Death!!
There was no escaping it, not when confronted by the Lord of the Axe. His blade came down with extreme force, splitting the rat before him in two before coming around to chop into the side of a weasel who came at him with a lance. They fell by the dozen as he plowed through their ranks, leaving a trail of bloody carnage in his wake. He snarled as he cut down his first officer, slashing into his shoulder before crushing the beast's ribs with the flat of the double-headed battle axe. Why? Why all this death? Why must he kill his own comrades? An ally fell at his side, an arrow protruding from his throat. Sharn Riconda, wielder of the great axe Geddon, surged forward and slew the archer in one sweep of the weapon. He moved on.
It had begun the day before when one of his generals, Stoutclaw, had defected from the troops, taking with him almost half of the army. A herald had returned that night. Stoutclaw had declared war against Sharn, vowing to conquer the army and rule in his stead. Sharn had met with Stoutclaw, allowing the scarred ferret to speak with him in his private tents. Sharn had known for months that Stoutclaw had despised the warlord, thus there was no questioning his motives. The black wolf's only question was how he had convinced so many other beasts to join him. "How?" Stoutclaw had replied. "They believe you planned to hold back there pay."
"And who gave them that idea?"
"A lie here and there, it wasn't that hard for me to spread such a rumor. Feel lucky so many of your vermin still hold such loyal ties to you."
The battle had begun at dawn and carried on now hours into the day. Both sides had suffered heavy losses and Sharn knew this civil war would be over soon. Very soon. Everything depended on one fight, one clash of blades. They met at the heart of the battle, axe meeting sword under the canopy of trees. Stoutclaw fought hard, he had not been a general for nothing, but even he knew he was no match for the Lord of the Axe. The ferret cried in joy as, by a streak of pure luck, his sword glanced from the curved axe blade to plunge into the flesh of the warlord's hip. The wolf howled in blind fury and Geddon crashed down, snapping the sword's blade from its hilt. Sharn slammed the weapon forward, the empty space at the top of the axe, just between the blades, catching Stoutclaw by the throat and pinning him to a tree. Stoutclaw struggled, fighting to free himself and prolong his life. It was a futile effort and he knew it. The wolf leaned close, the heat of his foul breath stinging the ferret's one good eye. "Tell them," Sharn snarled. The traitor struggled more. "Tell them!"
Stoutclaw's raspy voice rang out, shouting above the clamor of steel on steel on flesh. It was a cry to lay down arms, to cease the attack. The warring beasts stopped and turned, all eyes on the two leaders. "It was a lie! Riconda never planned to rob you! His word was true, his payment honest." The troops hissed and growled, anger surging at this revelation. It was Sharn's voice, powerful, strong, that now called to the animals. "You see now? This was all for nothing! Such death all to aid this scum who thought he was better than me! A beast who had to use deceit to turn you to his cause!" He drew Geddon away from Stoutclaw, allowing the beast to slump to the ground in harsh defeat. Sharn turned to the angry crowd and walked. They parted for him, letting him pass in silence. When he was through, clear of the ranks of troops, he stopped. He spoke but did not turn. "Do with him what you will."
Such was the life of Sharn Riconda, Lord of the Axe, the Deathdealer. It was war and it was neverending. Victory was now and forever his.
There was no escaping it, not when confronted by the Lord of the Axe. His blade came down with extreme force, splitting the rat before him in two before coming around to chop into the side of a weasel who came at him with a lance. They fell by the dozen as he plowed through their ranks, leaving a trail of bloody carnage in his wake. He snarled as he cut down his first officer, slashing into his shoulder before crushing the beast's ribs with the flat of the double-headed battle axe. Why? Why all this death? Why must he kill his own comrades? An ally fell at his side, an arrow protruding from his throat. Sharn Riconda, wielder of the great axe Geddon, surged forward and slew the archer in one sweep of the weapon. He moved on.
It had begun the day before when one of his generals, Stoutclaw, had defected from the troops, taking with him almost half of the army. A herald had returned that night. Stoutclaw had declared war against Sharn, vowing to conquer the army and rule in his stead. Sharn had met with Stoutclaw, allowing the scarred ferret to speak with him in his private tents. Sharn had known for months that Stoutclaw had despised the warlord, thus there was no questioning his motives. The black wolf's only question was how he had convinced so many other beasts to join him. "How?" Stoutclaw had replied. "They believe you planned to hold back there pay."
"And who gave them that idea?"
"A lie here and there, it wasn't that hard for me to spread such a rumor. Feel lucky so many of your vermin still hold such loyal ties to you."
The battle had begun at dawn and carried on now hours into the day. Both sides had suffered heavy losses and Sharn knew this civil war would be over soon. Very soon. Everything depended on one fight, one clash of blades. They met at the heart of the battle, axe meeting sword under the canopy of trees. Stoutclaw fought hard, he had not been a general for nothing, but even he knew he was no match for the Lord of the Axe. The ferret cried in joy as, by a streak of pure luck, his sword glanced from the curved axe blade to plunge into the flesh of the warlord's hip. The wolf howled in blind fury and Geddon crashed down, snapping the sword's blade from its hilt. Sharn slammed the weapon forward, the empty space at the top of the axe, just between the blades, catching Stoutclaw by the throat and pinning him to a tree. Stoutclaw struggled, fighting to free himself and prolong his life. It was a futile effort and he knew it. The wolf leaned close, the heat of his foul breath stinging the ferret's one good eye. "Tell them," Sharn snarled. The traitor struggled more. "Tell them!"
Stoutclaw's raspy voice rang out, shouting above the clamor of steel on steel on flesh. It was a cry to lay down arms, to cease the attack. The warring beasts stopped and turned, all eyes on the two leaders. "It was a lie! Riconda never planned to rob you! His word was true, his payment honest." The troops hissed and growled, anger surging at this revelation. It was Sharn's voice, powerful, strong, that now called to the animals. "You see now? This was all for nothing! Such death all to aid this scum who thought he was better than me! A beast who had to use deceit to turn you to his cause!" He drew Geddon away from Stoutclaw, allowing the beast to slump to the ground in harsh defeat. Sharn turned to the angry crowd and walked. They parted for him, letting him pass in silence. When he was through, clear of the ranks of troops, he stopped. He spoke but did not turn. "Do with him what you will."
Such was the life of Sharn Riconda, Lord of the Axe, the Deathdealer. It was war and it was neverending. Victory was now and forever his.
