Tarmon Gai'don
By Id_42 (id_42x@hotmail.com)
Any feedback would be welcome.
* * *
Rand al'Thor stood at the the crest of a hill in the heart of the Blasted Lands, surveying the tiny army in the distance. Tens of thousands of twisted, half-human Trollocs herded by hundreds of black-mailed Myrdraal, along with thousands of Darkfriends and Power-wielding Dreadlords made a huge black cloud spread across the plain.
At his back were rank upon rank of soldiers- a huge ordered field of swordsmen, archers, and lancers to rival the horde before them. Among the soldiers stood columns of Aes Sedai and black-coated Asha'man; though not as powerful as the Dreadlords employed by the Shadow, they numbered far more. Above them flapped the Banner of the Light, a circlem, half-white and half-black seperated by a sinous line, the ancient symbol of the Aes Sedai. He studied the slowly advancing army. The time was upon them. "Ready!" he cried, and heard it echoed from a hundred throats.
A horn sounded, a single note as clear and golden as the horn itself. The legendary Horn of Valere, made to call back dead heroes to fight in the Last Battle. A fog appeared before them and from it stepped those dead heroes tied to the Wheel. Stout Gaidal Cain with his two huge swords strapped to his back. Golden-haired Birgitte, with her bow of silver. Hundreds more, each immortalized in song and story, come back to fight for the Light against the Dark One's forces. And leading them, Artur Paendrag Tanreall, the great Hawkwing himself. This mighty force turned to face the valley and stood, waiting for Rand's command.
"Charge!" he shouted, and as one the vast army began to charge down to the valley below.
The battle was joined in minutes. The two armies came together with a great crash and a roar of battle cries from both sides. Lightning fell from a clear sky, jagged bolts descending on human and Shadowspawn alike. Massive fires raged here and there, and in places the ground groaned and shook, tossing those on top of it. The valley was filled with the noisy din of battle, and soon there was a heavy stench of blood and sweat and death in the air.
Rand, for his part, simply moved forward at a trot through the enemy ranks, surrounded by the greatest blademasters the world had to offer, hacking a path for him to Shayol Ghul. That was where his battlefield lied, and he knew he had to save his strength for the duel ahead.
Suddenly, they were through. The swordsmen broke away to either side, to cover him from behind. The battle he was to fight was his alone. A figure stood atop Shayol Ghul. Rand dismounted and started toward the peak, pulling Callandor from its sheath. The figure, cloaked in black, stood facing away from him. "So. You have come at last, Lews Therin."
Rand stood and readied his sword. "I am not Lews Therin. I am Rand al'Thor, a shepherd from the Two Rivers. And you, Shai'tan, are going to die."
The Dark One laughed, a cold, cruel, heart-chilling sound. "So, you once again cling to that story. And here I thought you were making progress." The figure tossed off his cloak and whirled around.
Rand's eyes widened in shock. His clothing was strange, and his hair was worn long, to mid-back, but there was no mistaking that face. Rand's face.
"Ah, I see that you do not know me as well as you think you do, Lews Therin. A pity that I shall have to slay one so handsome as yourself." Shai'tan pulled his sword from the sheath at his hip. A twin to Callandor, but where Rand's sword glowed brightly, this dark blade seemed to consume the light around it. Callandor glowed even brighter in its presence.
Rand eyed the black crystal sword, then turned his gaze back to the man before him. "Come, Shai'tan. We will dance."
With a cry that seemed more animal than human, the two launched themselves at each other. Blow for blow Rand met Shai'tan, his sword and feet moving more quickly than he had ever thought possible. With each clash of the mighty blades, the swords rang out and sparks exploded into the air. They danced back and forth, beat for beat, for what seemed like hours.
Rand was not being overrun by Shai'tan, but neither was he defeating him. Whenever he saw an opening and went for it, the other deftly parried and counterattacked. This was going nowhere. To make matters worse, he was tiring. Unable to concentrate, he fell back more and more frequently.
As he was driving Shai'tan forward, his opponent stumbled and fell backwards to the dirt. This was the opportunity Rand had been waiting for. With a savage cry, he lunged at Shai'tan and raised Callandor to cleave the man's skull in two.
Calmly, casually, Shai'tan raised his sword. Rand did not notice until it was too late. As the Shadow-made blade pierced his chest, a cruel twist, half contemptous sneer, half arrogant smirk, came to Shai'tan's face.
"I win again, Lews Therin."
By Id_42 (id_42x@hotmail.com)
Any feedback would be welcome.
* * *
Rand al'Thor stood at the the crest of a hill in the heart of the Blasted Lands, surveying the tiny army in the distance. Tens of thousands of twisted, half-human Trollocs herded by hundreds of black-mailed Myrdraal, along with thousands of Darkfriends and Power-wielding Dreadlords made a huge black cloud spread across the plain.
At his back were rank upon rank of soldiers- a huge ordered field of swordsmen, archers, and lancers to rival the horde before them. Among the soldiers stood columns of Aes Sedai and black-coated Asha'man; though not as powerful as the Dreadlords employed by the Shadow, they numbered far more. Above them flapped the Banner of the Light, a circlem, half-white and half-black seperated by a sinous line, the ancient symbol of the Aes Sedai. He studied the slowly advancing army. The time was upon them. "Ready!" he cried, and heard it echoed from a hundred throats.
A horn sounded, a single note as clear and golden as the horn itself. The legendary Horn of Valere, made to call back dead heroes to fight in the Last Battle. A fog appeared before them and from it stepped those dead heroes tied to the Wheel. Stout Gaidal Cain with his two huge swords strapped to his back. Golden-haired Birgitte, with her bow of silver. Hundreds more, each immortalized in song and story, come back to fight for the Light against the Dark One's forces. And leading them, Artur Paendrag Tanreall, the great Hawkwing himself. This mighty force turned to face the valley and stood, waiting for Rand's command.
"Charge!" he shouted, and as one the vast army began to charge down to the valley below.
The battle was joined in minutes. The two armies came together with a great crash and a roar of battle cries from both sides. Lightning fell from a clear sky, jagged bolts descending on human and Shadowspawn alike. Massive fires raged here and there, and in places the ground groaned and shook, tossing those on top of it. The valley was filled with the noisy din of battle, and soon there was a heavy stench of blood and sweat and death in the air.
Rand, for his part, simply moved forward at a trot through the enemy ranks, surrounded by the greatest blademasters the world had to offer, hacking a path for him to Shayol Ghul. That was where his battlefield lied, and he knew he had to save his strength for the duel ahead.
Suddenly, they were through. The swordsmen broke away to either side, to cover him from behind. The battle he was to fight was his alone. A figure stood atop Shayol Ghul. Rand dismounted and started toward the peak, pulling Callandor from its sheath. The figure, cloaked in black, stood facing away from him. "So. You have come at last, Lews Therin."
Rand stood and readied his sword. "I am not Lews Therin. I am Rand al'Thor, a shepherd from the Two Rivers. And you, Shai'tan, are going to die."
The Dark One laughed, a cold, cruel, heart-chilling sound. "So, you once again cling to that story. And here I thought you were making progress." The figure tossed off his cloak and whirled around.
Rand's eyes widened in shock. His clothing was strange, and his hair was worn long, to mid-back, but there was no mistaking that face. Rand's face.
"Ah, I see that you do not know me as well as you think you do, Lews Therin. A pity that I shall have to slay one so handsome as yourself." Shai'tan pulled his sword from the sheath at his hip. A twin to Callandor, but where Rand's sword glowed brightly, this dark blade seemed to consume the light around it. Callandor glowed even brighter in its presence.
Rand eyed the black crystal sword, then turned his gaze back to the man before him. "Come, Shai'tan. We will dance."
With a cry that seemed more animal than human, the two launched themselves at each other. Blow for blow Rand met Shai'tan, his sword and feet moving more quickly than he had ever thought possible. With each clash of the mighty blades, the swords rang out and sparks exploded into the air. They danced back and forth, beat for beat, for what seemed like hours.
Rand was not being overrun by Shai'tan, but neither was he defeating him. Whenever he saw an opening and went for it, the other deftly parried and counterattacked. This was going nowhere. To make matters worse, he was tiring. Unable to concentrate, he fell back more and more frequently.
As he was driving Shai'tan forward, his opponent stumbled and fell backwards to the dirt. This was the opportunity Rand had been waiting for. With a savage cry, he lunged at Shai'tan and raised Callandor to cleave the man's skull in two.
Calmly, casually, Shai'tan raised his sword. Rand did not notice until it was too late. As the Shadow-made blade pierced his chest, a cruel twist, half contemptous sneer, half arrogant smirk, came to Shai'tan's face.
"I win again, Lews Therin."