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Right, I had been working on this for a while. Then Ant goes and posts his story, so this is going to look a bit shabby. Never mind! Hope you all enjoy it. It's in installments, as are all my stories. Read, please. Thanking you, Stryke.
THE HORDE OF TWELVE
The villagers worked quietly away, feeling the pleasant warmth of the sun on their backs. The fields would always need tending. They laboured together, savouring in the summer weather.
A horn sounded over the peaceful fields. Every villager looked up, horror in their eyes. They knew what would be coming. Sure enough, at the horizon, a horde hove into view. Black horseman, swords glinting in the light.
“ It is the Horde of the Twelve.” whispered Kid Rock, reverently.
“ None has faced them and lived.” Whispered the village yokel, Weird Wonder.
“ They take what they want and kill what they don’t.” said Neo-Genetic, grimly.
“ We have no chance.” Said Rickoss, his sickle in his hand.
Then the horsemen charged, hooves hammering at the ground. Twelve figures were visible at the front, yelling in a frenzy. As one the villagers turned and ran, fear rampant in their eyes. The horseman were on them before they were halfway to the huts. They slew them mercilessly, blades biting deep into their unprotected backs. A few turned to fight. Rickoss received a blade to the throat, and the lead horse stove in the skull of Kid Rock. No one lived from that village. Just like all the rest.
**
The year was 942 AD. Across the length and breadth of Britain, the Dark Ages ruled. There was no kingdom, just a loose alliance of feudal lords. Then the Horde was formed. No one knew what they wanted. They were led by the Twelve, undefeatable knights.. They had no aims. Just power. They killed all that opposed them. There was still no kingdom, but no knights either. They had been killed, or recruited. The motives of the Eleven were unclear, but someone had to oppose him. That challenge had come from the secluded Welsh valleys. A man had seen his entire community cut down around him. He had learnt. Training for years in the deserted moors, he had become a fighter. His name was Ant. Slowly, but surely, he had formed a gang – one interested only in destroying the horde. They were the closest thing to good in a land of evil.
**
“ They’ve struck again.” Said Vottanator despondently.
“ Where?” asked Goatboy, suddenly curious.
They both lounged on the sun kissed slopes of the Ebbw Vale, watching as their leader sparred with a new entrant. Ant grinned as the sweat poured off him, twin swords rotating slowly in his hands. The entrant was a tall young lad from the village at the bottom of the valley – a blacksmith by trade. The village was no more. Ant had seen that anguish and exploited it, bringing fresh blood into the gang.
Ant struck, one sword cleaving up and through the rawhide shield that the smith wielded. A blow from the hilt broke his nose and send the smith backwards into the grass. Ant pointed a sword down, the tip hovering inches from the exposed neck.
“ He’ll do.”
Ant flipped his swords round and sheathed them in the cross pattern across his back. Vottanator leapt to his feet as Ant strode away, helping the bleeding smith to his feet.
“ What’s your name, young ‘un?” he asked, as he clamped a wad of herbs to the bleeding nose.
“ There are some that call me Dringo.”
“ Dringo. Fair enough.”
Vottanator led Dringo away as Goatboy sat on the grass, sliding a whetstone along his longsword grimly.
**
Nine days later.
The gang was out, down in the lowlands of England. There were ten of them, all that remaining after the Uffington Clash. Ant led, flanked by his deputies, Goatboy and Vottanator. Behind them were the rank, Rasta the Hawk Eye, Grix of Thraves, The Reaper, Iguana, FinalFantasyFanatic, pb and Dringo. They had another mission, and this one was important. One of the Twelve was returning to his castle alone, and Ant wanted to send a message to the rest. Pb had used his sources inside the Horde.
“ There.” Said Rasta the Hawk Eye. His keen eyes had spotted a black dot over by the forest. Ant gritted his teeth, victory in his eyes. He drew one sword, and levelled it at the enemy.
“ For the fallen!” he yelled, the gang’s war cry. Then he charged, his men soon after him. The Rider jerked his head upwards, shock registering briefly in his poise. Then he turned and galloped backwards, into the forest. Ant charged on, gaining every second, his men beside him. The forest was silent. He hauled on his reins, and they all listened, nervously. No sound…. Until…
An arrow whistled swiftly through the air, embedding itself in a tree. Then a score of the Horde erupted from woven mats in front of the horsemen. Ant’s horse reared in shock, and he fell backwards, whipping his second sword free even as he landed. He erupted forwards out of the roll, swords scything outwards. The Reaper swung round the massive scythe that gave him his name, decapitating a soldier. Vottanator swung the bow from his back, an arrow already notched. It took a soldier through the eye. The gang was dismounted now, ploughing their way through the masses. Ant snarled. He was winning….
Then two arrows swooped through the air, taking Goatboy through each shoulder, pinning him to a tree. His friend howled in pain. Then the Rider appeared, galloping in at a burning pace. His blow removed the throat of Iguana, sending her tumbling to the ground, blood flying. Ant wildly looked at The Reaper, who had stood dumbstruck as the Rider had done its work. Then he screamed in rage. Ant cursed as Reaper ploughed forward, and threw a chunk of wood swiftly. It thudded into The Reaper’s kneecap, sending him smashing to ground. He moaned in pain, watching Iguana’s blood stain the grass a russet brown. Ant felt a tear well in his eye, then he spun as a figure grasped him from behind, driving him backwards.
“ Pb? Dringo?” asked Ant as he was held up against a tree.
“ Scum.” Spat Pb. “ The Twelve are the future.”
“ You ambushed us?” asked Ant, willing it not to be true.
“ Oh, I did.” Said Pb, and Dringo grinned. “ Dringo gave me help, but it was me! My face is the last thing you will ever see!”
He raised his sword, flecked with blood. Then the Hawk Eye launched his sword from the other side of the clearing, deadly straight. It cleaved straight through Pb. He stumbled into Ant, wonder in his eyes. Ant grimaced as the figure slumped, then he rolled forwards, pulling the sword free and swinging round at eye level. The top half of Dringo’s head sheared off. Ant threw the sword one-handed, embedding it in the soil before Rasta. Then Vottanator grabbed Ant.
“ We must flee! It is lost!”
“ NO! GOATBOY!” yelled Ant, looking desperately at his friend.
“ We cannot save him.” Grunted Grix, dragging Ant backwards to the horses.
Ant cast his eyes around the battlefield. Iguana lay surrounded by her own blood, surrounded by Horde dead. That was no place for the fallen. Then he was dragged away, followed by the despairing yell of Goatboy..
**
Ant strode into the gang’s cave, new scars tracing his face. He looked sadly over his depleted gang, and his eyes met with The Reaper’s. Pure hatred there.
“ I go to save my friend. Who is with me?”
Silence.
“ I go to save my..” began Ant.
Grix of Thraves stood, his trademark axe across his shoulders.
“ I will go to slay the Twelve.”
“ I am with you.” Said Rasta, nodded.
“ As am I.” Echoed FFF.
“ Always.” Smiled Vottanator.
They all looked across at The Reaper, who hadn’t moved from his seat. He looked up, lip twisted.
“ She is dead. I am dead. Let us see what a dead man may do.”
He leapt from his seat, twirling his scythe around.
“ But you cross me again, Ant, and I will kill you.”
Ant’s eyes hardened. “ I welcome it.”
**
THE HORDE OF TWELVE
The villagers worked quietly away, feeling the pleasant warmth of the sun on their backs. The fields would always need tending. They laboured together, savouring in the summer weather.
A horn sounded over the peaceful fields. Every villager looked up, horror in their eyes. They knew what would be coming. Sure enough, at the horizon, a horde hove into view. Black horseman, swords glinting in the light.
“ It is the Horde of the Twelve.” whispered Kid Rock, reverently.
“ None has faced them and lived.” Whispered the village yokel, Weird Wonder.
“ They take what they want and kill what they don’t.” said Neo-Genetic, grimly.
“ We have no chance.” Said Rickoss, his sickle in his hand.
Then the horsemen charged, hooves hammering at the ground. Twelve figures were visible at the front, yelling in a frenzy. As one the villagers turned and ran, fear rampant in their eyes. The horseman were on them before they were halfway to the huts. They slew them mercilessly, blades biting deep into their unprotected backs. A few turned to fight. Rickoss received a blade to the throat, and the lead horse stove in the skull of Kid Rock. No one lived from that village. Just like all the rest.
**
The year was 942 AD. Across the length and breadth of Britain, the Dark Ages ruled. There was no kingdom, just a loose alliance of feudal lords. Then the Horde was formed. No one knew what they wanted. They were led by the Twelve, undefeatable knights.. They had no aims. Just power. They killed all that opposed them. There was still no kingdom, but no knights either. They had been killed, or recruited. The motives of the Eleven were unclear, but someone had to oppose him. That challenge had come from the secluded Welsh valleys. A man had seen his entire community cut down around him. He had learnt. Training for years in the deserted moors, he had become a fighter. His name was Ant. Slowly, but surely, he had formed a gang – one interested only in destroying the horde. They were the closest thing to good in a land of evil.
**
“ They’ve struck again.” Said Vottanator despondently.
“ Where?” asked Goatboy, suddenly curious.
They both lounged on the sun kissed slopes of the Ebbw Vale, watching as their leader sparred with a new entrant. Ant grinned as the sweat poured off him, twin swords rotating slowly in his hands. The entrant was a tall young lad from the village at the bottom of the valley – a blacksmith by trade. The village was no more. Ant had seen that anguish and exploited it, bringing fresh blood into the gang.
Ant struck, one sword cleaving up and through the rawhide shield that the smith wielded. A blow from the hilt broke his nose and send the smith backwards into the grass. Ant pointed a sword down, the tip hovering inches from the exposed neck.
“ He’ll do.”
Ant flipped his swords round and sheathed them in the cross pattern across his back. Vottanator leapt to his feet as Ant strode away, helping the bleeding smith to his feet.
“ What’s your name, young ‘un?” he asked, as he clamped a wad of herbs to the bleeding nose.
“ There are some that call me Dringo.”
“ Dringo. Fair enough.”
Vottanator led Dringo away as Goatboy sat on the grass, sliding a whetstone along his longsword grimly.
**
Nine days later.
The gang was out, down in the lowlands of England. There were ten of them, all that remaining after the Uffington Clash. Ant led, flanked by his deputies, Goatboy and Vottanator. Behind them were the rank, Rasta the Hawk Eye, Grix of Thraves, The Reaper, Iguana, FinalFantasyFanatic, pb and Dringo. They had another mission, and this one was important. One of the Twelve was returning to his castle alone, and Ant wanted to send a message to the rest. Pb had used his sources inside the Horde.
“ There.” Said Rasta the Hawk Eye. His keen eyes had spotted a black dot over by the forest. Ant gritted his teeth, victory in his eyes. He drew one sword, and levelled it at the enemy.
“ For the fallen!” he yelled, the gang’s war cry. Then he charged, his men soon after him. The Rider jerked his head upwards, shock registering briefly in his poise. Then he turned and galloped backwards, into the forest. Ant charged on, gaining every second, his men beside him. The forest was silent. He hauled on his reins, and they all listened, nervously. No sound…. Until…
An arrow whistled swiftly through the air, embedding itself in a tree. Then a score of the Horde erupted from woven mats in front of the horsemen. Ant’s horse reared in shock, and he fell backwards, whipping his second sword free even as he landed. He erupted forwards out of the roll, swords scything outwards. The Reaper swung round the massive scythe that gave him his name, decapitating a soldier. Vottanator swung the bow from his back, an arrow already notched. It took a soldier through the eye. The gang was dismounted now, ploughing their way through the masses. Ant snarled. He was winning….
Then two arrows swooped through the air, taking Goatboy through each shoulder, pinning him to a tree. His friend howled in pain. Then the Rider appeared, galloping in at a burning pace. His blow removed the throat of Iguana, sending her tumbling to the ground, blood flying. Ant wildly looked at The Reaper, who had stood dumbstruck as the Rider had done its work. Then he screamed in rage. Ant cursed as Reaper ploughed forward, and threw a chunk of wood swiftly. It thudded into The Reaper’s kneecap, sending him smashing to ground. He moaned in pain, watching Iguana’s blood stain the grass a russet brown. Ant felt a tear well in his eye, then he spun as a figure grasped him from behind, driving him backwards.
“ Pb? Dringo?” asked Ant as he was held up against a tree.
“ Scum.” Spat Pb. “ The Twelve are the future.”
“ You ambushed us?” asked Ant, willing it not to be true.
“ Oh, I did.” Said Pb, and Dringo grinned. “ Dringo gave me help, but it was me! My face is the last thing you will ever see!”
He raised his sword, flecked with blood. Then the Hawk Eye launched his sword from the other side of the clearing, deadly straight. It cleaved straight through Pb. He stumbled into Ant, wonder in his eyes. Ant grimaced as the figure slumped, then he rolled forwards, pulling the sword free and swinging round at eye level. The top half of Dringo’s head sheared off. Ant threw the sword one-handed, embedding it in the soil before Rasta. Then Vottanator grabbed Ant.
“ We must flee! It is lost!”
“ NO! GOATBOY!” yelled Ant, looking desperately at his friend.
“ We cannot save him.” Grunted Grix, dragging Ant backwards to the horses.
Ant cast his eyes around the battlefield. Iguana lay surrounded by her own blood, surrounded by Horde dead. That was no place for the fallen. Then he was dragged away, followed by the despairing yell of Goatboy..
**
Ant strode into the gang’s cave, new scars tracing his face. He looked sadly over his depleted gang, and his eyes met with The Reaper’s. Pure hatred there.
“ I go to save my friend. Who is with me?”
Silence.
“ I go to save my..” began Ant.
Grix of Thraves stood, his trademark axe across his shoulders.
“ I will go to slay the Twelve.”
“ I am with you.” Said Rasta, nodded.
“ As am I.” Echoed FFF.
“ Always.” Smiled Vottanator.
They all looked across at The Reaper, who hadn’t moved from his seat. He looked up, lip twisted.
“ She is dead. I am dead. Let us see what a dead man may do.”
He leapt from his seat, twirling his scythe around.
“ But you cross me again, Ant, and I will kill you.”
Ant’s eyes hardened. “ I welcome it.”
**
Page:
The_Vottanator wrote:
"Joy was on the Lord of Wessex’s
> face as he ripped Rasta’s still beating heart from the body"
I think
> that Wizard of Wishaw would have been funnier here. :-D
LOL!
"Joy was on the Lord of Wessex’s
> face as he ripped Rasta’s still beating heart from the body"
I think
> that Wizard of Wishaw would have been funnier here. :-D
LOL!
Very good Gaz.
One complaint though:
"Joy was on the Lord of Wessex’s face as he ripped Rasta’s still beating heart from the body"
I think that Wizard of Wishaw would have been funnier here. :-D
One complaint though:
"Joy was on the Lord of Wessex’s face as he ripped Rasta’s still beating heart from the body"
I think that Wizard of Wishaw would have been funnier here. :-D
Ant was right before. Detailed and emotional. Im not really that bad in real life : )
I enjoyed that and it takes a good story to entertain me.
Well done
I enjoyed that and it takes a good story to entertain me.
Well done
Thank you, anyone who read that. I like it when the bad guys win.
;-)
;-)
Rasta the Hawk Eye ducked under yet another arch, searching through the endless cells. His sword was already covered in the blood of one of the Riders chasing him. Mystique would slay no more. He turned another corner, and there he was. Sniper, one knee bent, praying before a statue. His helmeted head turned suddenly, and Rasta was sure he could imagine a sadist grin beneath the iron. Then the Rider spun outwards, twin hand axes whirling from hip sheaths. Rasta ducked, bringing his sword up into combat position, immediately being forced backwards as an axe hammered down on the hilt. Rasta thudded onto the cobbles, sword thrown downwards. Sniper pressed a foot on it, and kicked hard into Rasta’s ribs with the other. Rasta howled as he felt several ribs splinter beneath the armoured feet. He smelt the pungent aroma of fresh blood. Sniper smiled as a dark red patch spread over the cloth of Rasta’s tunic. He raised an axe, preparing for a quick head blow. Then he lurched forward, and a sword point exploded from his neck. Blood spurted outwards as Grix pulled his sword free and swung again, aiming at the now ruined neck of Sniper. Rasta winced as he saw bone separate. Sniper’s head bounced once and rolled into a corner. Grix grimaced.
“ Shame. I quite liked that helmet. Come on, I’ve found Goatboy, and killed the Riders chasing me.”
He reached down to help Rasta up. The Hawk Eye got to his feet slowly, his breathing coming ragged. Grix shut his eyes. He wasn’t sure his friend would make it.
**
Goatboy’s cell was open, and Ant was inside, swords in hand. The leader was cautious, as his friend was tied and gagged – but squirming. Ant sliced quickly through the gag.
“ It’s a trap, you muppet.” Sighed Goatboy, before an arrow arched out of the darkness and embedded itself in Goatboy’s ribcagee. Blood covered Ant as he screamed in anguish. Goatboy lolled forward, his eyes clouding with deathmist. He winked once, and they closed. Ant howled in fury, and his hands closed on his twin hilts. He turned, and saw AliBoy emerging from the shadows, his own swords drawn.
“ My Lord.” Ant tilted his head sarcastically. AliBoy let out a booming laugh, and swung his swords round into a defensive position.
“ I’m going to kill you, and hunt those SCUM down.” Said Aliboy flatly, no emotion in his voice. Ant trembled with anger, his swords held loosely by his sides. Then Grix ran through the door, Rasta limping after him.
“ This is what you fight to protect?” asked AliBoy, mockingly.
“ This is what I call friends.” Replied Ant.
“ Touching, cowboy, touching.” AliBoy turned, shearing at neck level with his sword, the keen edge seeking out Grix’s neck. Even before the sword had completed it’s trajectory, AliBoy was running, towards Rasta. Ant screamed again in anger as Grix’s head tumbled from it’s body, the flecks of blood covering AliBoy’s face. But Ant was too slow, and AliBoy had already sliced twice, opening Rasta’s ribcage. Joy was on the Lord of Wessex’s face as he ripped Rasta’s still beating heart from the body. He turned his back as Rasta collapsed, aorta pumping out blood. AliBoy threw the heart at Ant, smearing his face with the blood. Ant looked disgusted as the heart hit the ground in front of him.
“ You’re mad.” Ant growled.
“ If I lose, I’m mad. If I win, I’m a genius. Such is history.” Said AliBoy simply. Then he attacked, swords whipping and curling in towards the torso of Ant, who rolled forward, sparks flying as the swords collided. Ant was up in an instant, swords instinctively parrying twin blows from AliBoy. They’d had this fight before, and Ant wasn’t sure he could win this time.
**
Reaper charged into the fray, heavy scythe spinning rapidly as he pummelled on Stryke’s guard. The Rider was forced backwards. Vottanator hurled his spear, churning through Mask, cutting another Rider down. Starfex was already wounded, a scythe blow having opened up his side.He clutched a hand to it as FinalFantasyFanatic advanced, sword held outright. The Rider limped backwards, leaving a trail of blood. The gang member grinned. This would be a feather in his cap. Vottanator realised the danger all too late. Stryke was too near, Reaper’s latest blow having driven him backwards. The Rider’s spear was hurled with deadly accuracy, just as FFF thrust his spear into Strafex, and it soared straight through the head of FFF. He crumpled to the ground soundlessly, dead in an instant. Vottanator screamed in anger, the horror of seeing another gang member dead. He charged towards Stryke, fire burning in his eyes, arrow notched. The Rider was too fast. He flipped Vottanator round, a dagger held to his throat.
“ You let me go. I spare his life.” The voice came harsh, rasping.
The Reaper shook with pent up aggression. He looked deep into Vottanator’s eyes.
‘Sorry..’ he seemed to mouth. At the last second Vottanator realised what he was going to do.
“ No!”
Reaper swung the heavy scythe round from the ground, it’s large blade impossible to stop. It slashed upwards, through Vottanator. Just before the end, just as he knew what was going to happen, Stryke smiled…
The scythe cut through Stryke’s skull, sending both corpses reeling to the ground. The Reaper dropped the scythe, tears flooding from his eyes. He had killed a friend, and all through petty revenge. He dropped to his knees, feeling the warm blood through the thin cloth of his trousers.
“ For the fallen…”
**
Ant felt his skin tear as AliBoy forced his head into the stone wall of the dungeon. He coughed, feeling burning as bile erupted from his mouth. AliBoy kicked out, scything the legs out from under Ant. His axes sparked off the ground as Ant rolled upright in an instant. AliBoy lashed out again, colliding with the hilt of Ant’s lead sword. It clanged off into the dungeon darkness. Ant backed away, looking around. Three corpses, those of his closest friends lay around him, dead because of him. His eyes widened as he felt something he hadn’t felt since a child. Fear. Throwing one last despairing look at the bodies of his friends, he turned and ran from the dungeon. He fled upwards, through the corridors of the castle, AliBoy’s mocking laughter echoing after him. He ran over the lawn, hardly casting an eye at the corpse’s lying around the yard. He didn’t flinch as he saw, in the corner of his eye, AliBoy emerge and spit Reaper’s weeping form on his axe. He just ran, up the battlement steps and to the grappling iron. Mocking tones floated up to him.
“ You can run all your life Ant. I’ll be there. Waiting.”
Ant turned at the last instant. AliBoy stood there, Reaper’s corpse at his feet, twin axes hanging loosely from his arms. Ant took a deep breath. The Wessexian scum was right. He could run all his life. He jumped down the steps, sword held high, ready to fight. Then he stopped. The remainder of the Twelve stepped out of the shadows, arrows notched on taught bows. Ant’s mouth dropped open in horror. AliBoy’s lips split in a triumphant grin.
“ So all this time. All these battles, all the deaths, all the struggle. It all comes down to four arrows, and one word from me.” AliBoy stepped forward, his axes glistening with blood.
“ You would kill me? In cold blood? Without honour?”
Ant could tell the words had hit AliBoy hard. The Lord’s head dropped. HE had a fihhting chance, Ant realised. Then AliBoy’s head rose.
“ Yes.” He nodded to the archers.
And Ant realised he had lost. That feeling was one of utter despair, and he felt nothing but darkness opening around him as four keen heads of steel exploded into his body, ripping his vessels to shreds. He collapsed forward, a void opening before him. He looked deep into its depths, and had nowhere else to go.
**
THE END.
“ Shame. I quite liked that helmet. Come on, I’ve found Goatboy, and killed the Riders chasing me.”
He reached down to help Rasta up. The Hawk Eye got to his feet slowly, his breathing coming ragged. Grix shut his eyes. He wasn’t sure his friend would make it.
**
Goatboy’s cell was open, and Ant was inside, swords in hand. The leader was cautious, as his friend was tied and gagged – but squirming. Ant sliced quickly through the gag.
“ It’s a trap, you muppet.” Sighed Goatboy, before an arrow arched out of the darkness and embedded itself in Goatboy’s ribcagee. Blood covered Ant as he screamed in anguish. Goatboy lolled forward, his eyes clouding with deathmist. He winked once, and they closed. Ant howled in fury, and his hands closed on his twin hilts. He turned, and saw AliBoy emerging from the shadows, his own swords drawn.
“ My Lord.” Ant tilted his head sarcastically. AliBoy let out a booming laugh, and swung his swords round into a defensive position.
“ I’m going to kill you, and hunt those SCUM down.” Said Aliboy flatly, no emotion in his voice. Ant trembled with anger, his swords held loosely by his sides. Then Grix ran through the door, Rasta limping after him.
“ This is what you fight to protect?” asked AliBoy, mockingly.
“ This is what I call friends.” Replied Ant.
“ Touching, cowboy, touching.” AliBoy turned, shearing at neck level with his sword, the keen edge seeking out Grix’s neck. Even before the sword had completed it’s trajectory, AliBoy was running, towards Rasta. Ant screamed again in anger as Grix’s head tumbled from it’s body, the flecks of blood covering AliBoy’s face. But Ant was too slow, and AliBoy had already sliced twice, opening Rasta’s ribcage. Joy was on the Lord of Wessex’s face as he ripped Rasta’s still beating heart from the body. He turned his back as Rasta collapsed, aorta pumping out blood. AliBoy threw the heart at Ant, smearing his face with the blood. Ant looked disgusted as the heart hit the ground in front of him.
“ You’re mad.” Ant growled.
“ If I lose, I’m mad. If I win, I’m a genius. Such is history.” Said AliBoy simply. Then he attacked, swords whipping and curling in towards the torso of Ant, who rolled forward, sparks flying as the swords collided. Ant was up in an instant, swords instinctively parrying twin blows from AliBoy. They’d had this fight before, and Ant wasn’t sure he could win this time.
**
Reaper charged into the fray, heavy scythe spinning rapidly as he pummelled on Stryke’s guard. The Rider was forced backwards. Vottanator hurled his spear, churning through Mask, cutting another Rider down. Starfex was already wounded, a scythe blow having opened up his side.He clutched a hand to it as FinalFantasyFanatic advanced, sword held outright. The Rider limped backwards, leaving a trail of blood. The gang member grinned. This would be a feather in his cap. Vottanator realised the danger all too late. Stryke was too near, Reaper’s latest blow having driven him backwards. The Rider’s spear was hurled with deadly accuracy, just as FFF thrust his spear into Strafex, and it soared straight through the head of FFF. He crumpled to the ground soundlessly, dead in an instant. Vottanator screamed in anger, the horror of seeing another gang member dead. He charged towards Stryke, fire burning in his eyes, arrow notched. The Rider was too fast. He flipped Vottanator round, a dagger held to his throat.
“ You let me go. I spare his life.” The voice came harsh, rasping.
The Reaper shook with pent up aggression. He looked deep into Vottanator’s eyes.
‘Sorry..’ he seemed to mouth. At the last second Vottanator realised what he was going to do.
“ No!”
Reaper swung the heavy scythe round from the ground, it’s large blade impossible to stop. It slashed upwards, through Vottanator. Just before the end, just as he knew what was going to happen, Stryke smiled…
The scythe cut through Stryke’s skull, sending both corpses reeling to the ground. The Reaper dropped the scythe, tears flooding from his eyes. He had killed a friend, and all through petty revenge. He dropped to his knees, feeling the warm blood through the thin cloth of his trousers.
“ For the fallen…”
**
Ant felt his skin tear as AliBoy forced his head into the stone wall of the dungeon. He coughed, feeling burning as bile erupted from his mouth. AliBoy kicked out, scything the legs out from under Ant. His axes sparked off the ground as Ant rolled upright in an instant. AliBoy lashed out again, colliding with the hilt of Ant’s lead sword. It clanged off into the dungeon darkness. Ant backed away, looking around. Three corpses, those of his closest friends lay around him, dead because of him. His eyes widened as he felt something he hadn’t felt since a child. Fear. Throwing one last despairing look at the bodies of his friends, he turned and ran from the dungeon. He fled upwards, through the corridors of the castle, AliBoy’s mocking laughter echoing after him. He ran over the lawn, hardly casting an eye at the corpse’s lying around the yard. He didn’t flinch as he saw, in the corner of his eye, AliBoy emerge and spit Reaper’s weeping form on his axe. He just ran, up the battlement steps and to the grappling iron. Mocking tones floated up to him.
“ You can run all your life Ant. I’ll be there. Waiting.”
Ant turned at the last instant. AliBoy stood there, Reaper’s corpse at his feet, twin axes hanging loosely from his arms. Ant took a deep breath. The Wessexian scum was right. He could run all his life. He jumped down the steps, sword held high, ready to fight. Then he stopped. The remainder of the Twelve stepped out of the shadows, arrows notched on taught bows. Ant’s mouth dropped open in horror. AliBoy’s lips split in a triumphant grin.
“ So all this time. All these battles, all the deaths, all the struggle. It all comes down to four arrows, and one word from me.” AliBoy stepped forward, his axes glistening with blood.
“ You would kill me? In cold blood? Without honour?”
Ant could tell the words had hit AliBoy hard. The Lord’s head dropped. HE had a fihhting chance, Ant realised. Then AliBoy’s head rose.
“ Yes.” He nodded to the archers.
And Ant realised he had lost. That feeling was one of utter despair, and he felt nothing but darkness opening around him as four keen heads of steel exploded into his body, ripping his vessels to shreds. He collapsed forward, a void opening before him. He looked deep into its depths, and had nowhere else to go.
**
THE END.
Woohoo I am a Lord. Nicely done as usual. : )
**
The helmeted Rider strode quickly through the Hall, his armoured boots clicking on the marble. Behind him two knights dragged the prone Goatboy, crusted blood around his head. The Rider heaved open the doors, walking through into a huge chamber with a table at the centre. Eleven figures were seated, helmets removed. The Rider nodded stiffly to the figure at the head of the table.
“ My Lord.”
The figure waved to a seat.
“ Be seated. Remove your helmet, we are among friends.”
The figure nodded, and Goatboy raised his head groggily. No one had ever seen the visages of the Twelve. He scanned the table.
Mask of the Gaslands. Sniper. Fant D’Meister. Strafex the Bold. Others he didn’t remember. The one who brought him in, the one who killed Iguana – that was Stryke of Rhondda. At the head of table… Goatboy gasped.
“ Ant killed you..” murmured Goatboy, softly. The head looked around, the light catching a scar that traced his face. It was AliBoy, Lord of Wessex.
All these figures, Goatboy realised. They had been the leading men of the land – the Star Council of the King. The Council had rebelled…
“ Goatboy, you have no idea of the world I have created.” Grinned AliBoy manically.
“ You have created terror and destruction.” Whispered Goatboy.
“ I have created a future.”
The Council said nothing. They were puppets of their Master.
“ Soon your pitiful resistance will be at an end.” AliBo yturned and slowly towards Goatboy. “ Then, I will take great pleasure in holding your head in my hands, and twisting. Take him away.”
**
Vottanator sat silently, surveying the castle ahead. Ant was nearby, practising as always. His swords were slicing through the air as he went faster and faster, sweat pouring from him. Vottanator slowly drew an arrow from his sheath and looked at it, fingers feeling the harsh edges of the head. Then he looked at the castle again.
“ Time to go.” Ordered Ant, swinging onto his horse. Vottanator took one last look at the castle, and leapt onto his horse. Then he swung around, and rode through the forest. His fate was at hand.
**
Turbo looked around his Table. He had his Council with him. His plan would be executed perfectly by these, his most trusted of servants.
“ Goatboy will not talk.” Said Strafex.
“ He shall die before he talks.” Added Mask.
“ He does not need to talk!” said AliBoy triumphantly. “ His friends will come for him. Not today, but soon. The Horde will be back tomorrow. Then we shall strike.”
The Council grinned. Nothing pleased them more than the promise of death.
**
The grapples launched silently, and the gang swarmed up them, practised combat reflexes ever ready. Ant leapt over the parapets, closely followed by Grix. They drew their weapons as the others landed softly. Ant pointed to the two guards at the end of the walkway. Before anyone could move, Vottanator had whipped two arrows from his quiver and notched them to his bow.
“ For the fallen.” He whispered, and fired. Both the guards keeled over backwards as the arrows scythed into them. Vottanator clenched a fist in victory.
“ AIIIIIIEEEEEEE! INVADERS!”
The voice rang across the courtyard silence.
“ Damn. FIRE!” yelled Ant. Vottanator and Grix unleashed arrows again, felling two more guards. But more were coming swarming out of their barracks. Vottanator tore a rag from his coat, soaked it in lamp oil, lit it, tied it to an arrow and unleashed it towards a clump of barrels. They exploded with fiery detail. Ant glared at Vottanator briefly.
“ Hell, I like to blow stuff up.” Said the marksman, before drawing his twin daggers and leaping towards some advancing guards. The gang expanded to meet the guards.
**
Ant twisted to meet the first attacker, both swords cutting into his kneecaps. Then he rolled to avoid a spear thrust, parrying a club blow with his hilt. The Hall. He needed to get to the Hall. He ran another guard through, then called across the yard.
“ RASTA! GRIX! WITH ME!” Ant ran, somersaulting over a makeshift barrier, and turned into the Hall as his men joined him. They snarled, and charged the doors, sending them clanging open. The Council turned, surprise rocking through them.
“ For the fallen,you shall be judged!” Said Ant angrily, before turning and walking out of view. The Twelve sprang to their feet, anger coursing through their veins. Then Ant re-appeared briefly, lazily throwing a sickle. It looped across the room in slow motion, and one of the Twelve looked up, fear in his posture. Then time returned, and it slammed into the Rider, pinning him against a wall.
“ Firebalt!” one cried for a brief second, before the thrashing figure slumped. They all turned, swords drawn, and charged. Ant, Rasta and Grix ran through different corridors, exploiting the vastness of the castle.
“ FIND GOATBOY!” yelled Ant, before ducking into a side-corridor. AliBoy fumed with anger and directed two Riders after each, before charging after Ant.
**
Outside the battle was raging fierce. FinalFantasyFanatic was back to back with Vottanator, parrying and stabbing desperately to avoid the cruel spears arching in at them from every angle. They were pressed backwards, looking around for the The Reaper. He was nowhere to be seen. Vottanator gulped in pain and a spear slashed towards his cheek. He flicked his head round for a second, getting a gash across the forehead for his troubles. He clapped a hand to his forehead, blood staining it. Then another spear was thrown from across the courtyard. It rammed into Vottanator’s shoulder, and he was thrown backwards against a wall. He screamed in pain at this, and FFF turned to protect his comrade. Vottanator winced in pain, and turned to block more spears….that weren’t there. The Horde members had split, and they both looked up, dreading what they were about to see. Three of the Twelve stood across the courtyard, swords drawn. They gulped. Vottanator reached up and, biting his lip, pulled the spear free. Blood trickled down his chin as he fought to keep unpright.
“ Two on three is not fair.” Yelled FinalFantasyFanatic.
The Riders just bowed once and walked forward.
“ Too right it ain’t fair. Let us see what a dead man may do.” The Reaper’s voice rang from the shadows, and he stepped forward, scythe dripping blood and gore. He pointed at the lead figure.
“ I know you. You killed my Iguana.” Emotion was evident in his voice. The lead Rider stopped briefly, and tugged his helmet free.
“ I am Strafex, deputy to the Riders. This is Mask, and Stryke of Rhondda.”
“ Stryke killed Iguana?” asked Vottanator, weakly.
Stryke said nothing. He was a puppet to whoever was in command. That was Strafex.
“ Let us begin.” Said Strafex, simply.
“ FOR THE FALLEN!” yelled Reaper, swinging his scythe round.
**
The helmeted Rider strode quickly through the Hall, his armoured boots clicking on the marble. Behind him two knights dragged the prone Goatboy, crusted blood around his head. The Rider heaved open the doors, walking through into a huge chamber with a table at the centre. Eleven figures were seated, helmets removed. The Rider nodded stiffly to the figure at the head of the table.
“ My Lord.”
The figure waved to a seat.
“ Be seated. Remove your helmet, we are among friends.”
The figure nodded, and Goatboy raised his head groggily. No one had ever seen the visages of the Twelve. He scanned the table.
Mask of the Gaslands. Sniper. Fant D’Meister. Strafex the Bold. Others he didn’t remember. The one who brought him in, the one who killed Iguana – that was Stryke of Rhondda. At the head of table… Goatboy gasped.
“ Ant killed you..” murmured Goatboy, softly. The head looked around, the light catching a scar that traced his face. It was AliBoy, Lord of Wessex.
All these figures, Goatboy realised. They had been the leading men of the land – the Star Council of the King. The Council had rebelled…
“ Goatboy, you have no idea of the world I have created.” Grinned AliBoy manically.
“ You have created terror and destruction.” Whispered Goatboy.
“ I have created a future.”
The Council said nothing. They were puppets of their Master.
“ Soon your pitiful resistance will be at an end.” AliBo yturned and slowly towards Goatboy. “ Then, I will take great pleasure in holding your head in my hands, and twisting. Take him away.”
**
Vottanator sat silently, surveying the castle ahead. Ant was nearby, practising as always. His swords were slicing through the air as he went faster and faster, sweat pouring from him. Vottanator slowly drew an arrow from his sheath and looked at it, fingers feeling the harsh edges of the head. Then he looked at the castle again.
“ Time to go.” Ordered Ant, swinging onto his horse. Vottanator took one last look at the castle, and leapt onto his horse. Then he swung around, and rode through the forest. His fate was at hand.
**
Turbo looked around his Table. He had his Council with him. His plan would be executed perfectly by these, his most trusted of servants.
“ Goatboy will not talk.” Said Strafex.
“ He shall die before he talks.” Added Mask.
“ He does not need to talk!” said AliBoy triumphantly. “ His friends will come for him. Not today, but soon. The Horde will be back tomorrow. Then we shall strike.”
The Council grinned. Nothing pleased them more than the promise of death.
**
The grapples launched silently, and the gang swarmed up them, practised combat reflexes ever ready. Ant leapt over the parapets, closely followed by Grix. They drew their weapons as the others landed softly. Ant pointed to the two guards at the end of the walkway. Before anyone could move, Vottanator had whipped two arrows from his quiver and notched them to his bow.
“ For the fallen.” He whispered, and fired. Both the guards keeled over backwards as the arrows scythed into them. Vottanator clenched a fist in victory.
“ AIIIIIIEEEEEEE! INVADERS!”
The voice rang across the courtyard silence.
“ Damn. FIRE!” yelled Ant. Vottanator and Grix unleashed arrows again, felling two more guards. But more were coming swarming out of their barracks. Vottanator tore a rag from his coat, soaked it in lamp oil, lit it, tied it to an arrow and unleashed it towards a clump of barrels. They exploded with fiery detail. Ant glared at Vottanator briefly.
“ Hell, I like to blow stuff up.” Said the marksman, before drawing his twin daggers and leaping towards some advancing guards. The gang expanded to meet the guards.
**
Ant twisted to meet the first attacker, both swords cutting into his kneecaps. Then he rolled to avoid a spear thrust, parrying a club blow with his hilt. The Hall. He needed to get to the Hall. He ran another guard through, then called across the yard.
“ RASTA! GRIX! WITH ME!” Ant ran, somersaulting over a makeshift barrier, and turned into the Hall as his men joined him. They snarled, and charged the doors, sending them clanging open. The Council turned, surprise rocking through them.
“ For the fallen,you shall be judged!” Said Ant angrily, before turning and walking out of view. The Twelve sprang to their feet, anger coursing through their veins. Then Ant re-appeared briefly, lazily throwing a sickle. It looped across the room in slow motion, and one of the Twelve looked up, fear in his posture. Then time returned, and it slammed into the Rider, pinning him against a wall.
“ Firebalt!” one cried for a brief second, before the thrashing figure slumped. They all turned, swords drawn, and charged. Ant, Rasta and Grix ran through different corridors, exploiting the vastness of the castle.
“ FIND GOATBOY!” yelled Ant, before ducking into a side-corridor. AliBoy fumed with anger and directed two Riders after each, before charging after Ant.
**
Outside the battle was raging fierce. FinalFantasyFanatic was back to back with Vottanator, parrying and stabbing desperately to avoid the cruel spears arching in at them from every angle. They were pressed backwards, looking around for the The Reaper. He was nowhere to be seen. Vottanator gulped in pain and a spear slashed towards his cheek. He flicked his head round for a second, getting a gash across the forehead for his troubles. He clapped a hand to his forehead, blood staining it. Then another spear was thrown from across the courtyard. It rammed into Vottanator’s shoulder, and he was thrown backwards against a wall. He screamed in pain at this, and FFF turned to protect his comrade. Vottanator winced in pain, and turned to block more spears….that weren’t there. The Horde members had split, and they both looked up, dreading what they were about to see. Three of the Twelve stood across the courtyard, swords drawn. They gulped. Vottanator reached up and, biting his lip, pulled the spear free. Blood trickled down his chin as he fought to keep unpright.
“ Two on three is not fair.” Yelled FinalFantasyFanatic.
The Riders just bowed once and walked forward.
“ Too right it ain’t fair. Let us see what a dead man may do.” The Reaper’s voice rang from the shadows, and he stepped forward, scythe dripping blood and gore. He pointed at the lead figure.
“ I know you. You killed my Iguana.” Emotion was evident in his voice. The lead Rider stopped briefly, and tugged his helmet free.
“ I am Strafex, deputy to the Riders. This is Mask, and Stryke of Rhondda.”
“ Stryke killed Iguana?” asked Vottanator, weakly.
Stryke said nothing. He was a puppet to whoever was in command. That was Strafex.
“ Let us begin.” Said Strafex, simply.
“ FOR THE FALLEN!” yelled Reaper, swinging his scythe round.
**
Ta very much lads. I'm working on it as we speak.
Wahey!! Top story Stryke, I can't wait for the next part. Very detailed and emotional. Keep it up mate. :)
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