VOTE: Challenge/Duel: CescPistols vs Borissomeone
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Submission 1
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:
The fog flees before us, just as the enemy flees into the clammy mass. At my side my brother, hatred clutches at my chest, rage sinks its claws deep into my soul for what he did to Isabelle. The last of the enemy disappear over a rise, it seems the fog follows them a few lazy wet fingers linger as we pursue. Catching one man, limping from a leg wound, my brother slashes his back opening a gaping wound, flesh and bone exposed the man falls only to be trampled by the men following us.
Up and over the rise we go, the fog sits heavy in the valley before us, we approach slowly now caution making us ebb forward. We stop, the land holds it breath, shapes move from within the grayness, suddenly the land breaths again and the fog is ripped away reveling our doom. I know today I will more than likely die, but I will seek redemption for Isabelle’s soul before I leave middle earth. The first ranks are crushed under the pounding frenzy that is the Mumakil, men surge forward blades flashing, trying to hack at the flesh of the towering beasts, my brother is knocked up against me, something inside me breaks. This is for Isabelle; I scream at him my sword aimed at his head, the blow is blocked, she should never have had said no to me, my brother growls back, around us men die but we care not for hatred is a powerful force.
Again our blades meet, my shield takes a blow, his sword stops my next, back and forth we dance. Stepping forward I smash my shield into him, he stumbles back. I start forward, again ready to trade blows and release his blood. One moment he is there the next a massive foot crushes him, his blood coats my armour, painting me with his death. The rage leaves me as I turn and run, back over the rise the sounds of my fellow soldiers dying chasing me as I run.
Submission 2
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:Oh, bloody hell he cried, kneeling in the mud, bowels churning mercilessly. I presume that explains his pained expression. He didn't even like the colour red and yet here it was, taunting him, probing him for weakness. It certainly didn't help that it was so prevalent, All blood to meet for a reunion perhaps? After being trapped behind ribs and pipes? How cruel and unkind. The meet was at the battle, in more ways than one? One or many as swords slashed and elephants stomping in tantrums, wishing they were snorting some water, dirty of course, their masters weren't the kind to shower them with gifts. They had tattoo's, the soldier thought and Mummy had taught him not to like the mean tattooed men. At least she did as they enslaved him. For a laugh they had teleported him to a field of battle, chortling that the armour would weigh him down and make him 'part of the earth'.
Another word for becoming the mud itself, even more plain; Elephant - foot - stomp - splat.
Maybe that did explain the blood, the shower of their gifts, a burst goodbye, no balloons sadly, just the heads as they expanded under force. And why was his jaw so square and his features so angular? Forgive me or I shall break down walls. The wall being the foot of the mutated elephant. What is this, parallel universes. A giant tattooed elephant, with a house on it's back, stomping whelps into the soil. The soldier was sure he was mad, and he was of course, for he had the tree of madness and the face of madness and the look of stupidity as a mysterious shadow dwelt above him before minimising his size for the sake of the efficiency of the world.
Little girls would grow flowers from the nutrient's of his crushed soul, that made him happy and made him cry just like a little girl.
How apt.
Here's how we got here.... http://www.twcenter.net/forums/showthread.php?t=339855
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