An old School Literature exercise where each verb had to have an adverb and each noun had to have an adjective, I really like how melancholy-feeling this one turned out. And yes, I do have a fantasy universe in my head too but alas… not many stories. Guess imma start with a history book or something.
Heavy rain poured mercilessly onto the the weary soldiers and the old trees were all silently creaking and slightly bending under the immense pressures of the cold wind.
Only a small garrison of elite samurais patiently awaited their enemy inside a few small tents.
What was quickly coming was their certain death yet they proudly stood their guard. Behind them, their loved ones, before them, the horrific creatures commonly known as simply daemons.
The dreaded daemons loudly announced their savage attack with horrid screams and barbaric clashing of crude weaponry.
To that, the brave warriors simply raised their own gleaming weapons and stood in a defensive line.
After briefly seeing the first of their enemies they proudfully let out a strong warcry.
Then the bloody battle swiftly began.
After tiresome hours of unrelenting fighting it finally seemed that the savage horde slowly thinned out.
The last samurais, their brittle blades broken, leathery armor plates badly torn, yet their fighting spirits still burning brightly, were briefly resting.
As they silently stood there the greasy blood of their fallen comrades and the cold rain slightly mixed together under their tired feet.
Their young commander slowly scanned their bleak surroundings and when she did not spot any of the vile creatures still alive she slowly let her guard down, deeply breathing in and out so that her beating heart slowed down ever so slightly its courageous beating.
The bloody battle momentarily seemed to be at its grim end but it was only the deadly silence before a heavy storm.
More of the wretched daemons swiftly came like a deadly plague, only it were not the lesser daemons that they just fought but more intelligent versions that were even more dangerous.
And so it was that the strongest of the valiant warriors grimly rose once again and so did their bloodied weapons.
The elite samurais fought until only their last one stood, the young commander, without her ornate helmet, with her light armor all torn and her decorated katana in two large pieces.
With exhausted breath she dauntlessly faced her dreadful opponent.
A hulking wall of pale flesh known as the Dreary Carrion. It looked as a decomposing corpse of an older ork but its rotted flesh was still in otherworldly motion, its decayed vocal cords menacingly let out a deep growl.
The worn out commander steadied her trusty sword and fearlessly stared into its hollow gaze.
"Come, let us finish this." She silently said before hopelessly letting out an ancient warcry and charging the monstrosity mercilessly.
The Dreary Carrion moved much faster than one would expect from a reanimated corpse and swiftly charged her as well.
When they were at three arm's length she made her last move as the unnatural anomaly barbarically swung its simple yet effective weapon.
She quickly slid underneath the hulking monstrosity and with a loud yell she brutally ripped it's fat knee. Then she quickly got to her own feet and ferociously jumped onto its putrefying back and madly drove the remaining piece of her trusty sword deep into its fat neck.
The Dreary Carrion let out a deep growl that a dying animal would and dropped to its other knee.
She rapidly pulled out her broken sword and fell in front of the falling corpse.
Before she could even breathe out the rusty hook at the end of a savage weapon tore her back and broke her bones.
In shock, she easily fell to the ground but before she would finally die she frantically dug through her little pack with her one working hand. She then finally pulled out a small contraption with a green ribbon over it but alas she was too weak to do anything more.
Long moments later a strange man dressed all in black interestedly kneeled down in front of her. His dark armour was unlike any of the fallen warriors and his old attire was a heavy coat most unsuitable for the damp and warm environment of her homeland.
The strange knight looked in her dying eyes and then onto her limp arm that was ever so slightly pointing to the small contraption.
Her dry lips let out a desperate whisper.
"The… Flare... Please…"
The man's eyes widened in realization and he quickly picked up the small contraption, urgently aimed it to the sky and easily triggered it.
It loudly let out the sharp sound of a small flare burning brightly.
As he slowly looked around he saw more green flares in the dark sky through the small openings in the thick foliage.
He then sadly looked at her and kneeled down to close her dead eyes with compassion as he silently whispered.
"May yours souls find respite for I shall finish what you started and make sure that no more needlessly die today…"
The black knight slowly stood up, steadily unsheathed his dark blade and then grimly started walking towards a threatening beam of dark red light that was outside the thick forest.
The dark source of all this savage slaughter.
The Hell Rift.
František Preissler