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Snippet #1518568

located in Valcrest, a part of Shadows of The Past, one of the many universes on RPG.

Valcrest

The Land of Valcrest, duh.

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(At the site of the battle, before Blackpond.)

The dead lay patiently never eager to be and in their silence they had a profound presence. Both threatening and serene. Grim remained vigilant in his work. Setting to rest those that he could, knowing heā€™d never get to all who had fallen. It was a calling of kindness a gentleness that was contained. Reserved with pity for those who paid the ultimate price. He was still a Black Knight and he still defended Newhaven despite his misgivings on how his kingdom was acting.
He didnā€™t even notice the group of men approaching until they had circled themselves around where he kneeled. Their shadows casting Grim into a darkness with their ill intent. The first voice called out.
ā€œLeave emā€™ alone yew bastard!ā€

Grim beheld four ragged men looming threateningly toward him. Though each possessed bits of armor it took hardly a keen eye to tell they werenā€™t soldiers. Likely workers of the field that were armed for difficult times. They reeked of sweat and soil, and their gaze was hard with the toils of loss. The Black Knight could see the bitter sting of resentment. Calmly he rose to his feet though the farmers remained their determination too great to intimidate on size alone.

ā€œI mean you no harm, I was praying for those who ar-ā€
ā€œYou were stealinā€™ from our kin thief. I aveā€™ half a mind to cut ya down where yew stand.ā€

Grim threw up his hands dropping his blade helpless beside his feet. It was too late to avoid conflict the first of the earth tenders made his mistake. A sickle flew through the air and his aim was well from threshing wheat for his blade took Grimā€™s flesh and bit deep. Digging into the underside of his right arm. Grim staggered back curling around his wound as though death itself had taken his arm with an icy grip. The farmers were taken aback by surprise knowing well their forerunnerā€™s attack was far from serious how little they knew.
Pondus shuddered trembling throughout every inch of his form. Shaking with such ferocity that his armor clacked and clanked from the rattling. Whispers were spewed with intensity praying for the souls of the farmers, begging for mercy. Seeking out to unheard ears before he sunk into the darkness. Thrown from reality to a pit where he knew the beast waited. It hungered and anticipated with a predators thirst. Itā€™s unwavering stare watching with untold patience for the chance to devour once again.
ā€œRun! Please!ā€
Grim could hardly hear his own voice against the wind, though he knew he screamed them with all his might. The unnamed feeling welling up from inside itā€™s tainted magic tearing through the skin. Holding its wickedness in his heart. The gentle emerald eyes became engulfed in a red haze burning with such intensity that allowed scarlet lights to wisp from his skull. Grim was gone, what remained was what his men called War.

The sickle-wielder hadnā€™t the chance to escape. A great hand took to his throat and try as he might the weapon he swung bounced harmlessly from his captorā€™s shell. The fingers curled drawing the ragged manā€™s veins to view, the vessels pumping blood at such an alarming rate that they threatened to burst. Suffocation is a terrible end. The farmer rasped and clutched dangling like a hanged man from the bruteā€™s clutches. Worry not the peasant didnā€™t suffer long. Grimā€™s skull crashed square with the manā€™s face, the bloodied remains an unidentifiable mush that was cast to the dirt.
The next was caught from behind having tried to escape the hell unleashed upon him. The Black Knight had wrenched his helm free tossing it betwixt the feet of another runner. The prey in his arms already fastened against his chest by a single arm. As though he were a wild beast Grim sank his teeth deep into the dirty workerā€™s neck biting deeply and rending as he pulled free. Swallowing the gobbet of flesh only to return for seconds. A few more great chomps and the victim buckled from the pain and blood loss going limp in his arms, he was promptly discarded.
Flailing desperately against the ground was another farmer. His legs having been tripped up by a great black helm. Clawing the dirt to gain leverage that he may pull himself free but it was too late the armored hulk was on him. Taking him up by his sides Grim forced the farmer to his back so that he could dwell on the terrorized face of this lowly creature.
ā€œYou look so scared heathen, out of sight out of mind!ā€
His hands reached for the thugā€™s skull. Cradling the sides of his face with both palms. The ends of both thumbs taking the tormented manā€™s eyes. Blood and liquids oozed from the wounds pouring down over a screaming mouth. The cry of anguish mingled with Grimā€™s own laughter light and careless. A joy to the Black Knight reveling in the agony giggling at the horror.
ā€œI will destroy you, all of you! Die maggot of Blackpond. Die, die.. Die Die!ā€
The thumbs pushed harder sinking and gouging with renewed strength. When the life wouldnā€™t be snuffed the Knightā€™s grin only broadened. They were going to play a little longer. Calmly he removed his hands and wedged his bloodied digits into the farmerā€™s mouth. Two palms were inversed facing the roof and bottom, with a curl of his fingers he gripped both of the helpless thingā€™s jaws. Gauging carefully placed power he began to separate them. Forcing the maw wide open enough that he could gaze down the wretchā€™s throat. Literally seeing where the cries were omitted. Further apart they went, and beyond even that limitation. The red eyes lit up like a fire of hate finding thrill at what his toy could take. More pressure was applied and the mouth cracked finally blood seeping from where the break occurred. The toad was soon gone and there was nothing left to fight. The fourth and final gang member having actually escaped.

Grim rose from his feet releasing his captive. The rage was shedding from him. Itā€™s strange control was breaking up and the danger was passing. A quick stomp ended the third manā€™s life, the only merciful act left. The crimson seemed to smoke out returning his eyes to their green hue and freeing Pondus from the hate. He had nothing more to say there was nothing he could do now. Picking his helm up gingerly he began his trek back to camp. Being sure to collect his broadsword as well. Heedless to the body fluids caked all over his gloves. Wallowing in his own lonely thoughts.