Post by General Cheese on Sept 27, 2005 15:29:52 GMT -5
(Just a note: This was an intro I made at Neopets for a Redwall roleplay. I just felt like posting it here... yeah...)
How long had it been? Days? Weeks? Months? Even years, perhaps? No, it could not have been that long. It felt as though he had only been asleep for a night or so. Yet the dust gathering on the pole-axe resting beside him told him otherwise. The bulky figure sat up hastily; he was greeted by several jolts of chilling pain the crept up and down his spine like spiders. He shuddered and assumed a fetal position. Had he really gone into a coma? How long had it been since he had heard his own voice? He couldn't stand at the moment; he knew his body would revolt. What had happened that long while ago? When the tiny ivory flakes of bitter-cold snow were still thawing in the spring-time sun? He was sure by the moisture in the air and colourful array of leaves that he was no longer in the season of spring. No, he had just entered autumn...
"Two seasons? Two full seasons?" He asked himself in a shaky, raspy voice. It was not the one he remembered. He sat there for several more minutes, staring at the blade of his enormous weapon; the long dried crimson gleam of blood on the ruthless edge of the lethal weapon.
"Was I a killer?"
He was a killer. A killer so skilled in his profession that he was assumed to be a God of battle. But if he really was a God then why was he asleep now? Why had he been awakened? Had the fates decided that he was to arise? To continue his morbid obsession of killing sinners? No, that couldn't be it. Fate couldn't be so merciful... There had to be a deeper meaning.
"Why am I here? I am supposed to be dead. I died. I know I did..." He had felt the icy fingers of death grip at his soul, ushering him towards the gates of the Netherworld. Then it was all blank; a void of endless white consuming his being. Death was life. Life was death. Hours became days. Days became weeks. Weeks became months... Time enveloped all that was around him yet left him untouched. Questions buzzed about in his mind like a swarm of angry hornets. Why could he not remember the instant of the one who had sent him into this coma? The face? The scent? No, it was all a blank to him. How could one stop the God of battle? was that even possible? Apparently so...
"These questions are getting me no where." Muttered the self-inquiring beast warily. "I am bound to go back into a coma if I think this hard. I must prevent this from happening again. I am the Lord of the Battlefield. This was a mere fluke. I will forget about this incident and continue to ravage the woodlands for worthy opponents. I must. It is what every creature on the planet is expecting me to do. I, Zangledge Duuga, God of battle." With that, the giant of a stoat hefted his battle-axe and started into the woodlands.
The beach would be his first destination.
ZANGLEDGE DUUGA: THE GOD OF BATTLE
How long had it been? Days? Weeks? Months? Even years, perhaps? No, it could not have been that long. It felt as though he had only been asleep for a night or so. Yet the dust gathering on the pole-axe resting beside him told him otherwise. The bulky figure sat up hastily; he was greeted by several jolts of chilling pain the crept up and down his spine like spiders. He shuddered and assumed a fetal position. Had he really gone into a coma? How long had it been since he had heard his own voice? He couldn't stand at the moment; he knew his body would revolt. What had happened that long while ago? When the tiny ivory flakes of bitter-cold snow were still thawing in the spring-time sun? He was sure by the moisture in the air and colourful array of leaves that he was no longer in the season of spring. No, he had just entered autumn...
"Two seasons? Two full seasons?" He asked himself in a shaky, raspy voice. It was not the one he remembered. He sat there for several more minutes, staring at the blade of his enormous weapon; the long dried crimson gleam of blood on the ruthless edge of the lethal weapon.
"Was I a killer?"
He was a killer. A killer so skilled in his profession that he was assumed to be a God of battle. But if he really was a God then why was he asleep now? Why had he been awakened? Had the fates decided that he was to arise? To continue his morbid obsession of killing sinners? No, that couldn't be it. Fate couldn't be so merciful... There had to be a deeper meaning.
"Why am I here? I am supposed to be dead. I died. I know I did..." He had felt the icy fingers of death grip at his soul, ushering him towards the gates of the Netherworld. Then it was all blank; a void of endless white consuming his being. Death was life. Life was death. Hours became days. Days became weeks. Weeks became months... Time enveloped all that was around him yet left him untouched. Questions buzzed about in his mind like a swarm of angry hornets. Why could he not remember the instant of the one who had sent him into this coma? The face? The scent? No, it was all a blank to him. How could one stop the God of battle? was that even possible? Apparently so...
"These questions are getting me no where." Muttered the self-inquiring beast warily. "I am bound to go back into a coma if I think this hard. I must prevent this from happening again. I am the Lord of the Battlefield. This was a mere fluke. I will forget about this incident and continue to ravage the woodlands for worthy opponents. I must. It is what every creature on the planet is expecting me to do. I, Zangledge Duuga, God of battle." With that, the giant of a stoat hefted his battle-axe and started into the woodlands.
The beach would be his first destination.
; Seems like everyone here is. 'Cept for me. |3
