Post by Thrym on Jul 31, 2007 7:42:47 GMT -5
She screams again. He pushes himself deeper into the cold, dark corner, desperately keeping his eyes shut. He lifts his hands to his ears, pressing them on them, hoping to silence the sound. Another terrified scream. He crawls over the floor to cower behind another chest in the lightless cellar. There is nothing he can do. He presses himself against the chest, breathing heavily. He sinks down to the ground, covering his ears in panic.
His hand strokes over something as he sinks down. There is something next to him in the dark. His eyes flip open as he reaches out for it. A frail hand closes it’s grip around the wooden hilt. He knows what it is.
A scream.
He grabs the thing. Sister. Moaning from the pain, the young man lifts his feeble body up. Shakily his arm lifts the thing. His left moves forward to grasp it as well. She needs him. Him. Slowly he starts to walk forward. Thin legs hurt from each step. He pushes his sickly form forward. Towards the stair. His gaze drops to stare at the thing.
Grandfather’s Axe. Karn Velgarn, Battlelord of Tempus. He was strong.
But he is weak. Even with it, he can not help.
His gaze shoots towards the stairs out of the cellar. Screams. This is not the time to doubt.
He speeds up. His breath comes hard. Feeble hands can barely hold the weapon. He starts to run. Up the stairs.
Screams.
A final step brings him through the door. He turns to the screams. The little girl, cowering against the wall in panic, a savage being in front of her. The pig-faced thing turns around.
He does not hesitate. This is not the time for doubts.
Shakily his hands clutch around the hilt. The frail man lunges forward. His arms feel heavy from carrying the axe alone. He forces them up. He has to be strong, this one time. He screams with aching lungs. Calls out the Foehammer’s name. Praying for strength this one time.
And Foehammer is with the brave.
He feels warm. Strength floods into useless limbs. Easily the axe goes up. He brings it down hard, ramming it deep into the orc’s chest. No time to think about what happened. Quickly he pulls out the weapon and rushes towardsthe girl, picking her up from the ground. He puts her on his back. She holds on tight, her small body shaking with tears.
He rushes out the door. The axe whirls up, cutting down another orc. His gaze rushes around quickly. The village was lost. He had to save her at least. He starts to run, towards the icy plains. He runs.
The divine strength vanishes. He runs. His lung burns. He runs. The girl on his back burdens him. He runs. The axe is heavy. He runs. Feeble arms hurt, frail legs feel like they would break any moment.
He runs.
He has to save her at least.
He runs.
Untill he can not run anymore.
His hand strokes over something as he sinks down. There is something next to him in the dark. His eyes flip open as he reaches out for it. A frail hand closes it’s grip around the wooden hilt. He knows what it is.
A scream.
He grabs the thing. Sister. Moaning from the pain, the young man lifts his feeble body up. Shakily his arm lifts the thing. His left moves forward to grasp it as well. She needs him. Him. Slowly he starts to walk forward. Thin legs hurt from each step. He pushes his sickly form forward. Towards the stair. His gaze drops to stare at the thing.
Grandfather’s Axe. Karn Velgarn, Battlelord of Tempus. He was strong.
But he is weak. Even with it, he can not help.
His gaze shoots towards the stairs out of the cellar. Screams. This is not the time to doubt.
He speeds up. His breath comes hard. Feeble hands can barely hold the weapon. He starts to run. Up the stairs.
Screams.
A final step brings him through the door. He turns to the screams. The little girl, cowering against the wall in panic, a savage being in front of her. The pig-faced thing turns around.
He does not hesitate. This is not the time for doubts.
Shakily his hands clutch around the hilt. The frail man lunges forward. His arms feel heavy from carrying the axe alone. He forces them up. He has to be strong, this one time. He screams with aching lungs. Calls out the Foehammer’s name. Praying for strength this one time.
And Foehammer is with the brave.
He feels warm. Strength floods into useless limbs. Easily the axe goes up. He brings it down hard, ramming it deep into the orc’s chest. No time to think about what happened. Quickly he pulls out the weapon and rushes towardsthe girl, picking her up from the ground. He puts her on his back. She holds on tight, her small body shaking with tears.
He rushes out the door. The axe whirls up, cutting down another orc. His gaze rushes around quickly. The village was lost. He had to save her at least. He starts to run, towards the icy plains. He runs.
The divine strength vanishes. He runs. His lung burns. He runs. The girl on his back burdens him. He runs. The axe is heavy. He runs. Feeble arms hurt, frail legs feel like they would break any moment.
He runs.
He has to save her at least.
He runs.
Untill he can not run anymore.