This is not the blog post you’re looking for.

Wow. So many complications in life. Between Manifest’s decision ((and a parental change of heart)) to move, and my increased work load at school, things have been hectic. Haven’t had as much time to play WAR as I would have liked, but the big blog post I promised you is still coming…this just isn’t it. This one will be a pure fan fiction post. For our big, epic, awesome post…we and Manifest have to collaborate a little, so look forward to it soon. It’ll be worth it, promise.


Shayorin stared the Elf down, gripping his halberd tightly. “You dare call me weak?” He asked, his hand shaking from such an intense grip. The High Elf smirked, and walked around Shayorin, who turned to follow his movement. “Yes. Weak. You have lost your honor, your fellows look down on you, and you are worthless. You only have one friend in this world, and you live in a world full of lies, so even that may be false. You fight for your King, trying to claim Ulthuan because it is his supposed birthright, but I know how you work. You will work to Malekith’s ends until you find a way to strike him down, to gain everything that he made you work for. He orchestrates an entire war, this Age of Reckoning is his project. You, like the Greenskins, are a pawn. The mutants of Chaos, they are just a tool. Everything you fight for is a lie. You will see it eventually. Only the forces of Order fight for a true cause. A good cause. But even then, that good cause may be wrong. But eventually, you will see what I mean. I have seen as much…”


Shayorin’s dagger was buried so far into the Elf’s throat that it began to stab out the other side at the base of the neck. Anger flashed in his eyes, and then he heard it. Thousands of feet, charging up the hill at him. The High Elves were here. Down below, past the tides of High Elves, He could see two figures fighting through them, probably trying to get to the top of the hill. In wave they rushed at Shayorin. The first wave were obviously novices, for Shayorin swung his halberd once, and they collapsed in a circle around him. Blood stained the grass as more waves came, and eventually Shayorin began to kick the bodies down the hill. A sword flew past his right eye, and Shayorin drove his halberd into his attacker’s gut. Quickly ripping it out of body’s side, he swung it to the right, decapitating another Elf, then he swung it over his head and then dropped it down behind his back, blocking a sword slash, which was followed by the severing of hands.


The small group near the bottom had barely gained any distance, and the force of High Elves seemed to be getting bigger instead of lessening. Turning his gaze to the Dark Elf warcamp, he realized it was abandoned…They had moved on. Howling with rage, his anger renewed, he took a swing with his halberd, and from helm to groin, cleaved a High Elf in half. The blood sprayed outwards, splashing into his eyes, and he blinked from the slight burning. His clear, blue eyes were now dark red, and they were filled with an intent to kill. He drove his halberd into the ground in the center of the hill. Next, he ripped his sleeves off of his robes, the sleeves of mail as well, and tied them to the halberd like a flag. Next, he took off his mail skirt, leaving only the skirt of his robes, and removed his shoulder plates and breastplate. There he stood, only in his robes and boots. Drawing two swords from the scabards of their now dead high elf owners, he glared at the oncoming army and laughed.


Blood sprayed in every direction as he cackled with madness, slashing open stomachs and throats, swinging his blades in every direction. The corpses rolled down the hill, tripping up the High Elf ranks. When this would occur, Shayorin would catapult his blades down the hill into two of the struggling soldiers, only to pick up another two from the ground. The grass was no longer just stained…it grew from all the blood, and it grew red. The hilltop was completely dyed by the blood pouring from the bodies. Tearing the sleeves from his halberd, he launched himself down the hill into the middle of a large group, killing twenty in one fell swoop. Another halberd met his as he swung it once more, and he saw Talavar. They both smiled, and stood back to back, taking large swings, fighting off their attackers. Nearby, a young woman swung her two swords around is if she were dancing with the enemies, every kill seeming to light up her blue eyes. She was beautiful, but deadly. Across her right eye was a black tattoo, in the shape of a sword. She smiled at him, and continued to slaughter the oncoming High Elves. Her clothes, her tattoo, the way she wielded her blades, they showed her as a Disciple of Khaine, and yet, her eyes, so pure, betrayed her. She was not gifted like the others, but she still wielded what power she could wrest from Khaine’s grip as well, and better, than any others who called themselves a Disciple to the Lord of Murder. She quickly joined Talavar and Shayorin the middle of the high elf forces, and for hours they hacked and slashed, until it seemed to be raining blood. A horn call went out in the distance. Shayorin did not know if it was a call for reinforcements, or a call of retreat. He didn’t care either.


~ by krimmzon on January 19, 2009.

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