Post by Feroc on Aug 23, 2008 17:31:27 GMT -5
The Terran Grand army stood ready on the plains. Their leader's and general's had said that a great challenge, the greatest they've ever fought would face them here. and for Hours they had stood here, Hot, bored, restless and eager. Finally a Lone Figure appeared.
Falling from the sky, having dropped from the back of a frost wrym. Landing without a sound, save the crackle of broken ice, strangely it appeared as the strangled crunch of broken bones to the army awaiting in front of then new comer.
Slowly a darkness came over the sky, heralding the dawn of doom. A fear then came over the men, for who could hope to challenge them bye himself, unless he was in fact the greatest warrior ever known. With a simple wave of his hand he had caused ice to appear, and no warrior known to them could do that. He must be the rarest of the rare. A mage and a Warrior.
But in truth, their real force was far more deadly. The bane of armies, The scourge of the sea, the blight of the world. Arthas. The very air seem to whisper his name, until he silenced it that was. Slowly but surely he began his march of more than a mile to the awaiting force. Drawing his sword in a couple steps, he prepared himself for battle. Dressed in a light leather tunic he did not seem at first impressive, but oh were they wrong. First a massive plate buckler appeared on his back, along with a dark blue cloak, trimmed in blood and ice, that seemed to exclude a chilly atmosphere. Next he dawned a enormous pair of steel plate boot's followed soon by a iron chest piece and hardened admantine leg-plates. His massive steel spaulder's followed shortly, with gauntlet's as well. Finally, when he was cresting a large shard of ice that he had made arisen several yard's in front of the army, he put his helmet upon his head.
Finally fully armed and armored, he slung his weapon's aside for his trusty claymore, the great sword Frostmourne, he would revert to his other weapons when thing's became more personal, but with it's runic power and serrated edge's, Froustmourne more than lived up to it's glamor.
A chill silence settled upon the field, broken sharply by a single horn, the call to battle. As one the Terran army swarmed to the lone figure on the trestle of ice. With only a wave of his hand's, hundred's fell dead, struck by shard's of ice raining from the sky, piercing through armor and skin to sink into the heart's and brain's of the enemy combatants, still they kept the the vengeful charge, now driven to murderous rage over the loss of their comrades. Still more fell as great beast of ice reared up in front of them, slashing and killing before they were struck down.
In a pause, while they tried to kill his various creations, Frost tigers, yeti's, Wyrm's and the such, Arthas delved into the fray. Slashing and mutilating, he felled all that dared come into reach of his might blade. Soon there was nothing left of the terran grand army save for a few survivors that rushed quickly from the field of battle. Satisfied at this day's work, he walked away and sat down on a large shard of ice, contemplating his next scheme.
Falling from the sky, having dropped from the back of a frost wrym. Landing without a sound, save the crackle of broken ice, strangely it appeared as the strangled crunch of broken bones to the army awaiting in front of then new comer.
Slowly a darkness came over the sky, heralding the dawn of doom. A fear then came over the men, for who could hope to challenge them bye himself, unless he was in fact the greatest warrior ever known. With a simple wave of his hand he had caused ice to appear, and no warrior known to them could do that. He must be the rarest of the rare. A mage and a Warrior.
But in truth, their real force was far more deadly. The bane of armies, The scourge of the sea, the blight of the world. Arthas. The very air seem to whisper his name, until he silenced it that was. Slowly but surely he began his march of more than a mile to the awaiting force. Drawing his sword in a couple steps, he prepared himself for battle. Dressed in a light leather tunic he did not seem at first impressive, but oh were they wrong. First a massive plate buckler appeared on his back, along with a dark blue cloak, trimmed in blood and ice, that seemed to exclude a chilly atmosphere. Next he dawned a enormous pair of steel plate boot's followed soon by a iron chest piece and hardened admantine leg-plates. His massive steel spaulder's followed shortly, with gauntlet's as well. Finally, when he was cresting a large shard of ice that he had made arisen several yard's in front of the army, he put his helmet upon his head.
Finally fully armed and armored, he slung his weapon's aside for his trusty claymore, the great sword Frostmourne, he would revert to his other weapons when thing's became more personal, but with it's runic power and serrated edge's, Froustmourne more than lived up to it's glamor.
A chill silence settled upon the field, broken sharply by a single horn, the call to battle. As one the Terran army swarmed to the lone figure on the trestle of ice. With only a wave of his hand's, hundred's fell dead, struck by shard's of ice raining from the sky, piercing through armor and skin to sink into the heart's and brain's of the enemy combatants, still they kept the the vengeful charge, now driven to murderous rage over the loss of their comrades. Still more fell as great beast of ice reared up in front of them, slashing and killing before they were struck down.
In a pause, while they tried to kill his various creations, Frost tigers, yeti's, Wyrm's and the such, Arthas delved into the fray. Slashing and mutilating, he felled all that dared come into reach of his might blade. Soon there was nothing left of the terran grand army save for a few survivors that rushed quickly from the field of battle. Satisfied at this day's work, he walked away and sat down on a large shard of ice, contemplating his next scheme.
