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#3629835 Dec 17, 2010 at 08:23 PM
6 Posts
Gonna post some old stories I've written in other games here upon suggestion ^^

Most are from AoC, based upon the CImmerian clans and my own character there. Most are quite short.

Also, linking to my story from a guild that has existed for over 10 years now. 101st Wolfpack. Started in Starlancer, (think of Wing Commander and your close). Played a number of games with them. all undefeated thus far :) The story itself is not so great in parts. but others i like. (beginning of chapter 2 is good) Bare in mind i was 15 when i wrote it and usually in a rushed break time at school :P

Hope some of you like them :)

http://101st.info/forums/wp3/viewtopic.php?f=25&t=1278 - link to Wolfpack Story.
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#3629839 Dec 17, 2010 at 08:24 PM
6 Posts
The warrior stood atop the mound, looking over the scarred and torn land that was the Fields; dotted with beacons of fire, funeral pyres, burning constantly through the area. Each one marked another Clan's burial mound. He watched his own Clan's pyre for a moment, the wild and swirling wind tearing at the flames, making them dance furiously at what was to come. For a brief moment he felt its heat, the fury and power of the flames, their light dancing in his eyes.

The sound of the enemy battle drums came draining slowly back to him. They were close. He gripped the mighty Aesir blade in one hand, readying himself, the immense weight of his sword reminding him of his duty, what his Clan must do here today. He turned to the Clan warriors on the other side of him, the wind swirling round him as he eyed along them, his fur cape rippling behind him.

The Cimmerians were silent, solemn, determined. He looked along them, studying each one in turn, the fury and power of the flames hadn't left his eyes. They met his gaze with the same fury and determination. He knew they were ready. He turned sideways on to them and looked back toward the sound of the drums, the Hyperboreans were visible now, in endless columns across the field. He quickly surveyed their numbers and calculated a number four times their own. Good, he thought, a worthy death then.
He looked back at his warriors and simply nodded. They ready their weapons and began to build the rage inside them, stirring all their fury, all their strength, all their anger. He watched and knew. He knew. Two words quietly passed his lips as he met their eyes, "For Danielon."
A few nodded, others breathed heavily and bared their teeth in acknowledgement, still finding all their fury. As he turned back towards the enemy, the wind picked up in anticipation, waiting. He raised the huge sword into the air, and gave a ferocious battle cry, stirring the very spirits within the Clan mound itself, his warriors echoing the words and a wave of Cimmerian pride. “Lanoche dir Cruiadh!”
As the words left his mouth he gripped his other hand to the leather bound hilt of the old, mighty blade, and charged with all the strength his legs could give. A wave of barbaric fury and steel followed him over the mound, a sight seen many times by other Clans. A sight that has struck fear into the hearts of many, and seen them pierced and crushed with steel and fist alike.
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#3629843 Dec 17, 2010 at 08:24 PM
6 Posts
The young lad swunq the sword furiously, hitting a vicious blow at the training dummie. He was coming of age now, his muscles grew properly with his exercise, his face grew short, light hair over his chin and lip. His maturity came quickly, he was younger than most who could grow beards. He would soon shave it, he thought, and these damn blonde locks, he pushed a long strand of hair off his face, feeling the heat over his neck and shoulders from his flowing blonde hair. He would cut it short, keep it out the way, like most of the warriors of his clan. It would perhaps silence the talk behind his back about his northern blood as well. His strength, size and brawling abilities had kept anything being said to his face for the last few years at least. Something else his Aesir blood had given him. So what if his blood was not pure Cimmerian? The Chief still entrusted his father as Warchief, and his father had led them to many victories. He would do the same, as had all the men in his family since his Great Grandfather Hrolmir had settled in the Clan Village. The boy thought over the stories his father had told him by the fire, of how the great Aesir had won the right to marry into the CLan by defeating the current Warchief in a brawl. Since then the men in his family had always been Warchief, keeping the position through use of their strength. He would take this honour as well.

He wiped sweat from his brow as he mused over these thoughts, looking down over the valley of beautiful forest land, the sound of flowing water ever present from the river splashing down the rocks just below the ledge where he stood.
"Lad!" He turned at the voice and saw his father standing a short distance from him. He stood with a stern solemn voice, paint in the clan colours, rugged and weathered. He held his huge sword in his hand, seemingly no different to any other sword. The boy had tried to lift it once, a few summers back, the thing weighed like a table, no other warrior could fight with such a heavy blade except his father and the Chieftan.

The weathered face nodded and took a tight grip over the leather on the hilt. The young lad nodded and took a tighter grip over his own sword, smaller and dull as it was. Any weapon can be a good weapon when used right. He remember these words from one of his more painful training sessions and charged at his father, sword raised high.

The tall man took the oncoming blow using the force of it to swing his sword back behind him and swing round the other side at the lad. The young man braced his sword in a block, the hit almost pushing him back with the immense weight of the huge sword, as it had done so many times, but he held and then swung low at his father's other side. The swing was cut short as the large warrior used the blade next to the hilt to block its energy. The lad hadnt expected the move but didnt faulter and turned once again to swing high at the shoulder. A hand grabbed hold of his wrist stopping the swing dead and a sharp winding pain came over his stomach as a knee became buried in his side. He lost his breath and dropped to his knee, letting the sword go and drop with a dull clang.

His father looked over him expressionless and nodded slightly. "Good. Ya next lesson lad. Fightin' ain't clean. 'Tis brutal an' unforgivin'." He offered a hand down to the young lad, who took it and stood up, still aching and trying to get his breath after the blow. The lad nodded silently.
His father looked at his a moment and then put out his sword, offering it to the lad. The lad looked at it a moment and then looked up at his father a while before eventually taking a grip on the sword, still looking at his father with a questioning gaze.

"'Tis yours now lad, train with it everday as ye have been doin'. Learn t' use its weight. It were ya great grandfather's blade, the Vanir fear it as well as his name. Even now. I gave ye 'is name, now I give ye 'is blade." The large man let go of the sword and looked over the boy again a moment before nodding and patting his shoulder. He turned and walked back to the direction of the village. The blade felt heavy, very heavy, but managable now. The boy took one test swing around himself and then looked at his father.
The next day was the last time the lad ever saw him...

The sound of his own heavy breathing and fast heavy pace came flooding back. The Chieftan focussed his eyes on the biggest Hyperborean he could see infront of him. The had broken into a charge as well now, their first wave of warriors charging right at him and his Clansmen. He let one hand off the hilt of his sword and calculated a slow swing to his side, waiting a moment. He gave another swing to his side, fast, letting the weight bring the sword up over his head where he gripped his other hand back to it tightly, carrying the swing down sharp and heavy into where the neck and shoulder met of the large Hyperborean.
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#3629847 Dec 17, 2010 at 08:25 PM
6 Posts
(( an extract from Hrol's journal on the events of Saturday's RP not great written but please excuse that :P ))

Today. Today was strange. Today saw me more action than the last few weeks, though not against our enemy, but against our own.

I returned from the hut, having just returned the cat here, odd that the lass Sekura, one of Aracinia’s lot, handed it to me in the tavern. Still, this was the least of the puzzles that came.

As I said, I returned to the tavern, only to find a crowd of Koragg and Hand members alike surrounding a dark figure, his face covered by some odd looking mask; didn’t look good whatever it was. As I approached I could see that Elder Gretel was clearly angered, others confused and frowning. The voice from the man told me it was Hurley, no surprise there. He was always causing some trouble around Gretel or Sekura. Now that I think upon it, his voice did seem a little…different, though at the time it didn’t catch my attention.

A few threats were swapped between them, nothing new; though the face of Warchief Grendar told me something else was afoot. I asked him plainly and the response was that Hurley had gone mad. This response again didn’t shock me, nothing did around Hurley and trouble.

Hurley soon wondered off ranting about some power he’d found, I paid little attention during these moments in all honesty, I have little interest or patience in Hurley’s rants and time-wasting. The strange part came after, when me and Grendar decided to try and find him, find out what happened. Although an odd remark from his lass Sekura did catch my attention… She told us to kill him, almost with no emotion in her, then left. Very odd indeed.

Still, the me and the Warchief headed down the valley, finding little of interest till the Moragh settlement. There we decided to split, giving us a better chance of finding him. As I hear it the Warchief took a Wolfskin with him. I have little time for the Wolfskins of late, other than my blood kin Vaith, they only slow me down. But after Oakenhome, we are short on good Wolfskins.

My side of the search proved fruitless, finding and killing a few Vanir scouts was all I had thrown at me; so I returned to Moragh. Not finding the Warchief in the village I assumed he had found Hurley or returned to Conarch. I was right. I found him on the high cliff, wear the Moragh Clan stone stood, surrounded by Aracinia and Sekura…and blood, lots of blood. The fool girl Sekura ran off into the settlement, I assumed to get a drink, though later we found Hurley was her target. I was told that Dianera had just taken the corpse of the Wolfskin that accompanied Grendar back to Conarch. This was enough for me, the man had turned on his kin, he was a traitor. By the looks of the Warchief’s bruised face and dazed look he was in no state to fight, clearly he had already tried and failed for what ever reason, no doubt under estimating Hurley’s depths of depravity that he seemed to have sunk to this day. I would not make this mistake, I have no qualms cutting down a rogue Koragg. Though even I did not realize the depth of his madness ‘till later.

I left immediately for the Valley, Aracinia mentioned she had seen him run off that way earlier in the conversation. I did not wait for them despite their protesting. It was best that I left them there. Someone needed to ensure Grendar was alright and then find that fool girl who ran off.
Despite this, as I was searching the tracks just outside the Moragh village they caught up to me. As if Crom himself was laughing down at me, yet another turned up. Brythann, one of the Clan’s warriors, a likely candidate for Wolfskin, a womanizer and a joker, though a good lad when push comes to shove, despite his unnecessary use of words.

I wasted little time in talking it over with them, I would not be slowed by their protests, so I pointed them in the wrong direction after Sekura, hoping they would go after her and leave me to Hurley. I didn’t stay to find out, I made straight for where the unmistakable tracks of a heavily armored man were leading. They led straight into a Vanir camp, recently slaughter Vanir lay everywhere. I made my way through, killing off any survivors, mortally wounded or not. As I did so Aracinia ran up from behind me! The stubborn lass will be the death of me before any sword or axe sends me to Crom’s Black Halls! I tried to explain to her, I cannot fight a man like Hurley while worrying about her. Try as I might to block her from my mind in such a situation it is impossible; I cannot stop my worry of seeing her hurt, better I went alone. She would have none of it though, saying she intended to see me live to the day I bind her, something I never though I’d hear her say. But that is a thought for another day.

As luck would have it while she was speaking Hurley ran along the path just above us. I didn’t stay to argue with Aracinia and gave chase, cutting down the confused Vanir scout he left behind him. We ran almost all the way up the mountain, stopping at a bridge just short of Kerne’s camp. He was corner. On the other side of the bridge were Kerne’s men and Vanir. He looked around seemingly hesitant but then laughed madly, turning to me, as if he had planned it. I was on edge already but this made me alert of my surroundings, and finding Aracinia had followed me did not restore my confidence.

He boasted about killing the Wolfskin, saying he’d done the same to Sekura. This atleast gave me the chance to get Aracinia out the way. I told her to find the girl, and she eventually left to find her. Atleast now I had only myself to worry about, and I turned to him with renewed confidence. I wasted little time exchanging more words with the traitor and swung for him, testing him, seeing where he would go. He easily dodge the blow jumping back, and I thought he would, he was always a decent fighter if nothing else.

This only gave me a chance for a better swing, follow the weight of my sword I swung hard for his chest plate, knowing it would never pierce such a piece of armor without a direct and strong jab. It knocked him straight down. I grew overconfident and Crom rewarded my mistake as Hurley grabbed my foot. Coming to my sense and regaining my alertness I swiped at his arm, cutting it deep. Made him let go atleast.

I went to finish him, but the lad had more left in him than I thought and rolled and stood up, avoiding my blow. Then he did something I never thought I’d see a Cimmerian do. He reached for a book and began muttering! Spells! Black magic! Cowardly and treacherous to his kin! In anger I swung and cut the book clean in half. This sent Hurley into a maddened rage I’d never seen of him before. As he charged at me I was caught off guard and dropped my sword at the force of his charge. I soon regained myself though, grabbing his hand as he swung for me. I confess, there was more strength in his arms than I remember, had not my Aesir blood and my Great Grandfather’s heavy sword kept me so strong over the years I have little doubt he would have overcome me. A good job then, that it was me and not the Warchief who grappled with him.

At this point he roared in frustration at me, swinging his masked head at me, trying to strike a blow to my own head. I couldn’t see the man’s face, but it felt to me as if Hurley was no longer there. Consumed by the foul magic he had tried to use against me, as he did to the Wolfskin and supposedly Sekura. I would not be so consumed, no foul magic will take me to the Black Halls. Not this day.

I saw my chance and took it, there was nothing left to do but finish it, I grabbed the armor around his torso and lifted him off his feet and throw him with all my strength over my head and down into the raging waterfall, watching him disappear into the mist of the rapids below. If he survived the fall and missed the rocks, it’s likely he drowned, the heavy armor and the inability to use an arm would have seen to that.

As if it weren’t enough, the fool girl had been found and came shouting at me for killing him! Crom and Ymir! What would any Clansman do to one who has betrayed his own? Who is grappling to kill you himself? I had little patience left after all that had passed so I left quickly, before I threw her after her “beloved”.

I went to the bottom of the waterfall, checking the river for any sign of his corpse. Nothing but the skin pouch, with the Wolfskin’s face inside. May you rest well Dwirndh, you died in honour for your Clan’s name. You were avenged.

I must tell the Chieftan of my deed, as it was I that killed the traitor. For now I will rest, My eyes grow tired as I write this and Aracinia grows lonely and impatient to sleep. Stubborn woman.
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#3629852 Dec 17, 2010 at 08:26 PM
6 Posts
*Unfinnished*

“Don’t know what it is…Just found it. Thought it would be worth somethin’ to those accursed foreigners that pollute this place.” Vaith continued to look at the strange round artifact he had placed on the table. It was more a rounded large gem, of oval shape and a deep purple colouring. But there was certainly something very strange about it.

Grihm took a gulp from his ale, frowning at the object, giving a unimpressed grunt. His eyes looked up at Eiar who was studying the markings down one side of the object. “’Tis foreign language alright. Can either of ye read?” The two shook their heads grimly looking at the object. Eiar nodded and scanned the tavern. His eyes rest on a large, muscley man. He was dressed in well kept bear skins, with leather hold metal plates to his shoulder and chest, a bear skin cloak marked with the symbols of his clan and a sort of cloth or kilt around his leggings, marked with the colour green and various designs, again to do with his clan. A mighty Aesir blade was strapped to his back, and a Chieftan’s helm rested on his head.

“Hrolmir. You read?” Eiar called at the man, who turned slightly and looked at Eiar, nodding slowly. Eiar nodded back satisfied, “Then ye have a better chance than us. Come ‘ere lad.” Vaith looked between the two, a little curious as to why Eiar would address a clan Chieftan so casually. The curiousness soon left his mind, Eiar would have good reason, or clearly just knew the man well. Vaith eyed the man, looking over the markings on his cloth and the necklace round his neck, but said nothing.

“This is Hrolmir Chieftan…of Clan Cruiadh” Eiar looked at Vaith a moment and Vaith returned the look, eventually nodding slightly then looked back at the man, taking a gulp of ale. “Ye already know Grihm ‘ere. This is Vaith, just returned from long travels.” The large man nodded to Grihm and then to Vaith, who nodded back in return.

“What is it you need Eiar of Koragg?” The man seemed very grim and formal in his speech, it was clear that he was new in his role and wasn’t entirely comfortable with how he should present himself, as Vaith observed. “What ‘appened to Danielon?” Vaith eyed the man casually but with a certain intensity in his gaze. The man returned the look a moment; clearly the question had sparked something in his mind and he was studying Vaith. Finally he answered “Assumed dead. Nay been seen in over 6 months.” Vaith nodded quietly and glanced at Eiar who looked back at him grimly before continuing.

“We need to know if ye can read these markings on this….thing.” The man looked at the object, picking it up to study the markings. After some time rolling it in his hands and eyeing the markings over and over, he stood up, slowly walking to the door way and then held the object into the sun light. It suddenly began to glow, slowly more and more intense. This culminated in it seeming to burn brightly in the man’s hand, though he remained unmoving – clearly there was no real burn coming from the object, which meant only one thing: deep black magic. The men at the table scowled and looked on grimly as the man finished with the object and came back to the table. “’Tis Hyperborean sorcery this. An artifact they use in their magic for all sorts o’ fowl plans. They’re powerful and dangerous.” Vaith narrowed his eyes at the man suspiciously, not trusting such instant knowledge. “And how’d ye know that so easily?”
The man looked back at him, a solid look, unaffected by Vaith’s clear accusation. “My mother were the bard o’ my clan. More a keeper o’ knowledge, could read and write. Knew about hyperborean and vanir culture and magic. My father had a particular hatred for Hyperboreans, didn’t like their use of magic. He would tell my mother to find out all she could about them, so as to get a better understanding of how they worked. She found out about these…gems o’ theirs. An ancient black magic catalyst they used to use centuries ago. Most were thought to be lost when the Hyperborean’s abandoned all their temples near Cimmeria, for some reason my mother could never figure out. Tis an ancient and terrible magic in these things. And I’m guessing that’s where you found this as well, in one of those old ruins near Hyperborea.” The man kept his confident stare on Vaith, who seemed to shift awkwardly a moment. Eiar looked at Vaith with a slight glare. “That so eh? Been riffling through ruins o

*unfinished*
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#3629889 Dec 17, 2010 at 08:35 PM
6 Posts
Prolog


The songs of the birds echoed round the mountains, the air crisp and refreshing, the wind soft and fresh, cold
and awakening. Rulfgar breathed it deeply, loving the first breath of each morning for that refreshing cold air.
He watched two birds flurrying round each other in a mating ritual, weaving in and out of each others flight. As
the flew on he smiled thoughtfully and looked over the mountains surrounding the valley. One day, he thought, one
day he would climb those mountains and look down at his village from the top. He smiled at this thought nodding
slowly to himself.

He breathed in deep and summoned the energy to stand, he did love spending nights in the fields in the long
grass, though his family always wondered why. He chuckled as he thought of his sister's questions that would
come. Where he'd gone, who was he with, meaning did he take Gwynair and ofcourse the inevitable - did he slay
those evil wolf spirits! He knew he shouldn't have told her such tall stories as a younger lad, but he enjoyed
her naive curiousity and the admiration in her eyes as he told her grand tales of how he had wrestled them with
his hands and sent them running. He was always careful never to mention death, he never wanted her to know such a
thing, atleast as long as he could prevent it.

He brushed his hands along the tall grass as he walked down towards the village, feeling the soft tips against
his palm, he found a beautiful flower of vivid blue, with large petals and a pretty little pollen stems. He
picked it smiling happily, Gwynair would love the flower, it was her favourite colour, like his eyes she'd always
said. He blushed a little remember her comment on that day. He was dearly fond of Gwynair, but had never had
courage enough to speak to her about such feelings. Your such a fool, he thought to himself.
As he entered the village the guards smirked at him,
"Out again eh lad?"

He simply smiled at them widely as he walked to go through the gateway.
"Y' mentor wants you at 'is hut soon as your back lad. I'd head there now if i were you"

He nodded at the guard waving a farewell and headed down towards the main center of the village. The townsfolk
were all about their morning business, washing clothes at the river, sharpening blades, in case Vanir were coming
this way, though they were far from the fight at this point in time. As his eyes wondered a soft voice came from
infront of him

"Hello you.." Gwynair stood infront of him grinning happily at him, cheerful to see him. Her dark hair waved in
the wind softly, her eyes playful to him, green and deep.
Crom she's beautiful, he thought. He smiled widely at her and nodded, then graciously bowed playfully and
presented the flower to her still grinning. She clapped her hands excitedly and jumped a little in joy "Oh
Rulfgar its beautiful! oh thank you! your so sweet to me.." She carefully took the flower and planted a kiss on
his cheek, then blushed, giggling embarressed. He blushed as well and chuckled. "i-it reminded me of ya' lass..
thought you'd like it.."
She smiled sweetly at him, her radiant eyes melting him, "i do...thank you" she giggled a little, and he smiled
happily at her, then he realised he had been a while and tried to think of something to say. Stupidly all he came
up with was "I...'ave to go...my mentor needs me"
"Oh.. alright, i guess i'll see you later then" She smiled but a little disappointedly and waved to him. He
smiled back and started of again to his mentor's hut, cursing himself for being such a coward. If he could fight
battles why could he not speak to the woman of his affection?

He arrived at his mentor's hut still thinking upon this. As he entered he looked around, the hut was dark as
ever, lit by candles everywhere yet still never that bright. He looked over the walls made from books - his
mentor dearly loved knowledge, collecting books from anywhere he could; any trader that passed was searched for
interesting books. Rulfgar had loved to come and read the books in his youth, sitting there the whole day
immersed in every book he read. He still read intently each day, but he had not even covered a fraction of the
collected his mentor had gained. It was a large hut, but every wall was covered completely in books, thousands of
them. The Chieftan had never seen the attraction, never once coming to read a book, calling it southern grace the
world didnt need. What use were books when a man has a voice to speak of his tales?

"Ah y' here lad!" Craidedh appeared from the back of the hut, carrying a dusty tome and placing it on a shelf of
other books. He was a grizzled, not particularly large but still musclely man, not yet an elderly man, but coming
up to those years in his life. Rulfgar bowed his head respectfully "Master Shaman"

"Ah stop callin' me that boy! Y' know m' name, use it" He waved his arms as he spoke. Rulfgar smiled curiously,

"But the Clan all call you that."
Craidedh grinned widely at Rulfgar "Aye, but they're nay my Apprentice eh? in private y' can use m' name lad, I'm
'appy for that. Regardless t'day is an important day in your training! come! sit here" He pointed to a soft
wolfskin rug on the floor, and Rulfgar did as asked. "Why is that?"

Craidedh grinned as he rumaged through some parchments on his wooden table, finding those he wanted. "y' progress
in shamanism 'as been fantastically quick f' someone so young lad. Im proud, an' i want t' progress it further.
Take the next step if y' will. T'day.. we're goin' t' bind a bear spirit to ya'!"






Rulfgar awoke with a gasp and a shuddering breath out, he was cold.. the breeze that had felt so good before was
now harsh and unsettling. He ached horribly, his hands and jaw were the worst. He tried to sit up, his head
pounded and his chest felt like it had been split open. He could barely lift himself up on his arms, he was so
weak. The he realised that his hands and forearms were covered in blood.. as well as his clothes, they were torn
and ripped and splattered with blood. He jumped back almost trying to get away from his own hands, breathing
heavily now. He regained composure a moment and checked himself over shakely. He wasn't hurt... the blood wasn't
his...

He began to worry, looking around trying to establish where he was. He saw the long grass and trees he recognised
from being around his usual field of choice. He tried to stand still shakey, and almost fell back down as he
gained a head rush. He was so weak..

He stumbled towards the river that ran along the field and towards the village and slumped down next to it. He
began to wash his arms off from the blood, looking over his hands. They were cut and the nails ached furiously,
and no wonder. They were splintered and some were missing, others had.. no! He stared in disbelief as he picked
small chucks of flesh from under them... his breathing became unsteady as he tried to stable himself, washing his
hands and arms vigorously. Then he noticed something as he looked into the water.. his face.. was also covered in
blood..around his mouth and cheeks. His teeth also ached as he began to think about it, but everything did. He
tried to wash his face, realising his hands were now shaking as he did. He finished cleaning himself as much he
could and stayed kneeling a moment, trying to compose himself and get his breath. As he looked down at his
reflection tryig to fathom what had happened, he realised that something was different... his right eye... it was
green! But his other was still ice blue as always.. what in Crom's Beard had happened to him??

He stood, a little to fast and almsot fell down again, stumbling towards the direction of his village. As he came
in view of the gates, he saw something on the floor at the entrance.. a body.. His pulse raced and his eyes
widened, he began to run - what little he could - towards the gate. He got there and dropped to his knees at the
corpse.. it was lying face down, a guard. He turned it over slowly and immediately jumped back in horror. The
face had been mauled, the jugular almost ripped out, and the arm broken and twisted in some grotesque angle.

He breathed heavily now, barely able to get enough air. he trembled not able to think for a moment. Then his
thoughts turned to his family, and as he looked around the village... he began to hyperventilate. There were
bodies everywhere.. all bloodied and horribly disfigured and mauled.. some..not even..whole.. others not entirely
together.. a "no.." came out with one of his breaths, as he tried to get up and scrambled towards his families
hut.

As he came toward his hut, what he saw made him dropped to his knees instantly, he lost all strength in his legs
and tears rolled down his cheeks and he stared in disbelief..
His sister lay in the path.. motionless..lifeless.. her head was caved on one side, from a heavy blow to the
temple, her body lay broken and bruised, her leg bent the wrong way and blood oozing from the side that was
almost nothing but pulp.
His mother was slumped at the entrance of the hut, her eyes still open in horror.. but her torso had been ripped
and torn..her innerds were hanging out and shredded blood pooling around her.

He couldn't look anymore.. he trembled on his knees and hands looking down..trying to stay conscious, breathing
unsteadily, he felt sick. The pain and ache of his body was now nthing to the hurt and pain of his heart, he
couldnt stand because it hurt to much to move. He vomitted, unable to compose himself any longer. He couldnt
believe this was happening.. it couldnt be real surely..

He had to find his mentor.. He stood eventually, after who knows how long. still unsteady on his feet, still
unable to walk a straight line, he made for Craidedh's hut.
The village was full of a horrible piercing silence. the kind of silence that screams louder than in battle cry
one word unwaveringly into the heart and mind of any soul that comes upon it - Death. There were bodies
everywhere.. people he knew..people he spoke to, laughed and joked with, warriors he had spared with in
training.. his Clan.. all horribly mutilated and left to rot unburied.. not that most of them could be buried..
what was left..

He tried not to look, he tried to look down infront of him and make his way unsteadily to Craidedh's hut without
taking it in.. but he couldnt help it, he took it all in.. every new body like a horrible mangled needle piercing
his heart.

He got to the hut, still trembling, he slowly push the entrance open with a shakey hand, and immediately looked
away, what he saw is too horrible to describe.. what was left of Craidedh.. isnt worth describing..
He let the entrance close as he looked at the floor, tears dropping from his cheeks, as he tried to contain the
unending, unbarable pain.

He dropped to his knees and stayed there what seemed like forever as he tried to take in what he was seeing. what
had happened here? He knelt in silence unable to think properly or do anything but stare at the ground for a long
time. Then the horrbile unforgiving truth came over him, like an unbreakable wall.. had...had he done this?
Crom..no.. He couldn't have.. surely.. but..he was the only left alive, and was covered in blood when he awoke..
He turned his palms up and looked at his hands, pain showing visibly on his face and he sobbed.. he knew..somehow
he knew it was him.. he had done this.. but how? why? He sat forever thinking about it, trying to make some sense
of it, but the pain was making his mind muddled and blurry, he couldn't think.. only the pain was there...

He had to leave.. he had to get out of the village..away from the slaughter, he couldnt bare it anymore. He
somehow managed to get to his feet and stumbled towards his hut. Then he saw her...
He stopped stunned.. shaking his head in disbelief, almsot refusing to believe what he saw.. the word "no" kept
escaping his lips until he tightly closed his eyes and lips and looked away, breathing in trying to contain his
sorrow and tears, but failing.

Infront of him was a head.. with long dark hair, now matted with blood and green eyes..still open, stained with
dry tears.. neatly tucked behind an ear was a vivid blue flower.. with pretty little pollen stems.. Not far from
it was the body it had been torned from.. missing an arm, the stomach ripped open.
He forced himself to walk on, he couldnt bare to linger there, it would kill him..

He went to the back of his hut and with a trembling hand opened a secret entrance he'd once cut into the wall of
his and his sister's room to use as a way to sneak out at night as a boy. He'd still used it to go to his
favourite place.. now he used it to sneak in, as he couldnt bare to go round the front again.. knowing what was
there. He hastily tried gathering what he could, his mind racing and unable to think what he would need, his
hands trembling fiercely still.

He managed to pack what he thought he would need, with his mind in the state it was. He left the same way he came
in and walked uneasily towards the gates, avoiding looking at any of the corpses and carnage that lay around him.

He got to the gate.. and ran..
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