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The fiery spirit cast its vision about, holding within its gaze five warriors. The warriors’ armoured outlines were hemmed in by a darkness which marched further and further into the campsite as the bundle of burning logs slowly died. Even as the fire died it held in its vicelike grip its prisoners’ gaze, thus robbing them of their awareness of an intruder who watched and contemplated.
Caburus had in fact been partially aware of the silent, shade embraced figure for some time now. That which notified him of the persons existence was the way the darkness clung motionlessly to the shadowy form in contrast to the swaying currents of night which clothed the encircling woods. Disallowing him to turn to confirm and acknowledge the hooded statue-like man were his aching and battle weary limbs. Moments danced by amid the flames. Duratius and Teutomatus were the first in their declarations for bed, next went Orgetorius, after imbuing his sword with Dwethar Oil for the better part of three hours. Still the watcher didn’t stir. Pine needles adorning the surrounding trees rustled, yearning for mornings’ coveted light and warmth, snow began to fall as though a countless horde of silent raiders. Moritasgus, youngest and most eager to prove his worth and honour, was the last to go but only at the command from Caburus. Smiling to himself at the thought of the youngster’s insufferable, honour-bound nature, he turned to greet the intruder.
“Why do you smile?” asked a caustic voice.
“That which you ask is of no consequence to you,” spoke Caburus to the shadows, a nod, nigh on imperceptible, was the given answer.
The voice, seeming to Caburus as though it were the messenger for a mind of unfathomable wisdom, a mind which had witnessed the passing of unknown ages, spoke seamlessly, “I am charged with bringing you and Moritasgus into the Circle of Warriors. His Time of Ascension has come. Your Time of Ascension has come.”
“That which you command will bring about the destruction of our Honour-Souls. On those grounds I deny you.”
With intended finality the next words were spoken, “It would be of no great hindrance for me to merely force you into obedience,” a crackling ball of white ecstatic energy manifested itself around the palm of the speaker’s hand and then slowly died to a dwindling cluster of sparks. “Summon your friend and do not awaken your comrades.”
“That would be of great difficulty for me; my brothers are awake and have been so for the duration of your unwelcome intrusion. Brothers?” He called over his armour-wreathed shoulder. Four ironclad shapes rose immediately within their associated tents, then with a flourish of canvas and unsheathing of weapons met the call and their feet came to rest either side of the lone warrior resolutely facing the immense darkness. “We have stood side by side as Death threw its worst against our shields, each one of the assailants is now a corpse and testament to our willingness to uphold our clan’s name. If you wish,” he challenged, indicating the ancient, patterned and scarred shields, “you may also try your luck.”
“Very well.” The light which the mage had been brewing in his hand began to intensify and grew outwards at a rapid pace towards the five immobile statues. The light’s heat bore resemblance of a furnace, melting the snow-covered ground to create boiling puddles of mud and water, as well as scorching the nearest branches into reeking remnants of their former selves. At the moment before the tendrils of light and fire impacted upon the helms of the unflinching victims, the fingers of energy dissipated to reveal five warriors completely undaunted by the recent display of awesome power.
“Excellent,” Came the word from the recently returned darkness in the wake of the lights’ journey into nothingness.
“What?” said Orgetorius, puzzlement written clearly over his weary face.
“You will all now begin your training, should you prove worthy then you shall be inducted into what you and all our people know as the ‘Circle of Warriors’, should you prove unworthy then you will, in all likelihood, die.” With that, he stepped within the meagre reach of the dying pile of coals and, for the first time, afforded the tired fighters a clear view of his form. They saw an ancient, yet in some ways youthful, face, not unlike a war torn field, this was surmounted by steel grey hair. His garments were that of a hooded white robe which covered a suit armour of only heard of in the myths and legends of the nations of Gallatae, he carried with him a menacingly curved blade of a golden substance.
that's something i wrote awhile back, just a bit of fun one afternoon. i am wondering if you LOers think i should continue it into my original idea. my idea was to have the five said characters to be led to the chapter fortress and eventually become scouts, and so on till they are all dreadnoghts or something... haven't really thought that far ahead.
Comments? Criticisms? Corrections? Cheers!