Ronin's Tale Part 8

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Saint of m
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Ronin's Tale Part 8

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The stale air grew rank, as a mass of flesh could be felt heading towards them. It was still to far away to see noting more then a black, grey, and green cloud of dust walking, crawling, and running towards them. The Rancid stink of their unbathed, untreated bodies was powerful enough to make a ogre double over and loose its apatite. Ronin took out his telescope to see how many of them they would actually have to fight, but this redundant. Every one in that patrol tide a scarf, or bandana around their face so they wouldn’t inhale the stench of rotting flesh. But this putrid odor was too powerful to completely block out (especially for the highly developed senses that all elves possess.

“Well, half of them look dead, and the other half look dead-er. What are our odds? Still the same?”

“More or less." Said Sepacuna, shrugging her shoulders. "We need to move now!"

Ronin shook his head and followed after her.

First thing was first: Calling upon the wind of death to deal with some annoying clan rats. With all of her might she caused a black vortex to appear in her slender hand, unleashing it upon the vermin. Unfortunately she only unleashed enough of a charge to kill just an insignificant amount to the rats. Well, she could at least attempt the impossible: make Ronin look scary. Well, maybe when the winds blew her way again.

Ronin tried his luck against them with his crossbow action. Despite his training, he still had mastered the art of riding and shooting at the same time. For his efforts, only one Skaven fell.

But he didn't need to be an excellent shot. The blot thrower crew, all four of them made sure of that made had their deadly war machines ready. "Wew, any one up for rat kabobs?" Asked one male loader, as he saw his weapon bring death from above upon his foes.

"As long as it isn't that Cathayan recipe your mother stole. I like her cooking and all, but that gave me the runs three days strait!" Said his superior.

"Would you to just shut up, and reload that thing, or I'll cabob the both of you!" unlike the first crew, the other Reaper crew were all business. With a battle still waging, they had no choice but to reload their ballista. "I think this would be a perfect time for you guys to shoot something your selves, you know!"

"Love to, but their out of…Cold one crap! Censer Bearers to the left!" yelled Kell'Ella. With a steady hand, and clear mind she held her hand in the air, signaling her warriors to load and aim their weapons. With a swift drop of her arms, death rained from above, their desired foes. But the fanatics didn't cared. And even if they did they knew the toxic haze hanging over them would prevent them from getting a good look at them. They were fought. Only a two of those fell creatures managed to die. This was not looking good. They were less then fifty yards away, and moving fast. It was going to be a miracle to kill them.

*******

With their enemies getting too close, both mounted commanders realized they got too close for comfort. "Is it just me, or did we expect death to rain from above?"

"I guess they got distracted by something more important then a horde of cutthroats coming upon them." Sad the sorceress, blasting just enough of the vermin to the hereafter to cause a mass panic. “I suggest we retreat, and get some distance away from them.

“I concurrrrrah!” yelled Ronin as his mount bolted forward! The problem with cold ones is that for as tough, and powerful as they were also inversely as intelligent. “The other way, you stupid lizard!!!!”

Sepacuna could only slap her hand on her forehead, and shake left and right. “I told you not to feed it Skaven Treats! But, nooh! You just had to do it. Well, I can at least try casting shades of death on him again.” She said. Besides the entertainment value of watching you young rider hold on for dear life, she could take pride in the fact she did the impossible: Make Ronin look horrifying!

Back on the hill, the bolt thrower teams prepared for another valley against the demented fanatics, to the continual protests of the crossbowmen. “Sorry, but we got this one.” Said a warrior, preparing to take his shot.

“Sorry, but we got this one!” Said one of the reaper crew members. With a flick of the wrist, both machines some how, some way, had skewered all but one of the Censer bearers. “Not bad, hay?”

“Lucky shot!”

No, that was skill baby.

“Skill my pale skinned behind, that was luck.”

“Skill.”

“Luck.”

“Skill!”

“Would you two just shut up already!” said the only women among the Reaper crew members, as she released one final volley against that Skaven. With a bit skill, and an unusual amount of luck, the spear length bolts managed to landed all around the Censer bearer, caging him in! “How about that?”

“Well, you’re so good, why couldn’t you just do this on your own?” asked the other crewmen.

“I’m a female. I lack upper body strength.”

“Oh, is that right? Women always say they can do anything a man can. But when it comes to moving a couch, who do they call?”

The female simply put another bolt in the ballista, and pointed it at him.

“Please don’t kill me!”

“Hay! We’re trying to concentrate over here!” Yelled Kell’Ella, taking a few pot shots at the clan rat slaves charging at them. Despite the heavy losses, the vermin seemed to still be hell-bent on killing them. To make matters worse, the Plague monks were now visible, and had come en mass! Even worse was they still had their protective meat shield taking all of the hits. The only relief came in the fact that the clan rat slaves turned tail, and scurried back to the other side. Ramming them selves in rusting blades of the disease ravaged Plague Monks.

Ronin also had a bit of luck with his troubles. For some reason, The Skaven horde he had to go up against, despite almost having three quarters of this unit’s forces shot down by bolt thrower bolts, or had their bodies made limp and lifeless by the touch of death it self, they mustered enough courage to charge the enchanted child, and his Cold One mount. But their bravery could not make up for their lack of skill. Only one Skaven, their claw leader, managed to lay a lethal blow on the high elf. But the rusty blade was dull and needed to be replaced desperately. As the thin sword shattered on Ronin’s chest plate, the boy rewarded his foe’s efforts with a face full of repeater crossbow bolts. With a forward thrust of his strong arm, Ronin impaled two more of the rodents. As for Flower, the cold one, she got her treat. With a loud belch from the mount, the Skaven took their cue and ran away! Like before, Ronin didn’t have any control over his mount as it chased its prey, going deeper into enemy territory.

A territory that was held by a massive, green Skaven Rat Ogre. The two looked into each others’ eyes, and found a kinship that only an equal on the field of battle could have. “Come on then. Lets dance!” said the boy, as he charged his foe. The experiment had the same idea, rushing towards its prey! As they collided, Ronin’s lance just tore through the creature’s chest, piercing the monster’s massive heart. But it wasn’t enough to take him out. “This is going to hurt!”

The Rat Ogre punched the kid, then back handed two of his teeth out, and finally knocked his shield away before sending the kid on his back with a forward thrust. But this wasn’t enough to deter the lad. Pushing the confused lizard out of the way, it walked three steps towards the child, slamming his massive fist into the ground. The earth reacted like an angry beast, unleashing its hate upon Ronin’s direction. With the reflexes that every elf is born with, he dodged the shockwave. But before the child could regain his bearings, the hulking mass of furry, sinew, mussel, and pain had already eclipsed him with it’s own shadow. Its massive fist raised in the air for one last pounding.

Suddenly, Flower jumped onto the creatures back, tearing into its thick hide. With its claws digging deeper, and deeper into Hulk’s back, it was preparing to stay latched on to its master’s would be murderer. To make sure of it, it dangled the severed spine and skull of the Rat Ogre’s master in front of its face. This seemed to distract it long enough to make it forget about Ronin. But the rage it felt could not be contained, as it grew to the size an adolescent dragon just on the verge of adulthood. It ripped Flower from its back, slamming it to the ground. With just one final blow from it follow-up punch, the cold one was done for.

“Hay, ugly!” yelled Ronin. The Ogre turned its head and snarled. But instead of getting bigger, it managed to reduce its size. Apparently it didn’t know the true meaning of the word. “I say we’re about even. You almost killed me, and I almost killed you. My pet killed you master, and you killed my pet. How about we finish this fight the old fashion way.” He declared, with sword sliding out of his right gauntlet. “Me and you, one warrior to another. It was fate that brought us together this day. Let us see who the better warrior is, shall we?” He asked, with another blade sliding out o his left gauntlet with a loud shink. To his delighted surprise, the monstrosity returned to the mass it was when it started this fight. With a bit of struggle, it pulled the lance out, tossing it into some retreating clan rats. With short, deep cackles, and an expression that looked like a smile, it was as pleased with this idea as the kid. “Well, don’t wait on my account.”

And the two were off, claws extended, blades made ready. This Death match was only the beginning for whoever would survive.


12 Minutes earlier.


“Well, he’s either really brave, or really stupid.” Said half tail. With his mechanical eyes, he could survey the whole battlefield from the comfort, and leisure of being out of rang of the reaper bolt throwers. So comfortable intact that he seemed fairly oblivious of the stray flying spears that came whirling at him.

“Is he riding a really big lizard?” asked Squeaker

“Yes.”

“More on the lines of stupid then brave. Dark Elves and Lizard Men ride on these things because of their power, but they have an even smaller brain then the rat ogres!”

“Ooh, still want Bulk and Tailbeater to tear him apart?”

“Yes. Oh, one request though.”

“Yes my lord.”

“I want you to take some of the more experienced members of the Plague Monks, and go around the battle field. This skirmish seems small enough for me to handle. But just to make sure, I want you to attack the enemy from behind. Let this teach them a lesson they won’t forget!”

“Yes, my lord!” said the Plague Deacon. But before he could go perform his task, his leader had one more question for him.

“Why did you save me Pussbut Half Tail?” asked the withered wretch.

“I am no leader. I can guide a small group of warriors to a slaughter, but that is the extent of my capabilities. I would have what’s left of this army shot down within five minutes of me taking command. You on the other hand can lead us, keep many of us from dyeing in vain, and still give us plenty of time to slaughter our enemies. That is why.” He said, before heading toward the mass of tattered and rotting masses before him.

Lord Squeaker the Terrible folded his almost dead arms. Then he forced a smile on his pox covered face, causing a few of the sours to explode; the noxious ooze that filled them flowing out. He is certainly a weird chap, this Pussbutt. I like it. He thought. “I like it alot!"
Last edited by Saint of m on Fri Dec 21, 2007 6:48 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Drainial
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Post by Drainial »

I think that you are describing the battle a little to exactly, a bit to close to what hapend in the game, when you describe battles describe it as a thing in which everything is allways moving, yours is a bit to much turn by turn. Quite good though. But I still think that your Skaven are acting to much like men and not enough like rats.
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Saint of m
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Post by Saint of m »

Sorry this is late. I'll try to keep this in mind with the last couple installments as I'm writinge and editing.
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