knightforce
March 20th, 2013, 12:56 AM
He turned a corner and there they were, a little army of cavernous mouths and wide, leering eyes. Hungry eyes. They were stout, short creatures but each had the strength of many men within them and black hearts full of a will to wickedness.
"Just in time for dinner, half-orc! But our wicked king, Arnaud Chevailler, has requested we save your head just for him!"
At the hearing of my arch-enemy's foul name a crimson mist rolled in front my eyes, banishing from my mind whatever remnants of mercy and kindness my hard half-orc barbarian's life had not yet stamped out. A seething, raging hatred filled me up so that I had no recourse but to dart amongst the troll hoard, swinging my mighty battle axe fast and free to let whatever blood it could!
A brutal storm of cuts, thrusts and hacks left arms hewn from shoulders and bodies separated form heads until the trolls themselves were outnumbered by that gruesome mound my hacking and slashing had built of their misshapen and now dismembered body parts.
Though I was but one, single half-orc with naught but my horned helm, battle axe and fur loincloth to aid me, the coward trolls retreated from as were I a wild fire sweeping through a forest and they the pitiful forest creatures, helpless and doomed in my path, yet unable to get out from it. How easily did my one push back their many!
Even as they retreated, it was for naught. For then did she appear, silhouetted a top the rolling hillside, the moon glinting off the links and scales of her scanty chain-mail bikini, her thick black hair swaying in the breeze like a black battle flag, her long sword resting easily on her broad, beautiful shoulders.
"My lady, will you not smote these coward trolls, servants of the wicked, hated Arnaud Chevailler?"
"Nay milord, for I do so love his accent. I hath become his wicked mistress that I might hear from him all the days of my life!"
Suddenly, my very enemy appeared before me.
"I told yew, yew are beneeet me! You are nutin t'me!"
My rage surged as I leapt over the entire troll army, landing in front of the wicked Arnaud to do him battle in fair combat!
"Pah! I spit on yew!"
With the speed of a striking serpent the villain spit one gob after another upon me until I was utterly engulfed in an inescapable cocoon of spit.
"Enough spitting! There is a lady present, wicked though she be! Have you no decency?"
And yet, she merely cackled her approval, as her new lord spat upon me again and again and again and...
"Noooooo...! No more...spit..."
KnightMask awoke with a start, sitting straight up his bed, scattering the Conan the Barbarian comics he'd read himself to sleep with.
"Just in time for dinner, half-orc! But our wicked king, Arnaud Chevailler, has requested we save your head just for him!"
At the hearing of my arch-enemy's foul name a crimson mist rolled in front my eyes, banishing from my mind whatever remnants of mercy and kindness my hard half-orc barbarian's life had not yet stamped out. A seething, raging hatred filled me up so that I had no recourse but to dart amongst the troll hoard, swinging my mighty battle axe fast and free to let whatever blood it could!
A brutal storm of cuts, thrusts and hacks left arms hewn from shoulders and bodies separated form heads until the trolls themselves were outnumbered by that gruesome mound my hacking and slashing had built of their misshapen and now dismembered body parts.
Though I was but one, single half-orc with naught but my horned helm, battle axe and fur loincloth to aid me, the coward trolls retreated from as were I a wild fire sweeping through a forest and they the pitiful forest creatures, helpless and doomed in my path, yet unable to get out from it. How easily did my one push back their many!
Even as they retreated, it was for naught. For then did she appear, silhouetted a top the rolling hillside, the moon glinting off the links and scales of her scanty chain-mail bikini, her thick black hair swaying in the breeze like a black battle flag, her long sword resting easily on her broad, beautiful shoulders.
"My lady, will you not smote these coward trolls, servants of the wicked, hated Arnaud Chevailler?"
"Nay milord, for I do so love his accent. I hath become his wicked mistress that I might hear from him all the days of my life!"
Suddenly, my very enemy appeared before me.
"I told yew, yew are beneeet me! You are nutin t'me!"
My rage surged as I leapt over the entire troll army, landing in front of the wicked Arnaud to do him battle in fair combat!
"Pah! I spit on yew!"
With the speed of a striking serpent the villain spit one gob after another upon me until I was utterly engulfed in an inescapable cocoon of spit.
"Enough spitting! There is a lady present, wicked though she be! Have you no decency?"
And yet, she merely cackled her approval, as her new lord spat upon me again and again and again and...
"Noooooo...! No more...spit..."
KnightMask awoke with a start, sitting straight up his bed, scattering the Conan the Barbarian comics he'd read himself to sleep with.