Posts Tagged ‘warrior’

Cudgel by QueenGwenevere on DeviantArt.com

Cudgel by QueenGwenevere on DeviantArt.com

Twenty years of suckling drove Mama to abandon Baby Bron. He crawled from giant crib, club-sized rattle in hand, diaper reeking. He bludgeoned and ate the cat. Crawled into the street, fed on street dogs.

Urchins beat him until he snatched one. Crying “Mama,” he hugged the whelp with thick limbs, the bones cracking.

Slumdogs wailed, “Giant killer baby!”

Soldiers came with spears, poked at Baby Bron. He sobbed and toddled toward them, swinging his massive rattle. Spears and skulls shattered. One guard backed to the wall.

“Mama,” whimpered Baby Bron.

“Mama,” cried the guard, disappearing in a chunky embrace.

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Fighting Bull by dumont on DeviantArt.com

Antonio struggled to breathe.  

His guts were spilling out but he did not panic. He had always fought with honor and respect for tradition. He would die as many of the bulls had, with grace.

A young, spindly man knelt beside him. “So what do you think?”

“He was the greatest I have ever faced. I stabbed him with many swords. I danced with him for an entire day. He never tired.”

“Awesome! It’s all robot bulls from here on out. Thanks for beta testing. Here’s an Amazon gift card for your trouble.”

Antonio wished he had Prime, but alas.

Monk by PointLineArea on DeviantArt.com

“I am bigger,” laughed Takamasa.
“True, but answer,” Masasada slashed, nicking Takamasa’s forearm, “how does one bring down Fuji-san?”
Takamasa winced and squinted as he considered the question. He thrust his sword forward, but it was knocked aside by Masasada’s thinner blade.
Masasada struck and drew blood. Before Takamasa could react, Masasada opened up another slit on Takamasa’s arm.
Masasada smiled. “One chop at a time. You see?” He slashed again and opened Takamasa’s shoulder. Blood sprayed and Takamasa dropped to his knees.
“Patience is a virtue,” whispered Takamasa, respectfully.
Masasada thrust down and inward. “Patience is a weapon.”

Daimyo by ISOTXART on DeviantArt.com

Ashikaga was tasked with eradication of the pirate threat. The Daimyo looked upon his men, weak and afraid, wide-eyed in the face of pirate-rage. He knew he must set an example. He rushed into the melee, and slashed the flesh of a burly pirate, even before his Katana had fully cleared its scabbard. The ugly brute fell to the sand as Ashikaga’s second in command stomped on his throat. The men rallied. Hands, an arm, ears and bits of flesh littered the sand, and Ashikaga was filled with pride as his Elite proved themselves and showed honor to their Daimyo.

Her Fall by moroka323 on DeviantArt.com

From behind, I cut her a wide, red smile – so angry was I that she had dared call me rogue. She is the daughter of my Lord’s enemy. Her blood now paints my forearm and leg. She exhales her last through folds of flesh parted by my blade. Blood-flecked spittle sprays, and the sound echoes in my mind. I am dead once word of my failure reaches the King. He’ll have my head boiled and spiked outside his gate, a warning to others about self control. There’s no place to hide. With one swift slash, two lives have ended.

King slayer by Suzanne-Helmigh on DeviantArt.com

The siege lasted a fortnight. Now, all had perished except them. He had escorted the Earl, Countess and the boy up the north tower steps. Before dawn, rhythmic pounding and Germanic shouts foretold their doom. Now, a barbarous roar as the tower door below crashes inward.

Sir Gareth of Sussex waits. Across the stone room, the royals cower in a dark corner. The grunts and growls grow louder as they ascend — shouts Edmund doesn’t understand but knows they mean death.

He spreads his stance, gripping the longsword with both hands. The first is nearly decapitated, but there are so many.

Carrion Crow – MtG by AaronMiller

Jacques awoke amongst scattered bodies. His head throbbed where the mace had struck. Nearby, a crow alit on a dead soldier’s chest, plucked an eyeball, just like Laura would pluck vine-ripened grapes. His hand squeezed bloody muck. He envisioned the rich soil of his farmland. He grabbed limbs of the dead, pulled himself forward. He’d crawl back to Laura.

A boot stepped in his path. “Where you heading, mate?”

“Please,” said Jacques, touching the boot.

“Got a live one ‘ere, Sarge,” called the boot.

“Cap’n said no quarter.”

“Sorry mate,” said the boot, grinding Jacques face into the muck.

Seductress by Felox08 on DeviantArt.com

Her green eyes danced with excitement as she knelt half naked in front of the King. She bowed her head but reverted her eyes back to him sheepishly. The King moved closer and put his hands to her head and smiled. Her milky white breasts heaved with anticipation. She could tell by his trousers that the King was ready to submit. She put one hand on his bulge and the King closed his eyes, mouth parting. She plunged the knife into his neck. The sound of the gushing blood pleased her, for she had always loved the Queen.

Fallen from Grace by treijim on DeviantArt.com

Yallen was unarmed, but he would prove that a weapon doesn’t make a man.
Screams from the tavern signaled that the slaughter had begun. Through the door he saw old Marta vomit red steel.
A warrior laughed as he removed his sword from the back of her head.
“Yaaarrrggghhh!” screamed Yallen, and he ran into the fray, swinging a fist and smacking the invader’s metal-clad chest.
The bloody sword came around and sliced off the top of Yallen’s head. As he fell dying, he thought only that he had proven what an unarmed boy could do.

Desert of blood by Idriu95 on DeviantArt.com

Thugs burst from dunes, gripping curved blades.

Surrounded, Keila turns slowly, remembering rough games played with her brothers – hide and seek, ambush, wooden swords – a girl against aspiring squires. They taught her well. When they went to war, she followed.

The thugs circle; Keila crouches. Winds kick up. She lifts a handkerchief over her mouth, raises a blade and small shield. The thugs become silhouettes in swirling red dust.

She spins like a djin, blade biting through the shrieking desert wind.

The winds die. Dust settles.

Keila stands alone, parched. She gulps water from her wineskin. The dunes gulp blood.