Thread: Grab Life by the Horns [Massfanatic/Squish]

Ashenvale's ancient trees stood as they always had, standing silent vigil over the forest below. Their broad canopies entwined, blanketing the forest below in a state of perpetual twilight. These ancient trees have seen countless struggles, be they fought for conquest, for reclamation, for survival, for revenge, or even for more abstract reasons. And today, another struggle waged on in the twilight of ashenvale. As they always have, the trees simply watch, and remember. Five orcs, clad in wolf-fur, iron, and leather, stand in a rough pentagon, axes and swords ready and eager for blood, eyes trained on a single figure in the midst of them. A sixth figure, a huge, black-furred and black-horned tauren, shirtless but for a leather harness and iron shoulder-plates stands outside the ring, bearing a massive hammer in both hands. The head is easily as large as a human's ribcage, but the powerful arms of the tauren swing it easily. In the center of this group stands a second tauren. Huge and broad of shoulder, every inch of the seventh figure is covered in thick, overlapping plates of silver-gray material. Lines of blue glow outline each plate. The figure's features are completely hidden by a thick silver-gray mask. The only exposed portions are his long, ivory horns and his broad, steel-shod hooves, which even now twist in the soft earth, planting themselves. One three-fingered hand grips the hilt of a massive broadsword. The blade and handle together are almost as long as one of the orcs is tall. A square cross-guard is marked only by two short spike jutting toward the weapon's tip. The pommel bears a similar spike, jutting the other direction. The blade itself is incredibly thick, probably two feet across. At the very end it flares out, a crescent-shaped blade on the very tip, the points of it toward the handle, the better to chop, cleave and catch. the other three-fingered hand tightly grips the handle of a massive shield. Some six inches thick at the very center, a human could stand behind it and be completely invisible. A glowing blue orb rests in the very center, like an eye judging those before it. The black-horned tauren speaks first, breaking the tense silence of the forest. You have run far, pale-horn, but your running ends here. I will take your head to Crone Magda as my prize. He sneers. The figure in the center of the ring of orcs didn't move, but a rich, baritone voice rolled out through it's face mask. You are right on one count. There will be no more running. But it is I who will send your skull back to your crone. If the wolves haven't taken your tongue by then, you can tell her that the same fate awaits all her assassins. the black-horned one's face contorted in rage, and a deep, animal roar escaped his lips as he raised his massive hammer high. As one, the six warriors descended on the pale-horn. The palehorn raised a leg high and brought it slamming down. The earth shook with the force of his hoof's impact, arcs of electricity rolling out from the point of impact and coursing up the legs of all six. Then the same with the other. But instead of lightning, this foot brought forth sound. It was like thunder, the sound echoing through the trees. The earth heaved, waves of it rolling forward and slamming into two of the orcs and the black-horned tauren, knocking them from their feet. The massive sword came around in an arc, at chest-height. an orc was stopped in midair, axe raised overhead, as he suddenly found his legs were no longer attached. The massive weight of the blade barely noticed this bisection, and continued on to clang loudly against the shoulder-plate of a second orc, knocking his charge-off balance and sending him tumbling past. As the third closed in, the shield came up and out in a sudden jerk, that glowing blue orb crashing into her face with a sickening cracking sound. Her axes flew wild, spinning through the still mist. From behind him, now, came the three from the first strike, swords ready. The two orcs slashed in a synchronized fury, huge, heavy swords slamming into his armor, scraping over it's plates, driving him back a step. Then came the hammer. Right in the small of his back, the massive head of the hammer struck hard, ringing his breastplate like a gong and delivering it's force directly to the tauren within it. As the two sword-orcs came in for a second push, the shield came up before him, and his hoof slid to a stop in the loose earth, finding an anchor on a tree root. It was all he needed. He pushed the shield forward, driving the two orcs back. His sword came down on the nearer one at a diagonal, sliding a full foot into his chest before it stopped at his sternum, blood fountaining from the gash that spanned from shoulder to chest. The tauren ripped the blade free, as the second sword-orc cried out BROTHER!. But he couldn't turn fast enough. The one who had fallen before rose to his feet, thrusting his blade into the tauren's ribs from below and the side. By some miracle, the biting point of the sword slid between the plates and into the tauren's back. He lurched in pain, but he could not afford to pause. He pivoted on his anchor, forcing the blade out of his body, blood now pouring down his side from the wound. It felt like it punctured a lung. As he turned he dipped his head, catching the warrior off-guard with his namesake horns. One gored into the orc's abdomen, and with a mighty hurl, the palehorn sent him airborne, ripping open his belly, his intestines already unraveling through the breach. The hammer struck again, this time down on the warrior's shoulder, nearly dislocating his sword-arm. He let out a gasp of pain, blood now leaking through his steel mask. The sword had definitely taken him in the lung. No time to think, just to fight. He had to finish this before he lost too much blood. The second swordsman came from behind, swords raised high to slam the tauren into the earth in a fury. But the tauren's sword was bigger, and it came across just above the top of the orc's head. The orc looked vaguely confused as it saw it's arms tumble past it's head, hands still clutching their weapons. It let out a panicked scream as blood fountained from it's useless stumps, showering both tauren in crimson. The hammer came down yet again, but this time the shield came up in time. It rang like a gong under the blow, and the palehorn let out another gasp as the force resonated down his arm into his wound. But he gritted his teeth against the pain and pushed up and back, knocking the hammer wide as the sword came up and around. But the blackhorn was fast, and the blade met the hammer's handle, sparks flying where they connected. The blackhorn hopped back, trying to regain his stance, but the palehorn wouldn't have it. He pressed forward, delivering another mighty stomp, once more sending the earth itself roiling up to slam into his foe and knock him off his feet. The blackhorn swore as he fell. the palehorn was not one to delay, slamming one steel-shod hoof into the blackhorn's chest, forcing the air from his chest. He swung his sword up and around, pivoting the grip, until the crescent end pressed to his throat. Then, all the palehorn had to do was lean forward and let the blade do the work. the battle won, the tauren picked up the hunter's head by one of his long, black horns, and carried it over to the only member of the hunting party still breathing, the axe-wielding orc woman. He dropped the bloodied prize unceremoniously onto her chest, her former employer staring at her with dead eyes. The palehorn simply looked at her. Go. Run to Thunder Bluff and tell Crone Magda that her second grandson is dead by my hand. Tell her that I will wipe every trace of her bloodline from Azeroth, and nothing she does will stop me. He didn't even wait for confirmation before he tromped off through the undergrowth. Breathing hurt. He'd definitely hit a lung. As soon as the tauren was out of sight of the orc, he began to cough, spitting up copious quantities of blood inside his helmet, which leaked out through the grill over his mouth. He had to get somewhere safe where he could bandage his wounds. But as the adrenaline slowly left his system, he grew weaker and weaker. His vision grew hazy, indistinct. Had to bandage himself quick. Had to stop the blood. His large hands reached for the clasp of his breastplate but even with feeling in them, the thick digits were slow and clumsy with the clasps. Now that he was starting to go numb, he could only fumble at it. As darkness closed in around the edges of his vision, he had to gasp for each breath. Had to... stop the.. bleeding... Had to... survive... But the last of his strength had left him. His armor was so heavy... He fell, first to his knees, then tumbled forward, splayed out on the path as his blood pooled beneath his massive form. And all the while, the trees watched, and stood silent.