. Well, here it goes, all 1,277 words of it. ___________________________________________
The Blood of the Master
By: Lira The Hell Raiser___________________________________________
I gripped my staff, the powerful weapon I had looted from the body of Ghial the Bone Dancer. My measly group of four people—me, a Necromancer specializing in taming powerful minions from the realm of the dead, a Monk of Dwayna, trained in the art of healing and protecting his allies, an Elementalist trained in the power of the destructive flame, and a Warrior wielding a bright blade in the name of Balthazar—we all stood before the closed gate. Aerogwyn, the Monk began to chant his powerful lasting enchantments of healing. We were mere seconds away from the greatest battle between the Kurzicks and the Luxons in the history of their rivalry.
Marc, the Warrior, turned and whispered to me, “Lira, stand back out of the battle. I’ll get you the corpses you need.”
The gate flung open, and all three groups of Kurzicks rushed out to claim as many territories for our faction as possible. Hell was unleashed.
The path to the first base was clear. We waited for a group of base defenders. Soon after their arrival, a group of Luxons appeared from over the hill. Baerowyn, the Elementalist, focused her power on becoming attuned to flame. She also conjured an aura of restoration, so that she could heal throughout the battle. Aerogwyn began rhythmically chanting, and in seconds his enchantment was ready to help us block attacks.
Marc sprinted towards the group, calling his target as the enemy monk. Baerowyn cleared a path for Marc with a well placed meteor. Marc’s blade flashed, fire rained from the sky, prayers of healing could be heard, and still I had done nothing.
Marc struck with one last final thrust, and the monk fell to the ground, dead. Only seconds after the monk died, I began manipulating the source of true magic: Death. The corpse began to spasm, its limes flailing out of control. With a blastoff magic, a massive golem burst from the corpse. I sent one strong compulsion into its mind: Kill. The towering golem stormed the enemy Elementalist. It struck with incredible force, soon forcing the spellcaster to his knees.
An Assassin charged from the shadows—he had been waiting for an opportune moment to strike, and as Marc was fending off an enemy Warrior, now was his time.
He shadow stepped to Aerogwyn’s location, unleashing a powerful attack. I attempted to control my golem, but the compulsion to kill was too strong, he remained obsessed with the Elementalist. With Aerogwyn having to focus his healing on himself, Marc began to weaken and slow. The enemy Warrior pressed his advantage. In a one on one fight, the other Warrior would have been doomed, but Marc was already severely weakened from the attacks of the Elementalist.
In the end, it was Baerowyn who saved us all. I heard him chanting a spell, and mere seconds after he had begun; a massive meteor was speeding towards the Assassin. He was knocked off of his feet, and before he could even get up, he burst into flames. Lacking a monk of his own, the Assassin attempted to dash away, but ran right in to a shower of meteors. This was all the poor man could take, and he slumped against a large rock—another minion.
My golem had already finished off the Elementalist, increasing my small army, and lumbering over to help Marc finish off the Warrior.
With the Assassin out of the way, Aerogwyn was able to focus his powers on Marc. I could tell that Marc was almost dead, but Aerogwyn had one last desperate spell: he gave Marc some of his own life.
The power flowed into Marc, saving him from the brink of death—and becoming one of my minions. Infused with new life, Marc went into a frenzy. With this attack speed, Marc could no longer parry, increasing the damage that he would take, but of course, Aerogwyn was there with a remedy: he focused all of his healing and protecting spells on Marc, negating most of the damage that he took. The enemy Warrior soon became one of my minions, upping my mini-army’s ranks to four.
While this battle had been raging, our Kurzick allies had also been hard at work. The tide of battle was in our favor. Bases were lost, but captured again soon after. Many Luxons fell to us, only to be resurrected back at their base. Unfortunately, we couldn’t hold our advantage for long. The Luxons regrouped, and began working as one massive group. Cowardly, but it worked. This group of twelve easily wiped out any singular group of Kurzicks. We stayed separated, allowing us to capture more than one base at a time, but this tactic wouldn’t work for long. Something had to be done—and I knew that I was the one to do it. Their base defenders continually fell to cold steel and raging fire, and my army kept growing. Assassin, Monk, Warrior, Mesmer, it made no difference. They were all added to the ranks. I had soon gathered the number of minions that I could safely control. These ten undead creatures would fight until they were allowed—or forced—to rest in peace.
Unfortunately none of us were invincible. Soon, everyone in my group had added to my army, and my trusted minions and I stood alone. It would only be minutes before my allies would rejoin the fight, but that was long enough for me to fall in battle. My only protection was my true unfailing friends: my minions. Either we would triumph, or we would take many of our enemies down with us before we died.
My friends were beginning to feel the hits they were taking for me, and I sliced open the back of my hand, the power infused in my blood—the blood of the master—healed them from even this distance.
My minions were fully healed up, and we were ready for battle. I went to capture the next base, but a group of Luxon Elementalists and Mesmers were already there. I sent my minions into the battle, and they began to desecrate the enemy forces. One by one they fell to my friends, until all four people were lying dead on the ground.
I waited there for the base defenders, healing my minions as I waited. They would not die while I still had blood to heal them.
A group of Mesmers appeared, preparing to guard the base. Unfortunately, they were followed by a group of enemy Warriors and Monks. The Mesmers began to steal the energy from the enemy Monks and my minions charged their Warriors. Unfortunately, the Mesmers couldn’t keep the Monks occupied for long. My minions began to fall, one by one, and soon only my golem was left alive. I slit open the back of my hand, one last desperate measure, but my golem still fell. I cursed under my breath, since no group of casters, especially those as unskilled as the defenders could hold off this group of skilled warriors. We Kurzicks were about to win, so I did all I could to defend this base.
Sadly, a warrior severed one of my arteries in my arm, and I was soon weakened horribly. I did my best to heal, but I couldn’t hold up versus these warriors.
My vision began to grey, and I knew that I would soon fall for the last time. I knew also that the Kurzicks would win even without me. I fought valiantly, but fell, my blood spilling across the battlefield, mixing with the blood of friends and enemies.
The Blood of the Master.
lol if its a good thing, then well... tks.
