Imrak Holds The Line
Imrak’s heavily muscled form sweated under the thin sheet of the cot.
The howling and baying of the foul hounds of chaos as they closed in for the kill filled Imrak’s ears. Taking a deep breath and nodding with contentment, Imrak stood alone against the tide of hounds, beastmen, and their massive leader as his companions fled into the stone manor.
Imrak set his feet and gave his massive axe an experimental sweep, smiling with broad teeth as the snapping hounds grew closer and he heard the thump of the door to the fortified manor closing and the bar thrown into its brackets.
An arrow felled one of the beasts just as it topped the slight rise the manor was built upon. The giant minotaur leading the creatures bellowed its rage as a cloth-yard shaft penetrated the thick hide between neck and shoulder, but still the beast came on.
Another flight of arrows and Throngor’s pistol cracked. Another of the dogs fell before the pack of mutated dogs came within reach of Imrak’s axe. Imrak struck, the axe light in his hands. His axe crunched through flesh and bone, sending the hound backward into the following dog, knocking them both down the slope.
Grunting in pain as the remaining hounds closed and began to tear and snap at him, Imrak slammed another hound from its feet, his eyes on the Minotaur as it drew closer.
Again arrows flew from the manor into the milling hounds. The Minotaur grunted something in its foul tongue as it came to tower over Imrak, the fetid body odor of its massively muscled and twisted form stronger even than that of the foul hounds that tore at Imrak. One of the hounds, luckier or smarter than the rest, locked its jaws around Imrak’s arm, hindering his next blow, which the Minotuar shrugged off with a guttural laugh.
The Minotaur struck, the enormous axe so quick in its hands that it was nearly impossible to see, slicing past Imrak’s attempt to parry.
Grungi was with Imrak in that moment, and the axe struck the hound that had retarded Imrak’s blow, cleaving that beast’s skull with ease. A welter of blood, brains and gore exploded from the corpse as the axe travelled on after killing the hound. Slowed enough by the flesh and bone of the hound that the blow that should have chopped Imrak in twain merely tore into the muscles and bone of his chest, felling him, but not killing him outright.
The last he heard as the darkness overcame him was the victorious bellow of the Minotaur as the rest of its warband charged for the manor.
Imrak cried out and tried to sit up as the last of the fevered dream that was more memory than dream faded. The room at the Happy Hearth came slowly into focus, as did the smiling face of Andric, the human priest of Sigmar, "The fever has broken. You will live."
The howling and baying of the foul hounds of chaos as they closed in for the kill filled Imrak’s ears. Taking a deep breath and nodding with contentment, Imrak stood alone against the tide of hounds, beastmen, and their massive leader as his companions fled into the stone manor.
Imrak set his feet and gave his massive axe an experimental sweep, smiling with broad teeth as the snapping hounds grew closer and he heard the thump of the door to the fortified manor closing and the bar thrown into its brackets.
An arrow felled one of the beasts just as it topped the slight rise the manor was built upon. The giant minotaur leading the creatures bellowed its rage as a cloth-yard shaft penetrated the thick hide between neck and shoulder, but still the beast came on.
Another flight of arrows and Throngor’s pistol cracked. Another of the dogs fell before the pack of mutated dogs came within reach of Imrak’s axe. Imrak struck, the axe light in his hands. His axe crunched through flesh and bone, sending the hound backward into the following dog, knocking them both down the slope.
Grunting in pain as the remaining hounds closed and began to tear and snap at him, Imrak slammed another hound from its feet, his eyes on the Minotaur as it drew closer.
Again arrows flew from the manor into the milling hounds. The Minotaur grunted something in its foul tongue as it came to tower over Imrak, the fetid body odor of its massively muscled and twisted form stronger even than that of the foul hounds that tore at Imrak. One of the hounds, luckier or smarter than the rest, locked its jaws around Imrak’s arm, hindering his next blow, which the Minotuar shrugged off with a guttural laugh.
The Minotaur struck, the enormous axe so quick in its hands that it was nearly impossible to see, slicing past Imrak’s attempt to parry.
Grungi was with Imrak in that moment, and the axe struck the hound that had retarded Imrak’s blow, cleaving that beast’s skull with ease. A welter of blood, brains and gore exploded from the corpse as the axe travelled on after killing the hound. Slowed enough by the flesh and bone of the hound that the blow that should have chopped Imrak in twain merely tore into the muscles and bone of his chest, felling him, but not killing him outright.
The last he heard as the darkness overcame him was the victorious bellow of the Minotaur as the rest of its warband charged for the manor.
Imrak cried out and tried to sit up as the last of the fevered dream that was more memory than dream faded. The room at the Happy Hearth came slowly into focus, as did the smiling face of Andric, the human priest of Sigmar, "The fever has broken. You will live."
posted by Semper Septum at 20:08
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home