Violence Warning. Langauge Warning.
Bark exploded from the tree, the impact of the warhammer nearly cracking the small plant in half, as the man staggered back to only barely evade the strike. The paladin reared himself back, weapon following his grasp, as his feet became firmly planted to the ground. "The Light demands retribution, heretic!" Towering over the man by nearly two feet, Delargo faced down his prey with relentless dedication. "Your 'Light' is nothing, palad-" Refusing to allow him time to mock him so, the paladin struck again, and slammed his warhammer down against the man's shoulder. His pained cries blasted even through the leather of his red mask, the sheer weight of the weapon snapping his collar bone in half. "Bastard!" The man shouted again, weak and clear with agony, as he began to topple over from his legs giving out from under him. Delargo reared the weapon back one final time, before bringing it to bear against the man's head. His body shuddered for a moment, muscles going tense and arms jerking back, as the bandit's head exploded against the dirt road in a mess of bone and blood. Before the paladin could even stop to realize the damage he'd done to the now dead man, another pair of bandits rushed out from the treeline to, albeit too late, assist their comrade. "Jasen! You bastard!" The larger of the two shouted at the paladin, flipping a pair of spiked maces from his belt, as he charged after him. Warhammer raised close to his chest, hands tightly gripped to both ends of the solid metal shaft, Delargo stood readied to fend off the next wave of attackers.
"Come! Face the Wrath of the Righteous!" The man proudly called out to the men, his weight shifting to the side, as he brought the warhammer to bear once more. The larger bandit, too blind by rage, never stood a chance to protect himself from the strike. The destructive impact of the paladin's weapon had utterly wrecked havok on the man's ripcage. His breathing stopped, bones snapping and splintering, as he fell back and gasped for air. The smaller of the two, now gripped by fear, turned himself around and began sprinting with all speed down the road. The man, more a boy really, barely managed any distance before a glowing hammer suddenly smashed against is back. He fell over onto the ground, limbs going out on him, as he struggled to get up again. The paladin marched over to him, a hard kick sending up onto his back, as the warhammer was once again lifted."I-" With a heavy frown, and a stern glare, the paladin swung the blunt weapon down on the boy. He flinched, his last action in this life, as his skull exploded from the impact of the weapon, and covered the road with blood and splintered bone. With a heaved breath, Delargo stood himself up straight, wiping the blood from his cheek with the back of his armoured hand. Gazing down at his fallen enemy, quietly slinging the warhammer around to his backside, he gave another heavied breath. "Far too young..."
"I can pay you da-" The man began to scream, the absolute worst agony he had ever faced in his entire existance, as Rydanovich suddenly shattered his knee with the heel of his boot. Toppling to the ground, his lungs straining from the pained wails, as the Knight loomed over the dying man with a hateful glare. "P-please! I-... I have ch-children! W-... Th-they need th-their dad!" The man screamed even louder, being forcefully picked up by the broken leg, as the Knight picked his runed blade back into hand. "Mine. Do. Just. Fine." He spoke, each word stern and focused, before he ran the tip of the blade through the man's eye socket and jerked the blade aside, splitting his skull apart from it all. The man fell limp, his screams stopped, as the blood showered down at the Knight's boots and onto the dirt below. With an angered growl, he threw the body against a nearby wooden bridge, and began relentless pummling the corpse into a fine, red paste. He stopped, blood dripped from his gauntlets, as his one good eye turned to look towards a pair of Draenei on the bridge. The look of horror was clear in the eyes, fear in the shaking of their hands, as they stared on at the horrible mess the Knight had made. Realizing how dangerous this could get, Rydanovich slowly got himself to his feet and held his arms out from himself. To his dismay, the two women suddenly screamed and bolted, full sprint, back to wherever they had come.
His objective completed, the Knight took a moment to rinse the blood from his gauntlets, and began making his way back to the Draenei settlement he'd come from just hours ago. His eye looked on, gazing up at the massive form that was the mushroom-town of sorts. Part of him wanted to crack a joke about Draenei being drugged gangsters, but another part of him kept his focus to what he had done. The thought had crossed his mind. The warlock's pathetic attempt, and in vain, to get the Knight not to kill him. The thought that he'd brought his children into the matter had done little more than anger him. In the back of his mind, perhaps being a Death Knight was the cause, had Rydanovich almost wishing he could bring the man back, so that he might drag his death out for far longer this time. His mind raced with images of torture, violence and agony. The thoughts of what he would, even wished, have done to that man, given time and tools. Just as he began to lose himself in the prospect of running that warlock through a lifetime of Hell, his mind snapped to are far 'cleaner' image. Sadness filled what remained of his heart, as he saw his family back in Westfall, laughing and running around the farmlands. Rydanovich steeled his nerves, and marched on with a clearer head, armour still dripping blood from the fight."Better. Off."
The metal door of the old, ruined church had creeked open. The hinges worn out and rusted over from years of neglect, as Sathia snapped awake and grabbed for her mace. The Forsaken man, cloaked in gray and purple, stood in the doorway with a boney hand against the edge of the wall. "Calm yourself... Sin'dorei. The company of a Paladin may... disgust me, but your kind are held in high regard by my... 'standards'. You'll find naught but my... sort of kindness, here." His words did little to put the woman at ease, unarmoured and armed with little more than Light and a mace, she had begun to feel a level of disadvantage to her 'guest'. The Forsaken gave the woman a slight nod of his head, his weight shifting slightly, as he strode out from the disrepaired building. Moments had passed before she carefully sat herself up on the old bench, better a chair than a bed, as she groaned from stretching her back out. With a quiet breath, she gently slid the covers off of her and onto the floor, shivering slightly from the sudden exposure as her eyes are drawn to the broken windows around the room. She quickly adjusted to the coldness of the dark room, another quiet breath exaled from her lungs, as she took a few steps across the stone floor and to a small table. A slight frown crept its way across her lips, a hand running along the clothing she had laid out on the table just hours before. Slowly, but surely, she began to redress herself for a nightly stroll. Armoured, armed, and with her stalwart faith, Sathia set off from the ruined church and out into the dark woods that surrounded the village.
Her mind began to wander through the past day, all the events that had occured, as she made he way by tree and bush. She stopped abruptly, recalling the close call she'd had with those would-be slavers. Being chased off by a Yeti and Ogre, being stunned and stripped just shy of naked. She stopped, rethinking over that part again, as she turned a slight red in her cheeks. Slowly, she stepped back and slumped against a nearby tree, sliding down to seat herself on her rear at its base."How embarrassing..." As mortifying as the prospect of being so exposed to a crowd of strangers and friends alike, her attention snapped to a distance ahead of her, the sound of a branch breaking under the weight of a boot. With due haste, she got herself back to her feet, and unholstered her mace from her belt. Her eyes narrowed to the treeline, as a hulking, armoured figure stepped out from the cover of the forest. Clearly too large and bulky to be an Elf, the woman had good cause to be defensive, as the man took a hard step forward. "I have walked these lands for quite some time, 'Blood' elf. Weeks have I hunted and slaughtered these... vermin, these 'Forsaken'. My mission has gone so well... but the chance to put down a traitoress elven whore? This... Oh, this is not something I'll let slip by. You've left yourself exposed, wretch." The man's voice came out deep and stern, his long sword being drawn from the leather sheath at his side. Mace held firm in hand, the woman began to ponder her options for this encounter.
It was over so quickly, she had barely even managed to realize what had actually happened. The man had suddenly rushed forward, bringing his sword in, and struck it against the tree behind her. She only barely managed to duck in time to avoid a beheading, as she quickly rose again, and brought her mace to bear. The weapon came alight with a golden glow, as she smashed it against the side of his head. His cloth hood did little to protect him, his jaw slacking, as a sickening crack resounded from his skull. The man's grip over his sword fell dead, as his body slumped down to its knees and fell still. Blood began to flow out from the fetal dent in his head, and the fight had ended as quickly as it had begun. Sathia heaved a relieved breath, seeing the man fall dead, as she fell back as well onto her rear. She stared at the corpse for a few minutes, before weakly getting upright and set back off to return to the village. Before long, she found herself back inside the old, run down church, and carefully stripped herself utterly bare of her armour and clothing. Looking down are herself, covered by only a bra and panties, she gently slipped back under some covers and laid herself down on the bench once more. Her eyes began to well up with tears, quickly shutting them tight, as she curled herself up into a ball on the hard bench. "I need a hug..."
Bark exploded from the tree, the impact of the warhammer nearly cracking the small plant in half, as the man staggered back to only barely evade the strike. The paladin reared himself back, weapon following his grasp, as his feet became firmly planted to the ground. "The Light demands retribution, heretic!" Towering over the man by nearly two feet, Delargo faced down his prey with relentless dedication. "Your 'Light' is nothing, palad-" Refusing to allow him time to mock him so, the paladin struck again, and slammed his warhammer down against the man's shoulder. His pained cries blasted even through the leather of his red mask, the sheer weight of the weapon snapping his collar bone in half. "Bastard!" The man shouted again, weak and clear with agony, as he began to topple over from his legs giving out from under him. Delargo reared the weapon back one final time, before bringing it to bear against the man's head. His body shuddered for a moment, muscles going tense and arms jerking back, as the bandit's head exploded against the dirt road in a mess of bone and blood. Before the paladin could even stop to realize the damage he'd done to the now dead man, another pair of bandits rushed out from the treeline to, albeit too late, assist their comrade. "Jasen! You bastard!" The larger of the two shouted at the paladin, flipping a pair of spiked maces from his belt, as he charged after him. Warhammer raised close to his chest, hands tightly gripped to both ends of the solid metal shaft, Delargo stood readied to fend off the next wave of attackers.
"Come! Face the Wrath of the Righteous!" The man proudly called out to the men, his weight shifting to the side, as he brought the warhammer to bear once more. The larger bandit, too blind by rage, never stood a chance to protect himself from the strike. The destructive impact of the paladin's weapon had utterly wrecked havok on the man's ripcage. His breathing stopped, bones snapping and splintering, as he fell back and gasped for air. The smaller of the two, now gripped by fear, turned himself around and began sprinting with all speed down the road. The man, more a boy really, barely managed any distance before a glowing hammer suddenly smashed against is back. He fell over onto the ground, limbs going out on him, as he struggled to get up again. The paladin marched over to him, a hard kick sending up onto his back, as the warhammer was once again lifted."I-" With a heavy frown, and a stern glare, the paladin swung the blunt weapon down on the boy. He flinched, his last action in this life, as his skull exploded from the impact of the weapon, and covered the road with blood and splintered bone. With a heaved breath, Delargo stood himself up straight, wiping the blood from his cheek with the back of his armoured hand. Gazing down at his fallen enemy, quietly slinging the warhammer around to his backside, he gave another heavied breath. "Far too young..."
"I can pay you da-" The man began to scream, the absolute worst agony he had ever faced in his entire existance, as Rydanovich suddenly shattered his knee with the heel of his boot. Toppling to the ground, his lungs straining from the pained wails, as the Knight loomed over the dying man with a hateful glare. "P-please! I-... I have ch-children! W-... Th-they need th-their dad!" The man screamed even louder, being forcefully picked up by the broken leg, as the Knight picked his runed blade back into hand. "Mine. Do. Just. Fine." He spoke, each word stern and focused, before he ran the tip of the blade through the man's eye socket and jerked the blade aside, splitting his skull apart from it all. The man fell limp, his screams stopped, as the blood showered down at the Knight's boots and onto the dirt below. With an angered growl, he threw the body against a nearby wooden bridge, and began relentless pummling the corpse into a fine, red paste. He stopped, blood dripped from his gauntlets, as his one good eye turned to look towards a pair of Draenei on the bridge. The look of horror was clear in the eyes, fear in the shaking of their hands, as they stared on at the horrible mess the Knight had made. Realizing how dangerous this could get, Rydanovich slowly got himself to his feet and held his arms out from himself. To his dismay, the two women suddenly screamed and bolted, full sprint, back to wherever they had come.
His objective completed, the Knight took a moment to rinse the blood from his gauntlets, and began making his way back to the Draenei settlement he'd come from just hours ago. His eye looked on, gazing up at the massive form that was the mushroom-town of sorts. Part of him wanted to crack a joke about Draenei being drugged gangsters, but another part of him kept his focus to what he had done. The thought had crossed his mind. The warlock's pathetic attempt, and in vain, to get the Knight not to kill him. The thought that he'd brought his children into the matter had done little more than anger him. In the back of his mind, perhaps being a Death Knight was the cause, had Rydanovich almost wishing he could bring the man back, so that he might drag his death out for far longer this time. His mind raced with images of torture, violence and agony. The thoughts of what he would, even wished, have done to that man, given time and tools. Just as he began to lose himself in the prospect of running that warlock through a lifetime of Hell, his mind snapped to are far 'cleaner' image. Sadness filled what remained of his heart, as he saw his family back in Westfall, laughing and running around the farmlands. Rydanovich steeled his nerves, and marched on with a clearer head, armour still dripping blood from the fight."Better. Off."
The metal door of the old, ruined church had creeked open. The hinges worn out and rusted over from years of neglect, as Sathia snapped awake and grabbed for her mace. The Forsaken man, cloaked in gray and purple, stood in the doorway with a boney hand against the edge of the wall. "Calm yourself... Sin'dorei. The company of a Paladin may... disgust me, but your kind are held in high regard by my... 'standards'. You'll find naught but my... sort of kindness, here." His words did little to put the woman at ease, unarmoured and armed with little more than Light and a mace, she had begun to feel a level of disadvantage to her 'guest'. The Forsaken gave the woman a slight nod of his head, his weight shifting slightly, as he strode out from the disrepaired building. Moments had passed before she carefully sat herself up on the old bench, better a chair than a bed, as she groaned from stretching her back out. With a quiet breath, she gently slid the covers off of her and onto the floor, shivering slightly from the sudden exposure as her eyes are drawn to the broken windows around the room. She quickly adjusted to the coldness of the dark room, another quiet breath exaled from her lungs, as she took a few steps across the stone floor and to a small table. A slight frown crept its way across her lips, a hand running along the clothing she had laid out on the table just hours before. Slowly, but surely, she began to redress herself for a nightly stroll. Armoured, armed, and with her stalwart faith, Sathia set off from the ruined church and out into the dark woods that surrounded the village.
Her mind began to wander through the past day, all the events that had occured, as she made he way by tree and bush. She stopped abruptly, recalling the close call she'd had with those would-be slavers. Being chased off by a Yeti and Ogre, being stunned and stripped just shy of naked. She stopped, rethinking over that part again, as she turned a slight red in her cheeks. Slowly, she stepped back and slumped against a nearby tree, sliding down to seat herself on her rear at its base."How embarrassing..." As mortifying as the prospect of being so exposed to a crowd of strangers and friends alike, her attention snapped to a distance ahead of her, the sound of a branch breaking under the weight of a boot. With due haste, she got herself back to her feet, and unholstered her mace from her belt. Her eyes narrowed to the treeline, as a hulking, armoured figure stepped out from the cover of the forest. Clearly too large and bulky to be an Elf, the woman had good cause to be defensive, as the man took a hard step forward. "I have walked these lands for quite some time, 'Blood' elf. Weeks have I hunted and slaughtered these... vermin, these 'Forsaken'. My mission has gone so well... but the chance to put down a traitoress elven whore? This... Oh, this is not something I'll let slip by. You've left yourself exposed, wretch." The man's voice came out deep and stern, his long sword being drawn from the leather sheath at his side. Mace held firm in hand, the woman began to ponder her options for this encounter.
It was over so quickly, she had barely even managed to realize what had actually happened. The man had suddenly rushed forward, bringing his sword in, and struck it against the tree behind her. She only barely managed to duck in time to avoid a beheading, as she quickly rose again, and brought her mace to bear. The weapon came alight with a golden glow, as she smashed it against the side of his head. His cloth hood did little to protect him, his jaw slacking, as a sickening crack resounded from his skull. The man's grip over his sword fell dead, as his body slumped down to its knees and fell still. Blood began to flow out from the fetal dent in his head, and the fight had ended as quickly as it had begun. Sathia heaved a relieved breath, seeing the man fall dead, as she fell back as well onto her rear. She stared at the corpse for a few minutes, before weakly getting upright and set back off to return to the village. Before long, she found herself back inside the old, run down church, and carefully stripped herself utterly bare of her armour and clothing. Looking down are herself, covered by only a bra and panties, she gently slipped back under some covers and laid herself down on the bench once more. Her eyes began to well up with tears, quickly shutting them tight, as she curled herself up into a ball on the hard bench. "I need a hug..."