Dusksinger stories 3.
Sept 19, 2003 7:26:50 GMT -5
Post by Elatan on Sept 19, 2003 7:26:50 GMT -5
The first successful relicraid in the Fellowship alliance
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The morning broke in Midgard, the day seemed to be a clear cold day. Aye, it was a good day to die if the Gods should choose so. This was the day planned and schemed for for so long. All around she saw her fellow adventures stand up and get ready. In the eyes of the warriors was a light that promised good for the day, the light of determination and will of mind.
As Ardamel called for the roll she was assigned for Jedhawks wing together with brave men and women of Midgard. With a last look at her axes as to be assured she had polished them well enough last night she got ready for the journey.
Long it was, the journey, but as it was planned they met only few enemies along the road and none lived long enough to tell. The guards at the first frontier keep were hardly awake when the ligtning stroke and was an easy take.
The second wing, lead by Ardamel himself, attacked other keeps who fell just as fast and still the enemy was unaware what was going on.
The two wings joined their forces just outside the main castle, that castle were the hated hibernians kept their, our, sacred relic. This was it. Now the Gods had to deside if these brave warriors had to live in glory or die in shame.
Thunder ringed through the valley as the rams was pounding on the massive doors, arrows whistled their deadly tunes and the light of the rising sun broke in drawn blades. One door down and the soil were red of blood, Second door down and the cry of pain and yells of help filled the air.
The last door, the strongest, into the tower. Men were falling around her and the battle were waving. Guards kept pouring out and the sence of time and place vanished. Just darkness.
Somehow the Gods may have kept a hand over the peoples for the next thing she remebered was she was once again standing outside the castle but this time some few defenders were inside but the doors were broken. Her fellow Midgardians were already inside the castle and she rushed in to join the battle.
Soon the defenders were all slain and in top of the tower she saw the Horn. The Horn, the item they had come for.
But she was not allowed to touch it. Only the blessed hands of Bjorne could carry it back to its home. Swift as deer he took the relic with a howl of victory and with the speed of a yell he rushed out of the broken gates.
The Horn was on its way home. The mighty Gods of Midgard had once more turned the tide and brought strength and will to the peoples of Midgard.
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The morning broke in Midgard, the day seemed to be a clear cold day. Aye, it was a good day to die if the Gods should choose so. This was the day planned and schemed for for so long. All around she saw her fellow adventures stand up and get ready. In the eyes of the warriors was a light that promised good for the day, the light of determination and will of mind.
As Ardamel called for the roll she was assigned for Jedhawks wing together with brave men and women of Midgard. With a last look at her axes as to be assured she had polished them well enough last night she got ready for the journey.
Long it was, the journey, but as it was planned they met only few enemies along the road and none lived long enough to tell. The guards at the first frontier keep were hardly awake when the ligtning stroke and was an easy take.
The second wing, lead by Ardamel himself, attacked other keeps who fell just as fast and still the enemy was unaware what was going on.
The two wings joined their forces just outside the main castle, that castle were the hated hibernians kept their, our, sacred relic. This was it. Now the Gods had to deside if these brave warriors had to live in glory or die in shame.
Thunder ringed through the valley as the rams was pounding on the massive doors, arrows whistled their deadly tunes and the light of the rising sun broke in drawn blades. One door down and the soil were red of blood, Second door down and the cry of pain and yells of help filled the air.
The last door, the strongest, into the tower. Men were falling around her and the battle were waving. Guards kept pouring out and the sence of time and place vanished. Just darkness.
Somehow the Gods may have kept a hand over the peoples for the next thing she remebered was she was once again standing outside the castle but this time some few defenders were inside but the doors were broken. Her fellow Midgardians were already inside the castle and she rushed in to join the battle.
Soon the defenders were all slain and in top of the tower she saw the Horn. The Horn, the item they had come for.
But she was not allowed to touch it. Only the blessed hands of Bjorne could carry it back to its home. Swift as deer he took the relic with a howl of victory and with the speed of a yell he rushed out of the broken gates.
The Horn was on its way home. The mighty Gods of Midgard had once more turned the tide and brought strength and will to the peoples of Midgard.