Disclaimer- I do not own Cloud, I do not claim to own Cloud. Don't sue me, please.
Thank you.
***Please read and review.***
The Continuing Legend of Cloud
It was winter, the forest was filled with snow. In glades of tall white aspen
trees, a gigantic warrior sat upon an equally massive horse. A black shroud draped
almost to the ground covering his entire body. He tossed back his cowl with a silver
gauntleted hand, and uncovered his head, upon which a helm topped with a plume of
raven feathers swayed easily in the frigid breeze. From under his helm, strands of
jet hair hung in front of sunken black eyes; eyes receded so far back that it
appeared as if he had none.
He was slumped forward in his saddle, peering down into the snow. A bloody
foot print showed him that he had chosen his course well. The spore aimed him a
little to the left of his present direction; he had been pursuing his prey
along a well trodden game trail until now. Now the wounded man and his compainions
had turned into the brush in an effort to throw the warrior off their trail. But
it was hopeless to attempt to hide a wounded man's steps, blood was easily tracked,
especially by this hunter. The warrior could smell the blood, almost taste it
in the air. His heart began to race, his nostrils flared and he licked his lips
with a hunger soon to be satisfied. He was close.
Leaning back he pulled his great warhammer Yestelmorn from the saddle. The
seven foot handle lay comfortably in his hands. To most mortal men the size would
be to great to weild. But this warrior was no mortal man. He ran his hand along the
raised inscription in the side of the hammer's metal head. The runes of battle were
there, crafted with great skill in the metal works of a fortress which had fallen
ages ago to the war lord.
After a small way he gazed through the trees. There, on a hill in a clearing
they sat panting. The wounded archer gripping a broken black shaft sunk deep in his
thigh, was wincing as he crouched. The three swordsmen were glancing round with
worried looks behind them, asking themselves, "Where was the hunter?"
The hunter smiled as he dropped his hammer head first into the snow. It landed
with a thud and rocked back and forth until it stood still, handle in the air.
He drew his black long bow and knocked an arrow fitted with a signal whistle. He
drew back the arrow and let it fly through the air.
As the shrill cry of the arrow screamed through the wood, the four men looked
back in fear: he had come! They turned and drew their weapons as a black arrow
landed in the center of the hill.
Not far enough away the black warrior replaced his bow and threw back his
streaming cloak, revealing a silver breast plate that mirrored the grey winter sky.
He reached down and pulled up the fell hammer. Rearing his horse he dug his heels
in to his horse ferociously. The horse yelped and charged forward at full speed.
In the clearing the archer drew his bow, soon the man (if one could call that
monster a man) would come within range. The wounded archer fitted his arrow and
tried to steady his aching leg. The sound crashing towards him at unreal speed told
him how close his target was. Suddenly a flash of black, that monster would be in
the thining trees soon. Closer...closer...there!
The arrow flew perfectly straight, it had been well aimed. The warrior raised
his left hand slowly. Then less than a yard from impact, the arrow suddenly exploded
into splinters. Charging on through the cloud of wooden spray, the warrior burst
onto the hill.
The first swordsman froze in terror. He recieved a blow from Yestelmorn full
in the face and was sent sprawling onto the ground where he lay still.
The next two were more agile and jumped clear of iron shod hooves in time. The
archer drew his bow again. He let his arrow fly as the warrior slowed to turn his
charging beast. In a movement so fast it defied human reflexes, the warrior deflected
the shaft with his hammer and now knew his next target.
The archer turned, crying for help and hobbling as quickly as possible to avoid
his obvious demise. Hearing their kinsman, one of the swordsmen threw his blade
spinning towards the warriors back. The warrior deftly avoided the trajectile by
leaping into the air and onto the archer. As the monster's foot landed, the archer's
back crunched and he let out a painful cry, which was stiffled when the hammer came
crashing down onto the man's head.
As the warrior stood to his full nine feet, the unarmed man stumbled back. His
comrade, however did not. He ran forward and lept, loosing a warcry as he flew. The
hammer met him in midair and flung him into the ground.
Staring with wide eyes, the unarmed man cursed himself, he had been rash to
throw his weapon, it hadn't helped any way.
The Warrior smirked as he took a step forward. The man cried, "Gold master,
I have gold I'll gi--"
That was all that was heard as the hammer streaked through the air and into his
head.
Thank you.
***Please read and review.***
The Continuing Legend of Cloud
It was winter, the forest was filled with snow. In glades of tall white aspen
trees, a gigantic warrior sat upon an equally massive horse. A black shroud draped
almost to the ground covering his entire body. He tossed back his cowl with a silver
gauntleted hand, and uncovered his head, upon which a helm topped with a plume of
raven feathers swayed easily in the frigid breeze. From under his helm, strands of
jet hair hung in front of sunken black eyes; eyes receded so far back that it
appeared as if he had none.
He was slumped forward in his saddle, peering down into the snow. A bloody
foot print showed him that he had chosen his course well. The spore aimed him a
little to the left of his present direction; he had been pursuing his prey
along a well trodden game trail until now. Now the wounded man and his compainions
had turned into the brush in an effort to throw the warrior off their trail. But
it was hopeless to attempt to hide a wounded man's steps, blood was easily tracked,
especially by this hunter. The warrior could smell the blood, almost taste it
in the air. His heart began to race, his nostrils flared and he licked his lips
with a hunger soon to be satisfied. He was close.
Leaning back he pulled his great warhammer Yestelmorn from the saddle. The
seven foot handle lay comfortably in his hands. To most mortal men the size would
be to great to weild. But this warrior was no mortal man. He ran his hand along the
raised inscription in the side of the hammer's metal head. The runes of battle were
there, crafted with great skill in the metal works of a fortress which had fallen
ages ago to the war lord.
After a small way he gazed through the trees. There, on a hill in a clearing
they sat panting. The wounded archer gripping a broken black shaft sunk deep in his
thigh, was wincing as he crouched. The three swordsmen were glancing round with
worried looks behind them, asking themselves, "Where was the hunter?"
The hunter smiled as he dropped his hammer head first into the snow. It landed
with a thud and rocked back and forth until it stood still, handle in the air.
He drew his black long bow and knocked an arrow fitted with a signal whistle. He
drew back the arrow and let it fly through the air.
As the shrill cry of the arrow screamed through the wood, the four men looked
back in fear: he had come! They turned and drew their weapons as a black arrow
landed in the center of the hill.
Not far enough away the black warrior replaced his bow and threw back his
streaming cloak, revealing a silver breast plate that mirrored the grey winter sky.
He reached down and pulled up the fell hammer. Rearing his horse he dug his heels
in to his horse ferociously. The horse yelped and charged forward at full speed.
In the clearing the archer drew his bow, soon the man (if one could call that
monster a man) would come within range. The wounded archer fitted his arrow and
tried to steady his aching leg. The sound crashing towards him at unreal speed told
him how close his target was. Suddenly a flash of black, that monster would be in
the thining trees soon. Closer...closer...there!
The arrow flew perfectly straight, it had been well aimed. The warrior raised
his left hand slowly. Then less than a yard from impact, the arrow suddenly exploded
into splinters. Charging on through the cloud of wooden spray, the warrior burst
onto the hill.
The first swordsman froze in terror. He recieved a blow from Yestelmorn full
in the face and was sent sprawling onto the ground where he lay still.
The next two were more agile and jumped clear of iron shod hooves in time. The
archer drew his bow again. He let his arrow fly as the warrior slowed to turn his
charging beast. In a movement so fast it defied human reflexes, the warrior deflected
the shaft with his hammer and now knew his next target.
The archer turned, crying for help and hobbling as quickly as possible to avoid
his obvious demise. Hearing their kinsman, one of the swordsmen threw his blade
spinning towards the warriors back. The warrior deftly avoided the trajectile by
leaping into the air and onto the archer. As the monster's foot landed, the archer's
back crunched and he let out a painful cry, which was stiffled when the hammer came
crashing down onto the man's head.
As the warrior stood to his full nine feet, the unarmed man stumbled back. His
comrade, however did not. He ran forward and lept, loosing a warcry as he flew. The
hammer met him in midair and flung him into the ground.
Staring with wide eyes, the unarmed man cursed himself, he had been rash to
throw his weapon, it hadn't helped any way.
The Warrior smirked as he took a step forward. The man cried, "Gold master,
I have gold I'll gi--"
That was all that was heard as the hammer streaked through the air and into his
head.