Rockgod
04-26-2012, 04:11 PM
Ror’gosh was rounding on his 16th year of life, nearly a full-grown Tugevar. He was the strongest of his age in his clan. Standing nearly eight feet tall and built like a bull, he could hurl even the heaviest warhammer nearly 60 feet. He weighed almost five hundred pounds and had rubbery, mottled tan skin. Covering his head, back, arms, and legs, were hard, brown, sharp, ridges that could deflect any blade. His back hunched at the shoulders and his neck pushed his head forward. Most humans would have described him by calling him a troll, but it would be the last thing they ever did, if a Tugevar had anything to do with it. They loathe being confused with their dim-witted cousins, and will kill anyone who does such.
Being nearly full-grown, it was time for Ror’gosh to complete the Great Trial. To complete the trial, he must wander the savannah for five weeks, with only the clothes on his back and a 150-pound kahdo-jaw hammer. All Tugevar are required to complete this trial before they can be recognized as anything other than a crying Tuge, still nursing from his mother.
Ror’gosh had already been wandering for two weeks and was looking for a place to lie down and rest, when he heard the sounds of horses, and swords being unsheathed coming form over the next hill. He thought this was very peculiar, as the Four of the Grand Council would never allow battle to take place in this peaceful area. He was perplexed, and was compelled to walk to the top of the hill and find the source of these noises.
When he got to the top of the hill, he was amazed by what he saw. All of the armies of Man, from every corner of the world were gathered and prepared for battle. Millions of foot soldiers, hundreds of thousands of knights on horses, millions of archers, thousands of pike-men. All waiting in the center of a great plain. But for what were they waiting?
This question was answered by a huge gust of wind from the North, and there, on the top of the northern ridge of the valley, appeared a single rider, carrying a great, two-and-a-half-hand, steel sword. Then the wind shifted to the south, and there also appeared a rider on the southern ridge, carrying a great battle-axe nearly the length of his horse, the curved blades the length of a man’s leg. The wind shifted again, this time to the east. There on the eastern ridge, stood another rider holding a spiked mace. The shaft was nearly as long as he was tall, and the spiked ball at the top was the size of a man’s head, the spikes, as long as a man’s forearm. The wind shifted once more to the west and a fourth rider appeared on the western ridge, carrying an enormous hammer of war as broad as his shoulders.
Behind these four riders marched their infernal soldiers of death. They were outnumbered by the armies of Man nearly four to one, but you could sense the powers of Hell and death that coursed through their veins just by looking at them. Everything was silent, Ror’gosh could hear his heart beating. Enormous black storm clouds filled the sky with darkness as they shaded the sun. Flames danced across the tops and bottoms of the clouds and smoke fogged the air. Ror’gosh could sense the tension mounting between the armies of Man and the four riders. The four riders raised their weapons into the air, screamed their war cry, and charged down toward the armies of man. Their soldiers of death followed them, sprinting with inhuman speed. Funnel clouds of fire and smoke leaped to the ground from the clouds above ravaging the armies of Man. The soldiers of Death fought with a speed and strength that could be matched by no man.
Being nearly full-grown, it was time for Ror’gosh to complete the Great Trial. To complete the trial, he must wander the savannah for five weeks, with only the clothes on his back and a 150-pound kahdo-jaw hammer. All Tugevar are required to complete this trial before they can be recognized as anything other than a crying Tuge, still nursing from his mother.
Ror’gosh had already been wandering for two weeks and was looking for a place to lie down and rest, when he heard the sounds of horses, and swords being unsheathed coming form over the next hill. He thought this was very peculiar, as the Four of the Grand Council would never allow battle to take place in this peaceful area. He was perplexed, and was compelled to walk to the top of the hill and find the source of these noises.
When he got to the top of the hill, he was amazed by what he saw. All of the armies of Man, from every corner of the world were gathered and prepared for battle. Millions of foot soldiers, hundreds of thousands of knights on horses, millions of archers, thousands of pike-men. All waiting in the center of a great plain. But for what were they waiting?
This question was answered by a huge gust of wind from the North, and there, on the top of the northern ridge of the valley, appeared a single rider, carrying a great, two-and-a-half-hand, steel sword. Then the wind shifted to the south, and there also appeared a rider on the southern ridge, carrying a great battle-axe nearly the length of his horse, the curved blades the length of a man’s leg. The wind shifted again, this time to the east. There on the eastern ridge, stood another rider holding a spiked mace. The shaft was nearly as long as he was tall, and the spiked ball at the top was the size of a man’s head, the spikes, as long as a man’s forearm. The wind shifted once more to the west and a fourth rider appeared on the western ridge, carrying an enormous hammer of war as broad as his shoulders.
Behind these four riders marched their infernal soldiers of death. They were outnumbered by the armies of Man nearly four to one, but you could sense the powers of Hell and death that coursed through their veins just by looking at them. Everything was silent, Ror’gosh could hear his heart beating. Enormous black storm clouds filled the sky with darkness as they shaded the sun. Flames danced across the tops and bottoms of the clouds and smoke fogged the air. Ror’gosh could sense the tension mounting between the armies of Man and the four riders. The four riders raised their weapons into the air, screamed their war cry, and charged down toward the armies of man. Their soldiers of death followed them, sprinting with inhuman speed. Funnel clouds of fire and smoke leaped to the ground from the clouds above ravaging the armies of Man. The soldiers of Death fought with a speed and strength that could be matched by no man.