Blood War: Suri vs Erredil

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Blood War: Suri vs Erredil

Post by ClockworkPanda on Wed Jan 27, 2016 12:01 am

Battle rages all around me. Arrows and bolts (some the size of javalins) scream by overhead. Steel clashes against steel as off to my sides footsoldiers exchange blows. Further down the line, monsters of terrifying size and power cleave into the assembled legions. Officers attempt to keep some semblence of order, trying to shout orders over the near deafening din. The air itself reeks of brimstone and decay, threatening to choke me with its horrid stench. Each of these small pieces of chaos flow like streams, combining to form an unstoppable river of endless death and destruction.

I feel as though I should be outraged at the senseless slaughter. The pain, the loss, the uncaring brutality of it all violates every belief I held dear. And yet, the place in my heart for righteous fury lies empty. Once, I would have stopped at nothing to repair the damage this conflict has caused. If that meant healing fiends, I would do it without complaint. If it meant taking the fight directly to the archdukes of Hell themselves, I would not think of hesitating.

But the woman I was is gone.

In her place is one who feels nothing. The endless stream of battles has deafened me to the carnage, and left me numb. Where once would be determination, there is only a dull acceptance. The time I spent here has broken me, stripped me of will and soul. I am little more than a mindless machine, following my orders without question or care, wielding my blade with a veteran's efficiency.

Such is the nature of Battor. Of the Blood War.

Like innumerable others, this battle take place on Avernus, the first layer of the plane. This place is a desolate wasteland, even by Hell's standards. Sparse and twisted vegitation cling to life on the rocky terrain. Caves, caverns, snake pits and warrens are scattered amound the rocks, proving a deadly hazzard to the unprepared. Volcanoes dot the landscape, and from them flow rivers of magma. The sky here is starless and full of choking smoke. During the "night" the clouds of smoke glow a dark red, lit by large balls of flammable gas. Occasionally they explode in great fireballs which turn everything below them to cinders. The blood of countless fallen trickles out of the ground in vein-like streams, eventually flowing into the river Styx. Somewhere off in the distance to the south stands the Pillar of Skulls, a mile high tower made from the still speaking heads of the damned.

It is the perfect introduction to the Nine Hells.

A great roar echoes from the horizion in front of me. It is answered by another. Then another, and another still, until the entire battlefield can hear nothing else. The tempo of the fight begins to change as both sides search the skys, seeking the source of the disturbance. Each army seems as confused as the others. Whatever is causing the noise must not be native to this layer of the plane.

The sound stirs something from deep within my mind. I reach for the memory, fighting away the dust and fog hiding it from me. An image flashes briefly before my eyes, of a large creature with golden scales. It flies with great wings, and breathes fire from its mouth.

I know this... it's so very familiar. A dragon?! What would a dragon be doing here?

Something else grabs my attention. Hidden among the dragon's roar is a second sound. It is much fainter, and should be impossible to hear over this distance. A yell.

A wave of emotion crashes over me as memories flood back: Joy, hope, relief... and an overpowering love that threatens to set my soul ablaze. The control my Baatezu masters have worked so hard to perfect buckles and breaks, washed away like a sandcastle in a tsunami. From its many broken pieces my old will rises reforged, stronger than ever. New strength flows though my battered body, causing every inch of me to tingle with energy and unrestrained passion.

I know that cry nearly as well as my own. And I know exactly what I have to do. The task will be by all rights impossible, but that will not keep me from succeding.

My grip tightens on the hilt of my sword as the final missing piece clicks into place. This blade has not sung its song since the  Baatezu shattered my will.

I draw my weapon around me, as my body begins to remember the movements. The shrill notes of the bladesong ring out once more, forming the opening notes to a victory fanfare. The enemies in front of me, unprepared for the change, take a step back.  

You stand between me and my love. Go ahead, bring re-enforcements. Bring the whole gods-damned army for all I care, IT STILL WON'T BE ENOUGH!
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ClockworkPanda
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