat! Fall back, I repeat, fall back!"
Time sped back up, and the young Legionnaire blinked as the orc axe came at him. The beast snarled, its hooked talons grasping the massive weapon as it charged forward. The earth rattled as the Tirones threw his shield up, slowing the axe just enough as it tore through the metal guard.
The young Tirones rolled to the side and slashed down with his blade, slicing through the orc's tendon. Ink-black blood gushed from the wound as the orc roared more in anger than actual pain. It's spiked gauntlet backhanded the soldier with unnatural strength, tearing his face open.
(Ohmygods it fucking BURNS)
Screaming in terror and pain, the soldier thrust his blade upwards into the orcs underbelly, slicing through the abdomen. For a brief moment, he saw the intestines slither out of the orc's stomach and a look of disbelief.
(Do orcs even have facial expressions? Their monsters. They're all monsters).
Gods, then what am I?
- Valerius to his son, Praesus on the eve of the Second Bloodmaim War
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Tears stung my eyes. I looked around the battlefield, and I only saw death. My breath came out in measured gasps, and the air stung my throat raw as I looked upon the carnage. A field of red shields and helms, faced against monsters that looked as though they crawled their way from my nightmares.
"Loose Sagittarii! Loose!"
Massive, bloody beasts with teeth cracked and jagged. Their skins, painted with the blood of my Legion. Their weapons, stained with the most intimate parts of the people that I knew and had served with. The horrible, bone shattering screech as they charged our lines with their axes ready to rend flesh and bone. And their eyes, burning with hatred beyond anything I could comprehend.
"Come on! Forward to their flank, I need Scholii to focus their fire on our column sides!"
I watched. And as I watched, time slowed for the briefest of moments and I was only left with the fear. That fear you get when you know you are hopelessly, inevitably going to die in the next few moments. The fear is almost comforting, the way it coils around your heart and squeezes the life from it. You give in, helplessly, because you know that fighting against it would be like fighting against an approaching tidal wave or the crushing weight of the water as you tried in vain to reach the surface.
"Clinicus! I need a gods damned clinicus!"
It was there, and it made me feel as though I were a child again and I was watching my brother fall from the tree in our orchard. The autumn light had been glimmering through the branches, and the air had been cool on my face, with only the slowly falling shadow of my brother moving. And then there was the sickening thud as he hit the ground that made me almost gag in sympathy pain. So long ago.
"Second Legion, retreat! Fall back, I repeat, fall back!"
Time sped back up, and the young Legionnaire blinked as the orc axe came at him. The beast snarled, its hooked talons grasping the massive weapon as it charged forward. The earth rattled as the Tirones threw his shield up, slowing the axe just enough as it tore through the metal guard.
The young Tirones rolled to the side and slashed down with his blade, slicing through the orc's tendon. Ink-black blood gushed from the wound as the orc roared more in anger than actual pain. It's spiked gauntlet backhanded the soldier with unnatural strength, tearing his face open.
(Ohmygods it fucking BURNS)
Screaming in terror and pain, the soldier thrust his blade upwards into the orcs underbelly, slicing through the abdomen. For a brief moment, he saw the intestines slither out of the orc's stomach and a look of disbelief.
(Do orcs even have facial expressions? Their monsters. They're all monsters).
Gods, then what am I?
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