The sun was setting over the campsite near Kajin, casting long shadows across the fields as the heavy hooves of trollocs thundered closer. The smell of death, mixed with the acrid stench of smoke and burning flesh, hung thick in the air as the dreadlord Nevaeh, surveyed her troops. Her crimson glowing eyes glinted with cold malice, and her heart reveled in the chaos she was about to unleash. Behind her, a dark sea of trollocs, her Fist, lined up—hulking, savage creatures, ready to crush the humans who dared to stand in her way. Kajin’s defenders, a scattered group of weary soldiers, awaited their fate on the other side of the battlefield. Among them stood Hieronymus, a seasoned Shienaran lancer, resolute as steel. His Heron-marked greatsword gleamed in the dying sunlight, a symbol of his pride and devotion to the defense of his people. Beside him were a dozen or so lancers, each ready to stand firm against the oncoming storm of fury that would descend upon them.
"We’ll hold this line," Hieronymus growled, his voice steady but filled with the grim understanding that few would survive the coming carnage. "Kajin must not fall today. For the Shienar, for the Light."
The trolls and beasts bellowed, a monstrous cacophony that chilled the spine, but Hieronymus remained unshaken. They would fight. He would fight. The battle began in a fury. Nevaeh's command of the Dark One's powers was absolute—her fist of trollocs surged forward, rushing toward the humans like an unstoppable wave of wrath. Hieronymus's lancers met them with sharp points and cold steel, their charge a gleam of hope in a world consumed by darkness.
With each swing of his greatsword, Hieronymus swung at the trollocs like a force of nature, his movements precise, calculated. His men fought valiantly, but the enemy numbers were overwhelming, and the trollocs pressed on like a relentless tide. The sounds of battle—clashing swords, the bellowing of monsters, and the cries of dying men—filled the air. Then, as the battle reached its fever pitch, Nevaeh, standing tall above the battlefield, began to chant in the dark tongue of the Forsaken. Her hands twisted in the air, drawing upon the power of the storm itself. With a crackle of energy, a searing ball of flame shot from her outstretched fingers, hurtling toward the humans. It exploded on impact, engulfing a group of lancers in a torrent of fire and smoke.
"Scatter Langois and Cassiel!" Hieronymus shouted, raising his sword high to rally his men. But his voice was drowned in the sound of another explosion.
As if the heavens themselves had been torn apart, a sudden storm rolled in. The winds whipped violently, rattling the banners and blowing dust across the battlefield. The sky darkened, an unnatural heaviness settling in the air. But this was no ordinary storm. The low winds, laden with the charge of a coming tempest, spun and swirled, pulling at the strands of fate. Nevaeh’s eyes narrowed with cruel delight as she felt the storm energy dance around her. She raised her hands once more, feeling the surge of power. The air crackled with tension. Without hesitation, she called down a bolt of lightning from the storm’s swirling center. The crack of thunder echoed across the campsite like the roar of the Dark One himself. Hieronymus, caught in its path, barely had time to register what was happening before the bolt of searing electricity arced from the sky and struck him directly. The surge of power split the air, and the ground trembled beneath the impact.
For a brief, horrific moment, Hieronymus was frozen in time—his body wracked with convulsions, his heart momentarily stopped by the ferocity of the storm’s strike. His eyes, wide with shock and disbelief, locked on Nevaeh’s cold, unblinking gaze. He barely had time to see the shimmer of victory in her eyes before his body collapsed to the ground, lifeless. The storm raged on, the low winds whipping across the battlefield like a funeral march. The loss of their leader shattered the Shienaran lancers’ resolve. Their ranks faltered. Without Hieronymus, they had no guiding force. Their courage faltered, replaced with fear, and they either fled or fell beneath the claws and blades of the trollocs.
Nevaeh, standing high upon the hill, watched the scene below with satisfaction. Her Fist of trollocs tore through the remains of Kajin’s defenders, cutting down the few who dared to fight on, and culling the rest in a merciless slaughter. The lancers had no chance. The storm had taken their last hope. By nightfall, Kajin was a burning ruin, its once-proud defenders dead or scattered to the wind. Nevaeh stood tall, a figure of dark power, as the smoke rose from the smoldering remains. Her victory was complete. But in the ashes of battle, one thing remained untouched—a single Heron-marked greatsword, half-buried in the earth where Hieronymus had fallen, a silent testament to the fallen hero who had led the charge… and to the darkness that had claimed him.
A Last Stand at Kajin and his cavalry ---&RPaward
Re: A Last Stand at Kajin and his cavalry
This was run through an AI detector and came back as 100% AI. We're not going to award for that.
Re: A Last Stand at Kajin and his cavalry ---&RPaward
Yikes. First it’s not even the correct characters in the situation, next it’s 100% AI.
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Hieronymus
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- Joined: Sun Apr 17, 2016 1:14 am