OK fellow adventurers, I thought I’d have a go on this one also.
Unfortunately only being a mere mortal it took me about 30 minutes to put this together during my tea break and weighs in at approx 570 words.
You’ll notice that description is what I’m good at but dialogue I’m not so great with, so apologies for any clichéd terms in the speaking parts.
OK then Knives Out everyone..
OH.. btw Mord is the German word for death in case you’re wondering.
Vagor Meer sat submerged in chains of cloying silence that stalked his eyes with iron stealth. Trying to reconcile his mind’s fractured whisperings with those of the crone who crouched before him had proved much harder than even he could have envisioned.
How this minion had been able to impregnate the magical glyphs he’d so meticulously weaved into the door’s metal hinges was a mystery he dearly would have loved to solve. However, with an ever-increasing urgency, time’s cruel hand pressed down upon his crevassed forehead with weighted solemnity, quickly shattering this moment of idle speculation as the need for decisive action became paramount
“I take it you’re here to kill me then?” the King’s captain suddenly enquired, with a practiced languidness that was somewhat undermined by a voice that distinctly sounded like breaking glass.
“That would appear to be the inescapable conclusion,” responded the Golem with chilling finality, its maw widening to reveal blackened turrets of razor sharp bone. “But before I do I want you to know something”. Shifting its liquid gaze to the map of Galdir and its surrounding principalities it spoke with an indisputable resonance that sent tails of fear scurrying along Vagor’s vertebrae. “Soon these lands will be awash with the sweetened blood of your kinsmen for a new Lord is once more poised to mount the Iron Throne. A new age awaits where the tattered remnants of lost souls will rise up in collective memory to reclaim Pengor’s Bane and the world will once more hear the clarion cry of Hell’s trumpets. No more will mankind’s footfalls wade through history’s sediment; no more will the Vermeerian Kings rear the Dragon’s head above the dawn sky. Humanity’s twisted carcass will soon weep final tears of red; the Time Of Mord’s Hand is nigh!”
With this final pronouncement, the figure, that had initially appeared as an ageing woman, fully transmogrified into a primal mass of claw and muscle that thrust up like an impenetrable wall of brooding darkness.
Before Vagor had a chance to react to this sudden shift in events he was unexpectedly lifted into the air by an unimaginably powerful force. With the seconds rolling on like cold treacle, he awaited the killing blow before being frontally hurled into a nearby wall as his sight exploded into wheels of spinning darkness.
Still fully dazed with a head now immersed in a bath of rising pain and bleeding from at least half a dozen serious wounds, Vagor made a superhuman effort, getting to his feet as he half staggered, half ran, towards Death’s servant. As he threw himself upon his assailant with a vigour born of desperation the reek of moulding insects innervated his senses as sweaty toothed jowls angrily sought purchase on pounding arteries.
Questing fingers eagerly caressed the solid assurance of the silver-lined blade’s oak haft as the mercenary somehow managed to thrust the weapon into his adversaries chest three, four, five times. Suddenly, fountains of scarlet foam sprouted like ribbons of liquid fire from the startled beast’s heaving frame as it cried out in genuine pain.
Before he could gather himself for a final assault, the apparition burst full length through the open window, causing a splintered trail of wood and glass to spin out behind it like a plunging comet’s bronze tail.
Stumbling over to the window, Vagor thought he could just discern a shadowy silhouette traverse the courtyard’s outer wall, before suddenly experiencing an onset of dizziness augmented by blurring vision as the blood spattered floor rushed up to meet him....
Unfortunately only being a mere mortal it took me about 30 minutes to put this together during my tea break and weighs in at approx 570 words.
You’ll notice that description is what I’m good at but dialogue I’m not so great with, so apologies for any clichéd terms in the speaking parts.
OK then Knives Out everyone..
OH.. btw Mord is the German word for death in case you’re wondering.
Vagor Meer sat submerged in chains of cloying silence that stalked his eyes with iron stealth. Trying to reconcile his mind’s fractured whisperings with those of the crone who crouched before him had proved much harder than even he could have envisioned.
How this minion had been able to impregnate the magical glyphs he’d so meticulously weaved into the door’s metal hinges was a mystery he dearly would have loved to solve. However, with an ever-increasing urgency, time’s cruel hand pressed down upon his crevassed forehead with weighted solemnity, quickly shattering this moment of idle speculation as the need for decisive action became paramount
“I take it you’re here to kill me then?” the King’s captain suddenly enquired, with a practiced languidness that was somewhat undermined by a voice that distinctly sounded like breaking glass.
“That would appear to be the inescapable conclusion,” responded the Golem with chilling finality, its maw widening to reveal blackened turrets of razor sharp bone. “But before I do I want you to know something”. Shifting its liquid gaze to the map of Galdir and its surrounding principalities it spoke with an indisputable resonance that sent tails of fear scurrying along Vagor’s vertebrae. “Soon these lands will be awash with the sweetened blood of your kinsmen for a new Lord is once more poised to mount the Iron Throne. A new age awaits where the tattered remnants of lost souls will rise up in collective memory to reclaim Pengor’s Bane and the world will once more hear the clarion cry of Hell’s trumpets. No more will mankind’s footfalls wade through history’s sediment; no more will the Vermeerian Kings rear the Dragon’s head above the dawn sky. Humanity’s twisted carcass will soon weep final tears of red; the Time Of Mord’s Hand is nigh!”
With this final pronouncement, the figure, that had initially appeared as an ageing woman, fully transmogrified into a primal mass of claw and muscle that thrust up like an impenetrable wall of brooding darkness.
Before Vagor had a chance to react to this sudden shift in events he was unexpectedly lifted into the air by an unimaginably powerful force. With the seconds rolling on like cold treacle, he awaited the killing blow before being frontally hurled into a nearby wall as his sight exploded into wheels of spinning darkness.
Still fully dazed with a head now immersed in a bath of rising pain and bleeding from at least half a dozen serious wounds, Vagor made a superhuman effort, getting to his feet as he half staggered, half ran, towards Death’s servant. As he threw himself upon his assailant with a vigour born of desperation the reek of moulding insects innervated his senses as sweaty toothed jowls angrily sought purchase on pounding arteries.
Questing fingers eagerly caressed the solid assurance of the silver-lined blade’s oak haft as the mercenary somehow managed to thrust the weapon into his adversaries chest three, four, five times. Suddenly, fountains of scarlet foam sprouted like ribbons of liquid fire from the startled beast’s heaving frame as it cried out in genuine pain.
Before he could gather himself for a final assault, the apparition burst full length through the open window, causing a splintered trail of wood and glass to spin out behind it like a plunging comet’s bronze tail.
Stumbling over to the window, Vagor thought he could just discern a shadowy silhouette traverse the courtyard’s outer wall, before suddenly experiencing an onset of dizziness augmented by blurring vision as the blood spattered floor rushed up to meet him....
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