Like a titans fist the stench gripped Eldraths throat, leaving him gasping. It rips his mind out of the blissful void of communion. Revulsion and rage blossom. The fury at the severed tie cuts deep, meant to scar. Taken from the warm embrace of the gods he opens his eyes. What he sees summons memories of times past – lifetimes past. Empty eye sockets answer his baleful gaze and with every step a whisper of bones just short of breaking sounds. A groan, and another, bring the mindless closer. He reaches down and his fingertips brush armour made before the slumber. It never felt more alien, yet the hands move with sure direction to loose the strap holding Truth by his side.
The struggle is brief – no heathen corpses can stand before a Zealot awash in past blood and future glory. Truth still in hand he paces towards the centre of the clearing. Rain starts falling, cleaning away the gore and softly drumming on his helmet. He touches old stone, revelling in the connection his solitude has brought him. It speaks of age old knowledge and like a wind a precognition touches his mind. He turns swinging, but nothing meets Truths bite. A crackle like thunder assaults him and the invasive stench throttles his breath once again. He feels certainty slipping away and turns towards the only recourse known to him – embracing fate.
The struggle is neither brief, nor certain. Fighting a figure clad in shadows, wreathed in death is a test not yet put to him by the gods. Time ceases meaning on the brink of enlightenment and motions become blurred as the fight draws to a close. Gushes of putrid blood run down his chest. His breath bumbling with green saliva he staggers back. His grip on Truth is feebly, his magic drained and only at this point a faint smile cracks his burning lips. The gods will embrace him once again.
Compression and release. An imploding diamond bursts from the earth shining like the sun…
The struggle is brief – no heathen corpses can stand before a Zealot awash in past blood and future glory. Truth still in hand he paces towards the centre of the clearing. Rain starts falling, cleaning away the gore and softly drumming on his helmet. He touches old stone, revelling in the connection his solitude has brought him. It speaks of age old knowledge and like a wind a precognition touches his mind. He turns swinging, but nothing meets Truths bite. A crackle like thunder assaults him and the invasive stench throttles his breath once again. He feels certainty slipping away and turns towards the only recourse known to him – embracing fate.
The struggle is neither brief, nor certain. Fighting a figure clad in shadows, wreathed in death is a test not yet put to him by the gods. Time ceases meaning on the brink of enlightenment and motions become blurred as the fight draws to a close. Gushes of putrid blood run down his chest. His breath bumbling with green saliva he staggers back. His grip on Truth is feebly, his magic drained and only at this point a faint smile cracks his burning lips. The gods will embrace him once again.
Compression and release. An imploding diamond bursts from the earth shining like the sun…
