Warlord of Blood
The then silent night had given way to the screams of pain, terror and the sinister and spiteful laughs of the vampire.
Their swords created through their own blood, with extreme speed fall on their victims dismembering them and decapitating. They didn't even have a chance to fight him with dignity, as they could only feel a sudden strong wind, see a brief figure and then, their bodies were sliced up with such force that their armor felt like paper.
In the sky, the moon shone like a huge, glittering silver scythe, a somewhat apt shape for this night, when he was a reaper and didn't make a point of leaving any poor devil alive. Everyone would pay for standing against him. With grace and extreme savagery their swords continued to fall on those who could no longer flee, who due to such fear, were paralyzed. It was a slaughter. He didn't care, he wouldn't be forgiving or pious tonight, he would be brutal and he insisted on demonstrating all his power, so that no mortal, vampire, or werewolf would ever make a point of rising up against him again. He would allow only the women and children to survive this night, to tell everyone about the horror that had befallen their city. When the animals controlled by a demon invaded the city gates, as if lashed by its invisible whip, and when finally the devil himself descended on them, always almost invisible, like a wind of death, at first tearing with its beastly claws the terrified people of the city, then impaling them, with spears created through their own blood, setting the city ablaze with flames that seemed to arise from hell itself or from your heart aflame with hate. When then the two swords set to fall on them, cutting flesh, amputating limbs and beheading heads.
The city of Khaldheim would be an example to everyone. The fire flickered in the burning houses, like huge insatiable demons wanting to feed on more and more, turning the once majestic houses to ashes. Like the flames, his swords were not content with the pile of dismembered bodies left in his path, like a scarlet wind, he continued to claim lives and as he did, he laughed with delight, for few things gave him more pleasure than wanton killing. His laughter echoed through the air, chilling the blood of those who were still alive even more, announcing that it wouldn't be for long.
Warlord of Blood
The then silent night had given way to the screams of pain, terror and the sinister and spiteful laughs of the vampire.
Their swords created through their own blood, with extreme speed fall on their victims dismembering them and decapitating. They didn't even have a chance to fight him with dignity, as they could only feel a sudden strong wind, see a brief figure and then, their bodies were sliced up with such force that their armor felt like paper.
In the sky, the moon shone like a huge, glittering silver scythe, a somewhat apt shape for this night, when he was a reaper and didn't make a point of leaving any poor devil alive. Everyone would pay for standing against him. With grace and extreme savagery their swords continued to fall on those who could no longer flee, who due to such fear, were paralyzed. It was a slaughter. He didn't care, he wouldn't be forgiving or pious tonight, he would be brutal and he insisted on demonstrating all his power, so that no mortal, vampire, or werewolf would ever make a point of rising up against him again. He would allow only the women and children to survive this night, to tell everyone about the horror that had befallen their city. When the animals controlled by a demon invaded the city gates, as if lashed by its invisible whip, and when finally the devil himself descended on them, always almost invisible, like a wind of death, at first tearing with its beastly claws the terrified people of the city, then impaling them, with spears created through their own blood, setting the city ablaze with flames that seemed to arise from hell itself or from your heart aflame with hate. When then the two swords set to fall on them, cutting flesh, amputating limbs and beheading heads.
The city of Khaldheim would be an example to everyone. The fire flickered in the burning houses, like huge insatiable demons wanting to feed on more and more, turning the once majestic houses to ashes. Like the flames, his swords were not content with the pile of dismembered bodies left in his path, like a scarlet wind, he continued to claim lives and as he did, he laughed with delight, for few things gave him more pleasure than wanton killing. His laughter echoed through the air, chilling the blood of those who were still alive even more, announcing that it wouldn't be for long.