Chapter One
Conflict
It had finally come to this. Slowly, the two forms circled each other, breathing heavily; readying themselves for what was now inevitable. They were both warriors, fighters, representatives of their people, and now it was time for them to fight to the finish. The larger one smiled as the rain began to fall, lightning streaking through the sky, thunder cracking through the relative quiet. He pulled himself up to full height, at least 7 feet of pure muscle and rage. He wore little more then a loincloth, now soaked with the blood of his fallen enemies. His body proudly displayed the scars of thousands of bouts, and the huge gleaming axe in his right hand promised more of the same. Savage war paint adorned his face, which was now an image of pure fury, ready to witness the violence his body was primed to commit.
His opponent was a smaller man, but no less dangerous, either in skill or in appearance. However, instead of muscle bulk, this second man was tight and lithe, his body moving with an almost snake-like fluidity, ready to strike and snap at a moments notice. The twin daggers he held in each hand gleamed in the moonlight; horrible barbed things that promised to rip and tear down to the bone. He wore a simple tunic and trousers; they too also covered with the blood of previous foes. His long hair and beard blew gently in the wind, while his face gave no indication of any emotion whatsoever. This man was dangerous. He was ready to kill.
A moment of pause, respect amongst those about to engage in the intimate act of killing each other and they began. They had met two times previous, worth battles both. Each of them had won the day on separate occasions. However, this was to be their final encounter, and that they both knew. For a while they lingered a fair distance away from each other, taunting and feinting, attempting to get a read of the others movements, remembering their previous battles, what worked, what to avoid. The smaller man made the first move, rushing in under the guard of his adversary. His opponent was quick however, and repelled him with a swift kick before his daggers could do their work. It was then the larger man’s turn to rush in, his axe sweeping downwards in a mighty blow. This too was avoided, narrowly, by a quick jump out of the way.
Suddenly the smaller man was close again, and with impossible speed his daggers plunged into his opponents body, over and over again, blood hemorrhaging under great pressure. A swift kick brought the larger man to the ground. With a scream, he bounded back to his feet, and let loose a mighty roar. Without warning, the smaller man found himself held between two massive hands, and then suddenly assailed by a hail of head butts, smashing the berserker’s massive fore-head into his own, drawing more blood and sickening sounds of bone hitting bone. Finally, the behemoth raised his enemy over his head, and threw him to the ground, his neck making a sickening thud as it smashed into the ground.
It had finally come to this. Slowly, the two forms circled each other, breathing heavily; readying themselves for what was now inevitable. They were both warriors, fighters, representatives of their people, and now it was time for them to fight to the finish. The larger one smiled as the rain began to fall, lightning streaking through the sky, thunder cracking through the relative quiet. He pulled himself up to full height, at least 7 feet of pure muscle and rage. He wore little more then a loincloth, now soaked with the blood of his fallen enemies. His body proudly displayed the scars of thousands of bouts, and the huge gleaming axe in his right hand promised more of the same. Savage war paint adorned his face, which was now an image of pure fury, ready to witness the violence his body was primed to commit.
His opponent was a smaller man, but no less dangerous, either in skill or in appearance. However, instead of muscle bulk, this second man was tight and lithe, his body moving with an almost snake-like fluidity, ready to strike and snap at a moments notice. The twin daggers he held in each hand gleamed in the moonlight; horrible barbed things that promised to rip and tear down to the bone. He wore a simple tunic and trousers; they too also covered with the blood of previous foes. His long hair and beard blew gently in the wind, while his face gave no indication of any emotion whatsoever. This man was dangerous. He was ready to kill.
A moment of pause, respect amongst those about to engage in the intimate act of killing each other and they began. They had met two times previous, worth battles both. Each of them had won the day on separate occasions. However, this was to be their final encounter, and that they both knew. For a while they lingered a fair distance away from each other, taunting and feinting, attempting to get a read of the others movements, remembering their previous battles, what worked, what to avoid. The smaller man made the first move, rushing in under the guard of his adversary. His opponent was quick however, and repelled him with a swift kick before his daggers could do their work. It was then the larger man’s turn to rush in, his axe sweeping downwards in a mighty blow. This too was avoided, narrowly, by a quick jump out of the way.
Suddenly the smaller man was close again, and with impossible speed his daggers plunged into his opponents body, over and over again, blood hemorrhaging under great pressure. A swift kick brought the larger man to the ground. With a scream, he bounded back to his feet, and let loose a mighty roar. Without warning, the smaller man found himself held between two massive hands, and then suddenly assailed by a hail of head butts, smashing the berserker’s massive fore-head into his own, drawing more blood and sickening sounds of bone hitting bone. Finally, the behemoth raised his enemy over his head, and threw him to the ground, his neck making a sickening thud as it smashed into the ground.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home