Glory of Wantilan p4
by, 03-17-2011 at 12:59 PM (834 Views)
With that past lost behind him Lark looked to the horizon with hate in his eyes aimed at letting himself define Lark.
* * *
An entire day and night past and Lark took little rest. He needed little rest his mind constantly screaming with rage fueling his body. The first and second sun rose almost one after another indicating the seasons changing and the shortening of days. Lark wouldn’t have light for long and he desperately needed it. There was no way he could attack the punrigs in the night. The black moon at night gives the punrigs added strength, their vision and senses were actually heightened. Lark couldn’t afford to give them any advantages, his only hope lye in him being swift enough to reach the Dark Mistress. If he could defeat her hopefully the mindless creatures will disband in fear.
The two suns began to dip low in the sky glazing the atmosphere as Lark finally caught up to the army he’d been tracking for almost three days. His original plan was simple: scout out the army, find the Dark Mistress and the shortest path to her. As he crept close trying to get a good look a voice rang loud.
“Lark, son of no one, come out!”
Lark stepped out of his hiding spot and walked far until finally reaching a large green grass pasture at the border of the forest. It was a wonderful battlefield with a view stretching far out to a mountainous horizon. It was a great place to die. The Dark Mistress stood far away from him at the head of her whole army. Actually in the open their numbers didn’t seem that great. There could be no more then two or three hundred of them… the filthy little bastards didn’t have a chance. Lark drew his sword from one of four sheaths on his back, two behind his right shoulder and two over his left, all of them now empty as his sword hung in his right hand.
“I believe this is what you came for!” The Dark Mistress tossed his father’s sword high into the air over her entire army. The sword spun around a center axis flashing in the sunlight as the blade caught the rays of the suns. The sword arched high above the warriors on the ground, its blade grasped for the stars reaching its apex and then swung down hard as if an arrow piercing the ground right next to Lark. At first Lark reached for the sword but something deterred him. As he reached again he heard Venquin’s soft words. Before retracting his hand the sword told him to protect it and to leave it standing in the earth. Before Lark turned his attention to the hordes in front of him he noticed small green lighting began to dance along the blade, seemingly lifting up from the earth. Lark’s grip tightened on the hilt of his own sword as he looked back to the Dark Mistress’s gaze.
“Fetch for me the invaluable prize my children and it shall be yours.”
The punrigs bolted in a charge fueled by greed and bloodlust. All of their eyes locked at the prize as their filthy figures griped hammer, sword, and mace alike. Lark stood with no fear, he had nothing to live for and everything to fight for. Lark could feel the magic emanating from the sword next to him growing stronger with every passing moment. Lark’s composure was calm as the first of the punrigs reached him. Lark swung high beheading the first two creatures and then cut low chopping the next three at the knees. One after another Lark decimated anything that got even remotely close to him. Hard slashes drove straight through the feeble creatures pushing through the attempted blocks and parries of the putrid army. Cutting downward Lark split another in two slamming his sword into the ground slowing him and leaving him open for the next rusher. The mindless punrig trusted a spear at Lark who sidestepped the near fatal blow leaning backwards. Lark lifted his sword from the earth and straight into the heart of his opponent embedding his sword which he was forced to abandon in the dead weighted corpse, the momentum nearly knocking him over. The next punrig that charged was armed with a mace, which whistled heavily past Lark nearly clearing off his head. Lark grabbed the mace by the shaft on the back swing and with his left hand struck a well aimed blow to the neck of the creature disarming him. Lark gripped the stunned punrig and threw him into an oncoming spear then gripped the mace firmly in two hands. Lark swung with such force he cleared line after line of attackers, smashing them into one another and driving the chargers back. Tossing the mace he crushed another skull while he kicked the enemy next to him whose axe was stuck in the ground. Lark ripped the axe out of the ground and brought it clean through its wielder. The endless rush met Lark’s fury as he now cut them down like saplings defending his father’s sword at all costs.