Join Date: Oct 2010
Location: Vancouver Washington
Thus the song of legend sings.
The ocean waves dipped and lifted simultaneously. At first the rippling effect was small and unnoticeable, but as the winds grew so did the waves. The small boat was not meant for open waters especially not this far out.
The boat was named the Little. It bore its name in truth, but the cargo it carried was worth more than gold. The old man fought with the oars hard against the current the wind and the waves, but try as he might he was just not strong enough to make any headway.
The old man’s heart gave out and as he slumped over and collapsed on the shallow deck the baby began to cry.
No one could understand why the Little did not capsize. Some people believed it was because the baby was blessed while others believed the baby was such a curse the ocean would not accept it. Whatever the case may be, the baby was held aloft in the hands of a young lady who took him as her own.
As the years passed by the baby grew into a man, strong and fleet of foot. His hunger for knowledge grew to such a point the elders could no longer quench his thirst, nor could they answer his questions anymore.
The young man bore the name Obadia. It meant in the language of the coastal people, “For what purpose?”
The name Obadia could not have been so aptly applied than to this young man. Everything was questioned. Everything had to have an answer even if it was as simple as, ‘Why does that rock sit in the sun at that angle and cast its shadow at that angle?’ or as difficult as, ‘Why does death take us all?’
Obadia hated to fight, but when it came down to it he could defend himself with such skill none was a match for him. He was from a place across the ocean, from another tribe…another world. What purpose did he have in this life? He had to find out.
As the sun came up over the ocean waves Obadia said goodbye the woman who had raised him. He left not knowing where he was going, with no direction but the beating of his heart and the rising of the sun.
Years passed, the seasons changed and with them so did Obadia. He became strong from his travels, he became a warrior able to fend off and kill the greatest of beasts. By his hand he clove the enemies of humanity in twain and struck down the great dragon and its child.
Blood had become his way of life and death knelt before him. His red hair grew long and his muscles strong. His skin grew dark under the relentless sun and his eyes strange and cold. In the wilds he felt his purpose. In the darkness he made his home.
His name became a bane to the enemies of men and they cursed him for the fear they felt.
The days passed and with them so did his desire to once again go home. There was nothing left for him of his old life; he had been reborn in the killing fields. Obadia’s mind grew sharp from study. Anything he found with words upon it he took the time to read.
In the Chaos wastes he found ancient libraries buried under time and dirt. There he made his home and there he gained his knowledge. The books were old and cracked. They fell apart when he lifted them too roughly, so it was with a gentle hand that he turned the pages. He covered his mouth when he read lest the pages disintegrate from the breeze his breath would cast.
The things these books taught him were forbidden in the old world; they answered questions that no one else could have answered. If he thought, they knew. It was as if they were alive, old and dying; desperate to impart their knowledge before they met their end.
With the knowledge they taught him he found that the world had not always been a feral place nor was their Chaos in the hearts of men. Death had no place in the land and darkness was natural as was the light.
The minds of men became warped when they were led away by their own lusts and as they sought to gratify their own desires the world began to turn. Darkness seeped in and consumed their minds. It was not the darkness of night, but the darkness of rebellion and faithlessness. It was the darkness of perversity and lust. It was the darkness of curses and murder.
Obadia wept with the sadness of lost civilizations and burned with anger at the travesty and depredation of mankind who had turned their hearts from righteousness and had given themselves unto the daemons of the underworld.
In his heart a fire was kindled and he knew at last the purpose for which he had been born. It was not for him to only kill but to cleanse the land from the stain of Chaos. Reborn from a lowly child into a young man, from a young man into a warrior, from a warrior into a scholar, from a scholar into a priest set apart for the purpose of dismantling the forces of Chaos.
In the depths of the library he came upon a shield and hammer covered in sand and fallen stone. The weapons called out to him in his sleep and bade him come. Once they were in his hands he found he could not let them go. His soul was aflame and his will a fire.
The sword began to glow as the sounds of the minions of Chaos found the city of libraries; the shield began to sing with the power of forgotten saints. As he emerged from the depths his eyes began to burn and from his open mouth the words he had read burned forth in lightning flashes that boiled the enemy in their armor and split the ground as if in a earthquake.
Giants fell before him when he whispered and Chaos gods long forgotten begged for mercy when he slashed his sword. Chained to his soul, the scriptures gave him strength and he fought as if possessed by all who had been slain for their faithfulness.
Ten thousand fell to the songs of his shield and a hundred thousand to the sword in his hand. The earth rose and fell by the words in his mouth and the fire in his eyes.
Thus the song of legend sings.
1,100 words not including title.
We move slowly through the shrouds of fog sending pestilence before us. There is no hope! We are the Death Guard. Fear us for we are coming for you!
Last edited by Ambush Beast; 03-06-12 at 06:01 AM.