The Tale of Three Heroes
Level 50 : Grandmaster Nerd
Posted 01/03/12 4:17:35 pm
The Three Warriors
A warrior is seen upon the distant planes, sweeping his sword among the many legions of hideous creatures, howling under an obscured sun. Along with this warrior are his friends. One a man with a longbow made of polished ironwood, the arrows fletched with feathers from the tail of a falcon. The other a woman of remarkable beauty and merit, an oak-green sword shaped like the leaf of a poison ivy plant in her hand. An army of noble men, royals and peasants alike, fight along with the three heroes fighting upon the distant planes. Though many fall at the blade of the wicked demons, the many noble men continue to fight until the battle should cease. The man with his friend so brave reaves their way throughout the massive horde of evil, cutting a path through field like they were reaping wheat and corn. The bowman nimbly notches and fires his arrows with uncanny accuracy, each arrow finding its mark at the heart of each target. But alas, as one more arrow is notched into the bow of the nimble warrior, a demon sneaks from behind and deals the bowman a mortal blow to the head. With a vengeful roar, the man leading his friends leaps toward the demon that wounded his friend and decapitates it, the grass stained oily black. The warrior gets upon his knees and cradles his dying friend. Before the bowman expires, he gives the warrior his last arrow and releases his final breath. The battle has taken a sudden turn. The army of many noble men has been forced back, losing numbers quickly. A dark cloud now looms over the planes, red lightning springing from the numerous folds of foreboding shadows emitting from the cloud. The general of the army of many noble men notices the cloud along with others and charges it. “Woe betides those who challenge me!” thunders a voice from the dark smog. Suddenly, a dark warlord, shrouded in a cloak of malevolence and deceit, descends from the foul smoke. The general of the army of many noble men draws his sword and charges the evil warlord, the blade gleaming in the sun. With flames shooting from his eyes, the warlord draws a sword of obsidian and sweeps it down toward the general. With a large crackle, a bolt of red lightning springs from the sword and smites the general in the stomach. With the remainder of his strength, the dying general flings his sword at the warlord, piercing his breastplate and wounding the ominous figure. Howling in agony, the warlord pulls the sword free and sends it back into the midst of the battling armies, causing a large explosion and killing many on both sides, be they friend or foe. The warlord notices the noble warrior battling alongside his companion. With a grim smile, the warlord strides over to the two friends, bent on killing them. The warlord raises his head and roars, the sound of the most feared beasts of history mixed into one horrifying amalgam of misery.
The two armies now part, leaving naught but long-grass between the two friends and the warlord. Swords are held at the ready. Suddenly the warlord strikes. With a massive spray of sparks, the blades of the woman, the warrior, and the warlord clash, ringing. For hours the three warriors skirmish, landing minor blows. Suddenly, with the strength of a lion, the warlord knocks the woman unconscious with the pommel of his sword, raising the blade to smite her. The blade is stopped midway by the blade of the noble-hearted warrior. Alas! The warlord pulls his blade free and impales the noble warrior. But the shadows shall not prevail. The warrior slumps to the ground breathing hard, the warlord raising his sword for the final blow. Lo and behold, a leaf-shaped blade sprouts from the chest of the evil warlord. The wounded warrior has now stood up, looking at both the woman and the warlord. Suddenly, the woman pulls the blade free and with a yell, the noble warrior swings his sword, bisecting the warlord. With a gurgling howl, the two halves of the warlord burn away into smoke and ashes, leaving nothing but a blackened helm. The day is won and the demon army perished but the cost is heavy. The warrior, with one final breath, embraces the woman and hands her his sword, asking her as one final favor to put his grave where at that very place and erect a statue to watch over the fields. With a quiet smile the warrior sighs and closes his eyes for the last time, the clouds clearing and the sun shining its light upon the two figures in the field.
So ends the tale of the three warriors.
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