Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)
Ein85
Star
- Joined
- Oct 29, 2020
“Burn Like Fire”
Druantia wiped the blood from her mouth.
From astride her warhorse, she surveyed the scene below her. The wind stung her cheeks. She tasted the acrid scent of blood mixed with the thick musky smell of sodden earth. It had rained the previous night, turning the barren lands into a vast damp bottomless mire.
For three sleepless days the battle had raged for this kingdom, her kingdom.
The grimelkilns below knew no honor, took no time to regroup or bury their dead. They attacked in wave after relentless wave. Kingdom after kingdom had been overwhelmed by the pitiless onslaught. The darkdwellers were confident that the Hiise' Mori Waiwach, The Nightwinds, would succumb as the others had, worn down and ultimately defeated.
They underestimated the young queen, mistaking her youth and inexperience for weakness. The past three days had revealed their folly.
The brutal slashing violence of her attacks left grimelkiln dead in bloody heaps. They did not understand her. They saw her plunging through their ranks at the head of her army, her shouted orders rising above the din of battle. The deadly hooves of her snow-white charger, Laoch, flashed and stamped and the legendary sword she carried maimed and killed wherever it struck.
"My Queen, we are nearly surrounded. We have one route of escape left to us, a retreat to the Burning Woods," spoke Killayn from beside her.
Though Killayn was her most loyal captain and wise in the ways of battle, her lip curled in a sneer at the word “retreat”.
She gave no reply however, but urged her mount forward. Fresh troops were joining her battered army. The battle weary soldiers looked to her with loyalty. The new ones looked with unease. They would soon understand.
"Men, those who wish to retreat may do so, but then keep retreating, until you are gone from this country. For you have no right to call it your home. My promise to you all is this, we may not see the end of this battle together, but we will all leave this field victorious! What stories will be told about those glorious dead! Of those who died so that this country may no longer be divided amongst squabbling men who care nothing for it's people! Of how those with blackened hearts who freely encroach on this land were obliterated down to the last male, female, and spawn! Of how this army stood against all those who wished to destroy us! The enemy horde awaits. Arise, follow me, and in the crimson light of this dying day let us fight! Let us prevail! Or let us die!"
Druantia's army gave a mighty roar. The ground trembled underneath their marching feet and the thunder of their horses' hooves.
The enemy who had been feasting on the dead and the nearly dead rose to meet them. They shrieked head splitting cries of terror and rage. They looked with obsidian eyes glowing with hatred at the woman leading the charge.
Her gleaming armor breastplate shone in the sun's glare. She drew the enchanted sword, Cimmorhyl and brandished it on high. Her violet eyes flashed to a blackened hue from lust for the gore and violence to come. She howled as banshees do. As she did, thousands of blood enraged men responded, pouring down the hills.
The grimelkilns rushed to meet them head on. Their stygian claws cast no light. Some fashioned daggers onto their claws. Some laced them with poison from the dark mountains of their lands. Others still had crude swords and daggers. They exposed razor sharp teeth, dripping infectious saliva. There was no cure for these bites, and many died screaming in agony.
The armies did not slow as they rushed headlong to the clash. Druantia impaled a snarling grimelkiln on her sword. The first blood was drawn. She held Cimmorhyl high above her head. The impaled creature slid down it. She brandished the blood stained saber high in the air for her men to see. A symbol of their assured victory. The last battle for her kingdom had begun.
Druantia wiped the blood from her mouth.
From astride her warhorse, she surveyed the scene below her. The wind stung her cheeks. She tasted the acrid scent of blood mixed with the thick musky smell of sodden earth. It had rained the previous night, turning the barren lands into a vast damp bottomless mire.
For three sleepless days the battle had raged for this kingdom, her kingdom.
The grimelkilns below knew no honor, took no time to regroup or bury their dead. They attacked in wave after relentless wave. Kingdom after kingdom had been overwhelmed by the pitiless onslaught. The darkdwellers were confident that the Hiise' Mori Waiwach, The Nightwinds, would succumb as the others had, worn down and ultimately defeated.
They underestimated the young queen, mistaking her youth and inexperience for weakness. The past three days had revealed their folly.
The brutal slashing violence of her attacks left grimelkiln dead in bloody heaps. They did not understand her. They saw her plunging through their ranks at the head of her army, her shouted orders rising above the din of battle. The deadly hooves of her snow-white charger, Laoch, flashed and stamped and the legendary sword she carried maimed and killed wherever it struck.
"My Queen, we are nearly surrounded. We have one route of escape left to us, a retreat to the Burning Woods," spoke Killayn from beside her.
Though Killayn was her most loyal captain and wise in the ways of battle, her lip curled in a sneer at the word “retreat”.
She gave no reply however, but urged her mount forward. Fresh troops were joining her battered army. The battle weary soldiers looked to her with loyalty. The new ones looked with unease. They would soon understand.
"Men, those who wish to retreat may do so, but then keep retreating, until you are gone from this country. For you have no right to call it your home. My promise to you all is this, we may not see the end of this battle together, but we will all leave this field victorious! What stories will be told about those glorious dead! Of those who died so that this country may no longer be divided amongst squabbling men who care nothing for it's people! Of how those with blackened hearts who freely encroach on this land were obliterated down to the last male, female, and spawn! Of how this army stood against all those who wished to destroy us! The enemy horde awaits. Arise, follow me, and in the crimson light of this dying day let us fight! Let us prevail! Or let us die!"
Druantia's army gave a mighty roar. The ground trembled underneath their marching feet and the thunder of their horses' hooves.
The enemy who had been feasting on the dead and the nearly dead rose to meet them. They shrieked head splitting cries of terror and rage. They looked with obsidian eyes glowing with hatred at the woman leading the charge.
Her gleaming armor breastplate shone in the sun's glare. She drew the enchanted sword, Cimmorhyl and brandished it on high. Her violet eyes flashed to a blackened hue from lust for the gore and violence to come. She howled as banshees do. As she did, thousands of blood enraged men responded, pouring down the hills.
The grimelkilns rushed to meet them head on. Their stygian claws cast no light. Some fashioned daggers onto their claws. Some laced them with poison from the dark mountains of their lands. Others still had crude swords and daggers. They exposed razor sharp teeth, dripping infectious saliva. There was no cure for these bites, and many died screaming in agony.
The armies did not slow as they rushed headlong to the clash. Druantia impaled a snarling grimelkiln on her sword. The first blood was drawn. She held Cimmorhyl high above her head. The impaled creature slid down it. She brandished the blood stained saber high in the air for her men to see. A symbol of their assured victory. The last battle for her kingdom had begun.