04-05-2016, 08:10 PM
“Sir! Sir, wake up!”
The gunsmith snapped awake, his eyes briefly glowing white. His back felt like hell, probably from the rock hard, leather sleeping bag he was laying on. He looked around, seeing he was inside his white, military tent.
“S-Sir..” he said, twiddling his gloved fingers as Ballad glared at him, “I... I was informed to wake you up. It-It's time, sir.”
“Time...” the gunner repeated. He brought his hand to his face, lightly pinching the brim of his nose as the memories of the past few months surged through his mind.
“Yes.... it is time.”
Ballad despised the pre-battle briefings. The single downside of being the General of the Dwarven Army was that, for every mission he sent his muppet soldiers out to do, he had to stand in front of large groups of them and give needlessly long speeches there way. Not just formal stuff like orders, either. He also had to give them encouragement. He had to tell them that he believed, with every fiber of his being, that they would succeed in their mission. He had to tell them that, even if some of them did die, their deaths would not be in vain, as the battle would surely set forth a wide range of events where they would inevitably become victorious and this and that and blah blah, blah blah, blah blah BLAH.
None of that was even his idea in the first place. He had only agreed to it because, as SPB had informed him, he had to grin and bear it. Swallow his pride and endure their hypocrisy. “In the meantime,” he had said, “make them trust you. Ensure them you wish them the best.”
Hope you're happy, spirit. Let's just get this over with...
The sharpshooter walked through the long columns of tense yet eager soldiers, never taking his eyes off of the ground. He moved towards his podium, standing on top of it to address them. While most of them looked upon their leader with some semblance of awe, some held him with discontent for many reasons. First and foremost, his strategies. For many months, he had sent every available man and woman who could swing an axe out into the field and had diverted every resource he could get his hands on to the war effort. For everything they could not obtain, they destroyed.
Distant crackles filled the air as the soldier's waited patiently for their orders. The air smelled of sulfur and the ground was illuminated by colors of red and orange from only one discernible source: a nearby dwarven village. The general had ordered its destruction despite it being one of the last dwarven villages left standing in the Fields. As he had reasoned before, he rationalized his action as part of his “total war” policy: whatever they couldn't use or was no longer useful, they would burn in a massive hellfire. He had used this action to transform the Fields into a warzone, where no tract nor being was spared from it. The formally clear white snow on the ground now held a layer of gray ash in it that was carried through the air by huge drafts of wind. The few villages that had not been burned to the ground were now mere husks, abandoned and picked clean of resources. There was nary a single soldier in what remained of either side that had not had a taste of battle, as the General's relentless assaults and near suicidal attacks against the trolls had costed both races greatly. What used to be millions of men, women, and children were now a measly few hundred.
The soldiers stood still as their leader finally began his briefing. Throughout the speech, he kept a stern, yet hopeful tone and his movements slowly metamorphosed from sophisticated to exaggerated rage complete with sticking his hands to the sky and waving them around in circles.
“I am aware of the consequences my strategies have inflicted on this land we stand on. I am also keenly cognizant of the divers of cynics within the ranks of our host. This war... this.. disgusting, appalling war... has torn us asunder. I will not pretend to not fathom as to why. My leadership... my tactics... have cost us. They have consumed the Fields and mutated it into a husk. A shell that's known nothing but war.”
“But it is time, finally, after all these twelvemonths, for it to all end. This camp, and where we stand, is our last hope! To our south lies the remnants of Zul'jin's forces, waiting, quailing in trepidation. They have taken control of the hill, and are intent on using it to their advantage by annihilating us one by one with club, axe, and arrow.”
“But I know you. All of you. All of you are strong, fearless, cruel, and most importantly, I know you all despise them. You want to see them suffer. Am I correct?!”
The gunsmith shouted the last sentence towards his men, whom all responded with “Sir, Yes Sir!”
“Then I ask- no, I ORDER you. Every single one of you, to use that hatred. Project it onto the greenskins. Be BARBARIC to the greenskins. Treat them like they have treated us- as cold-blooded KILLERS who give no quarter to the undeserving! Show them that we will no longer tolerate them in our lands! That this war will go on no longer! That their race is AT AN END!”
The gunner stomped his left foot against the podium to emphasize his point. No one reacted. They had gotten used to his rather overzealous speeches and exaggerated movements. Even so, as his voice echoed around the camp, he could hear their breathing quicken in anticipation.
“We will show them TRUE might! We will show them that this land BELONGS TO US! We will TAKE THAT HILL, AND SLAUGHTER THEM LIKE THE FILTHY PIGS THEY ARE! AM I CLEAR?!”
“SIR, YES SIR!”
“BRIEFING'S OVER! GET MOVING! I WANT THAT HILL TAKEN BY NOON, AND I WANT TO SEE IT RED WITH THEIR BLOOD! I WANT A GODDAMN FORT CONSTRUCTED FROM THEIR FUCKING BONES!”
One would imagine that the General would have joined his men to fight the greenskins in the final battle. After all, for all his time as their leader, he had been seen as the pinnacle of dwarven rage and hatred for the enemy. Every major battle was one where the soldiers would see him on the front lines, charging forward, smoke enveloping his form as he tore into trolls left and right. He had developed a reputation for being cruel, bloody, and ruthless. He had taunted the trolls with videos and messages of brutal executions of their men. He starved them through careful removal of hunting grounds and food stores. He made them fear him through his lack of mercy, and it was often talked about how battles where he fought always had at least one troll torn in half from the waist. He had made their lives hell, just as he said he would. So why did he not go with them to finish the job?
Only the gunner knew the answer as he followed his trio of dwarves through the ice tunnel, gradually going up. He remained completely silent as they ascended, eventually popping out halfway up the mountain, coming face to face with The Horn.
The Horn was a gigantic, gray, metallic cornucopia. The large end was pointed out away from the tunnel and out into the air, with the tip wrapped in gold with a small, wooden reed. It had been constructed in secret by a small group of the best construction workers in the Dwarven Empire; the same group that had also led their leader up the tunnel to see it.
The Horn stood on a circular podium in the middle of a large, circular platform of stone a few feet away from the cave. In front of it was a large fence one could lean on to peer out into the world and observe its beauty. It was a shame that whatever beauty it had was consumed by either flames, blood, or ruin.
“Th-This is it, sir. It's complete. Just like you ordered,” one of the workers said, walking towards the tip of the horn. Both Ballad and the others followed, with the General moving around it.
The green inventor slid his arms up to his chest, crossing them as he circled the machine. It was exactly to his specifications. It was pointed directly away from the mountain, towards where he had predicted the final battle to be engaged. The wind was strangely silent and mild for the first time ever, and he could hear in the distance the marching of the dwarf's last army. He looked over to the source of the noise. The hundreds of dwarves were just passing over a large hill. Past it was where the trolls were dug in. And where they would inevitably fight to the last man.
“This is exemplary work. I must commend all three of you for your flawless erection,” he said, sliding his left hand across the base of the horn. He sounded genuinely happy, with the only thing preventing his smile from being noticed being his red scarf. The construction workers glanced at each other for a few moments before wordlessly looking back at their leader.
“Th-Thank you, sir. I-It was what was n-needed to win the war, s-so we built it li-like it was the last thing we'd ever build.”
“The quality is writ large,” the gunsmith replied, strolling towards the trio, whom by that moment had made a nice, clean line for him, “now, I must remind you, this is classified information. No one is aware of it bar us, correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Marvelous. You are hereby discharged.”
The dwarves raised their hands to their heads, saluting their leader. As they turned to leave, however, they heard a click, followed by the striking of a match. Before they could even scream, the gunsmith pulled the trigger of his flamethrower, the fire devouring their remains.
“It is complete,” he whispered, his tone malicious and triumphant.
He slid his flamethrower back into his coat, turning away from the shrieking, burning corpses and walked towards the fence. He leaned on it and stared out towards the yellowish horizon. From his distance, he could not hear the sound of battle, and to be quite honest, he had no intention of wanting to. He had kept his charade going for long enough. Once both sides had dwindled, he would activate the Horn and end it.
Then, and only then, would he win.
Just then, he heard the cocking of some kind of rifle. He remained motionless except for a light turn of his head, looking to see who was planning on assassinating him.
“Allow me to inquire... you're desire to puncture my form full of scorching metal?” he said towards his assassin, keeping polite and intentionally ignoring the snaps as the wick ate away at the dwarf's bodies.
The gunsmith snapped awake, his eyes briefly glowing white. His back felt like hell, probably from the rock hard, leather sleeping bag he was laying on. He looked around, seeing he was inside his white, military tent.
“S-Sir..” he said, twiddling his gloved fingers as Ballad glared at him, “I... I was informed to wake you up. It-It's time, sir.”
“Time...” the gunner repeated. He brought his hand to his face, lightly pinching the brim of his nose as the memories of the past few months surged through his mind.
“Yes.... it is time.”
Ten Minutes Later
Ballad despised the pre-battle briefings. The single downside of being the General of the Dwarven Army was that, for every mission he sent his muppet soldiers out to do, he had to stand in front of large groups of them and give needlessly long speeches there way. Not just formal stuff like orders, either. He also had to give them encouragement. He had to tell them that he believed, with every fiber of his being, that they would succeed in their mission. He had to tell them that, even if some of them did die, their deaths would not be in vain, as the battle would surely set forth a wide range of events where they would inevitably become victorious and this and that and blah blah, blah blah, blah blah BLAH.
None of that was even his idea in the first place. He had only agreed to it because, as SPB had informed him, he had to grin and bear it. Swallow his pride and endure their hypocrisy. “In the meantime,” he had said, “make them trust you. Ensure them you wish them the best.”
Hope you're happy, spirit. Let's just get this over with...
The sharpshooter walked through the long columns of tense yet eager soldiers, never taking his eyes off of the ground. He moved towards his podium, standing on top of it to address them. While most of them looked upon their leader with some semblance of awe, some held him with discontent for many reasons. First and foremost, his strategies. For many months, he had sent every available man and woman who could swing an axe out into the field and had diverted every resource he could get his hands on to the war effort. For everything they could not obtain, they destroyed.
Distant crackles filled the air as the soldier's waited patiently for their orders. The air smelled of sulfur and the ground was illuminated by colors of red and orange from only one discernible source: a nearby dwarven village. The general had ordered its destruction despite it being one of the last dwarven villages left standing in the Fields. As he had reasoned before, he rationalized his action as part of his “total war” policy: whatever they couldn't use or was no longer useful, they would burn in a massive hellfire. He had used this action to transform the Fields into a warzone, where no tract nor being was spared from it. The formally clear white snow on the ground now held a layer of gray ash in it that was carried through the air by huge drafts of wind. The few villages that had not been burned to the ground were now mere husks, abandoned and picked clean of resources. There was nary a single soldier in what remained of either side that had not had a taste of battle, as the General's relentless assaults and near suicidal attacks against the trolls had costed both races greatly. What used to be millions of men, women, and children were now a measly few hundred.
The soldiers stood still as their leader finally began his briefing. Throughout the speech, he kept a stern, yet hopeful tone and his movements slowly metamorphosed from sophisticated to exaggerated rage complete with sticking his hands to the sky and waving them around in circles.
“I am aware of the consequences my strategies have inflicted on this land we stand on. I am also keenly cognizant of the divers of cynics within the ranks of our host. This war... this.. disgusting, appalling war... has torn us asunder. I will not pretend to not fathom as to why. My leadership... my tactics... have cost us. They have consumed the Fields and mutated it into a husk. A shell that's known nothing but war.”
“But it is time, finally, after all these twelvemonths, for it to all end. This camp, and where we stand, is our last hope! To our south lies the remnants of Zul'jin's forces, waiting, quailing in trepidation. They have taken control of the hill, and are intent on using it to their advantage by annihilating us one by one with club, axe, and arrow.”
“But I know you. All of you. All of you are strong, fearless, cruel, and most importantly, I know you all despise them. You want to see them suffer. Am I correct?!”
The gunsmith shouted the last sentence towards his men, whom all responded with “Sir, Yes Sir!”
“Then I ask- no, I ORDER you. Every single one of you, to use that hatred. Project it onto the greenskins. Be BARBARIC to the greenskins. Treat them like they have treated us- as cold-blooded KILLERS who give no quarter to the undeserving! Show them that we will no longer tolerate them in our lands! That this war will go on no longer! That their race is AT AN END!”
The gunner stomped his left foot against the podium to emphasize his point. No one reacted. They had gotten used to his rather overzealous speeches and exaggerated movements. Even so, as his voice echoed around the camp, he could hear their breathing quicken in anticipation.
“We will show them TRUE might! We will show them that this land BELONGS TO US! We will TAKE THAT HILL, AND SLAUGHTER THEM LIKE THE FILTHY PIGS THEY ARE! AM I CLEAR?!”
“SIR, YES SIR!”
“BRIEFING'S OVER! GET MOVING! I WANT THAT HILL TAKEN BY NOON, AND I WANT TO SEE IT RED WITH THEIR BLOOD! I WANT A GODDAMN FORT CONSTRUCTED FROM THEIR FUCKING BONES!”
Fifteen Minutes Later
One would imagine that the General would have joined his men to fight the greenskins in the final battle. After all, for all his time as their leader, he had been seen as the pinnacle of dwarven rage and hatred for the enemy. Every major battle was one where the soldiers would see him on the front lines, charging forward, smoke enveloping his form as he tore into trolls left and right. He had developed a reputation for being cruel, bloody, and ruthless. He had taunted the trolls with videos and messages of brutal executions of their men. He starved them through careful removal of hunting grounds and food stores. He made them fear him through his lack of mercy, and it was often talked about how battles where he fought always had at least one troll torn in half from the waist. He had made their lives hell, just as he said he would. So why did he not go with them to finish the job?
Only the gunner knew the answer as he followed his trio of dwarves through the ice tunnel, gradually going up. He remained completely silent as they ascended, eventually popping out halfway up the mountain, coming face to face with The Horn.
The Horn was a gigantic, gray, metallic cornucopia. The large end was pointed out away from the tunnel and out into the air, with the tip wrapped in gold with a small, wooden reed. It had been constructed in secret by a small group of the best construction workers in the Dwarven Empire; the same group that had also led their leader up the tunnel to see it.
The Horn stood on a circular podium in the middle of a large, circular platform of stone a few feet away from the cave. In front of it was a large fence one could lean on to peer out into the world and observe its beauty. It was a shame that whatever beauty it had was consumed by either flames, blood, or ruin.
“Th-This is it, sir. It's complete. Just like you ordered,” one of the workers said, walking towards the tip of the horn. Both Ballad and the others followed, with the General moving around it.
The green inventor slid his arms up to his chest, crossing them as he circled the machine. It was exactly to his specifications. It was pointed directly away from the mountain, towards where he had predicted the final battle to be engaged. The wind was strangely silent and mild for the first time ever, and he could hear in the distance the marching of the dwarf's last army. He looked over to the source of the noise. The hundreds of dwarves were just passing over a large hill. Past it was where the trolls were dug in. And where they would inevitably fight to the last man.
“This is exemplary work. I must commend all three of you for your flawless erection,” he said, sliding his left hand across the base of the horn. He sounded genuinely happy, with the only thing preventing his smile from being noticed being his red scarf. The construction workers glanced at each other for a few moments before wordlessly looking back at their leader.
“Th-Thank you, sir. I-It was what was n-needed to win the war, s-so we built it li-like it was the last thing we'd ever build.”
“The quality is writ large,” the gunsmith replied, strolling towards the trio, whom by that moment had made a nice, clean line for him, “now, I must remind you, this is classified information. No one is aware of it bar us, correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Marvelous. You are hereby discharged.”
The dwarves raised their hands to their heads, saluting their leader. As they turned to leave, however, they heard a click, followed by the striking of a match. Before they could even scream, the gunsmith pulled the trigger of his flamethrower, the fire devouring their remains.
“It is complete,” he whispered, his tone malicious and triumphant.
He slid his flamethrower back into his coat, turning away from the shrieking, burning corpses and walked towards the fence. He leaned on it and stared out towards the yellowish horizon. From his distance, he could not hear the sound of battle, and to be quite honest, he had no intention of wanting to. He had kept his charade going for long enough. Once both sides had dwindled, he would activate the Horn and end it.
Then, and only then, would he win.
Just then, he heard the cocking of some kind of rifle. He remained motionless except for a light turn of his head, looking to see who was planning on assassinating him.
“Allow me to inquire... you're desire to puncture my form full of scorching metal?” he said towards his assassin, keeping polite and intentionally ignoring the snaps as the wick ate away at the dwarf's bodies.
Quote:Ballad's Intro Post complete! The next intro Post goes to Connor!
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New to OV? Need a question answered? Want a C&C of your work? Send a PM to me!
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