Blood and fire, bone and sinew, with cries and fel abound

Many have fallen, many have burned, many dream

Of demons, demons in the air and whistling sound

Of horror and blade and shield, in the air to scream


Bootyclap took the moment to wipe her brow and readjust her helm, and then lept bodily into the fray once more. The thoughts tumbled about her brain, twisting with fear and fury and adrenalin, poetry that scampered along bloody lines in the midst of battle. Duck, weave, scream again and launch, launch off the shoulders of a man already falling to impale his attacker with an overhanded strike. She couldn’t place where the energy came from, but she needed to keep going. 

Broken trees, broken branches, stench of pine gone wrong

Snow muck and battered bodies, cracked piles of stone

The smell of burning and ash and brimstone, a hellfire song

Twisted to a melody most fel, as the earth shall groan


Gods’ breath and Maker’s blood, this was a bad, bad mess. Worse then Gnomeregan, as her father had told it. Worse then anything in her young life. Cries of pain and burning embers were flicked off of deeper thought, as she spun into the middle of a group of demons parading over cowering villagers. Keep a razor edge to that blade girl, she thought, barely, as the battle song in her began to rise. It was just…fury now, fury and rage funnelling outwards, a ball of steel and shield cutting down whatever she could get her hands on.

These bastards. These bastards

What do I fight for, for gods or men or gold

Or values of an ancient realm, or for my very soul

I seek the Light, through murk and rain

Through bloody battle and through pain

And the burning fire remains,

A deep and heavy toll.


This was…it, as the poetry sang in her blood and soul. The glory of battle. For the Light, some little part of her still thought. To protect those who could not do so themselves. She could not walk the halls of the Cathedral, she carried the anger within her too closely, and the rejection of the tall ones… but she had this. She had a blade, and a shield, and nothing, not demon or any other foe, would tell her otherwise. 

But…

A stray blow, one she could not see, could not dodge. She was light, quick, deadly, but they only needed to be lucky once. SHe tumbled, that ball of steel and sharpness, colliding with a tree and shuddering to a pile at it’s roots. Through muck and snow and the dripping of fel blood staining her, she saw thick black hooves approaching, and horns, and the echoing sound of a reaver in her ear…

And so we fight…

Author Wallaroo
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