Leonardo Rainfall
Chaos wasn’t the proper word for it. Carnage would be a more accurate description. Distant screams of women and the cries of children echoed in the air. Ash fell like hell-born snow, and the sky was tinted an oppressive gray. From here the world seemed to be in hectic disarray. Buildings were torn apart: large and long gashes redesigning it into a portrait of torment. The ambiance was composed of crackling flames, falling ruble and the outcries of people looking for their loved ones. It was all music to his ears.
The Balrog stood at the edge of town, his back to the raging fires and dying humans behind him. His arms were folded over his massive chest as he heaved in a deep breath, bringing in the scent of burning flesh and blood. He had attacked with vehemence, anxious to create the melting pot of war. The world was a consistent state of chaos and violence, the product of free will and intelligence. With every year passed, intelligent life would invent new devices to enhance life. Be it magic or not. Then, with every following year, a way to disable the very invention made in order to harm life. The back and forth nature of life was endless to the Balrog. This is how he viewed the world; a series of self-destructive acts.
The Balrog craved the war. Breaking the illusion of peace and freedom was an excellent way to satisfy his hunger. The Balrog unfolded his arms and flexed his hand, hearing the popping of his bones. He raised his head a little further up.
"What do you think your going to do with that sword, boy?" The Balrog asked without turning to the young child a few yards behind him.
The boy, his hair a light brown and scruffy, dropped the sword to the ground and gasped, remaining frozen by fear. The Balrog's voice was deep and rumbling, morphed in tone and pitch as if two voices were speaking. "Your courage is distinguishable from the rest of your pathetic peers, human." The Balrog continued. "Or could it be idiocy?" The massive creature turned to face the fearful boy. "Why do you not run, Boy?" The Balrog asked, his tone demanding an answer. The child, his hands shaking, reached down slowly for the weapon that was nearly as large as he was. The Balrog laughed in simple amusement.
"Y-you killed my parents! What kind of man would I be if I didn't seek revenge!?" The boy blindly shouted.
The Balrog laughed again and took a step closer, tensing his hand. "You are no man. You are a boy. A child. What would you know about revenge?" The Balrog inquired, his amusement fading.
The boy dashed forward toward the Balrog and swung his sword with little, but some, technique. The creature of fire snapped his hand up and easily stopped the blade. Clenching his hand, he smiled to the child beneath him, and the sword cracked. "You are either stupid or you are brave, boy."
The Balrog said, twisting his hand and the arm of the boy who held the sword firmly. The boy slowly lowered to his knees, withdrawing in pain. Then the Balrog swept his foot back and punted the boy forward, the boy sliding through the mud.
"One day you will make a great warrior. I will be waiting." The Balrog said, turning to depart from the destroyed town.
A Balrog cannot live in peace.
> Next
The Balrog stood at the edge of town, his back to the raging fires and dying humans behind him. His arms were folded over his massive chest as he heaved in a deep breath, bringing in the scent of burning flesh and blood. He had attacked with vehemence, anxious to create the melting pot of war. The world was a consistent state of chaos and violence, the product of free will and intelligence. With every year passed, intelligent life would invent new devices to enhance life. Be it magic or not. Then, with every following year, a way to disable the very invention made in order to harm life. The back and forth nature of life was endless to the Balrog. This is how he viewed the world; a series of self-destructive acts.
The Balrog craved the war. Breaking the illusion of peace and freedom was an excellent way to satisfy his hunger. The Balrog unfolded his arms and flexed his hand, hearing the popping of his bones. He raised his head a little further up.
"What do you think your going to do with that sword, boy?" The Balrog asked without turning to the young child a few yards behind him.
The boy, his hair a light brown and scruffy, dropped the sword to the ground and gasped, remaining frozen by fear. The Balrog's voice was deep and rumbling, morphed in tone and pitch as if two voices were speaking. "Your courage is distinguishable from the rest of your pathetic peers, human." The Balrog continued. "Or could it be idiocy?" The massive creature turned to face the fearful boy. "Why do you not run, Boy?" The Balrog asked, his tone demanding an answer. The child, his hands shaking, reached down slowly for the weapon that was nearly as large as he was. The Balrog laughed in simple amusement.
"Y-you killed my parents! What kind of man would I be if I didn't seek revenge!?" The boy blindly shouted.
The Balrog laughed again and took a step closer, tensing his hand. "You are no man. You are a boy. A child. What would you know about revenge?" The Balrog inquired, his amusement fading.
The boy dashed forward toward the Balrog and swung his sword with little, but some, technique. The creature of fire snapped his hand up and easily stopped the blade. Clenching his hand, he smiled to the child beneath him, and the sword cracked. "You are either stupid or you are brave, boy."
The Balrog said, twisting his hand and the arm of the boy who held the sword firmly. The boy slowly lowered to his knees, withdrawing in pain. Then the Balrog swept his foot back and punted the boy forward, the boy sliding through the mud.
"One day you will make a great warrior. I will be waiting." The Balrog said, turning to depart from the destroyed town.
A Balrog cannot live in peace.
> Next