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R.I.P. Robin WilliamsTears are shed, in symphony and in sorrow.R.I.P. Robin Williams by PoisonPineappleBread
A true love give, and a true sadness shows.
Words cannot express the pain, nor the sadness we feel.
It's hard to know that in some ways, memories and the past shall heal.
Too soon you were gone, lost to us forever.
Only in what we have of you, can we remember.
We hope you rest well, healing and staying happy.
Knowing now that, that you can and shall be free.
Robin Williams, you were loved by all, and will always be apart of our lives and our past.
Know that even in your passing, you will never be forgotten, and that your memory shall always last.
Armored boots clanked against the ground. The snow blew like dead leaves against them as the harsh wind cut through them like the unforgiving edge of a sharpened knife. The march was slow, tedious, but it was done so on purpose. Whetting the appetites of the warriors that marched, the hundreds of thousands who delighted in the pure butchery of war, and the satisfaction of the defeat of their neighbors.
One led in front of the rest, a warrior clad in exquisite armor, made from fine metal. It was a deep crimson red with shimmering white to accent the armor. The sight of this warrior alone was enough to make hundreds kneel before him, honoring him and serving him without question. His helmet bore no expression, no rage, no fear, no mercy, but behind it, was a delighted eager face. The face of a man who took joy in the sheer slaughter of his enemies, who delighted in the pain he wrought, and the bodies that would fall before him as wheat to the scythe. The long fur cloak he wore upon his armor blew behind him, covering him from the harsh biting winds more so then his armor.
Their march would finally come to a halt, though what lay in front of the massive horde, might as well have been a fine dinner in their honor. In their way, stood an army of men that were to defend their homes, their families, everything that they held dear against the horde of dark warriors that marched against them.
The Champion in the front glared all around at the soldiers that had positioned themselves to stand against him and his army, a small smirk of satisfaction lay under his helmet as he unsheathed his heavy blade from it's scabbard, it's barbed blade desperate to cleave into the flesh of his enemies, and to bathe in glory and gore that he would soon feed to it.
A large sounding roar came from his throat as he raised his sword high, before rushing towards the army in front of him, roars and screams resounding behind him as his own horde charged behind him, eager to cut through the army arrayed against them.
The men would position themselves with gunners in front, and archers beside them, ready to bring down the evil horde that now reared it's bestial head towards them, many shivering and freezing from the cold that they were never accustomed to, others almost downright trodden with fear at the sight of the massive warriors charging against them. They did all they could to calm themselves, many chanting as many prayers to their gods as was humanly possible, waiting for their order from their commander to fire.
The shouting cry to fire, and their screaming of gunfire broke through even this thick winter, animals fly and rushing away from the chaotic hellhole that now happened near them, as the clanging of steal and the sickening tear of flesh was all that was heard now.
Small iron balls and arrows would bounce off of the Champion's armor as he rushed towards his enemy, nothing would slow him down, nor would anything stop him, bringing his sword up once he reached the firing line, bringing it down upon the first poor soul within reach, killing them instantly and without mercy, the steel of his blade carving through the gunner's head without fail.
Many of his warriors fell before the gunfire and arrows, most had been barely pierced through the eye-holes of the helmets, or in other kinks of their armor that were weak spots to even this array of weaponry. Yet that would not stop this horde of madmen as they crashed against the line now, screams erupting as the men tried to fight back against them to no avail. Any attempt at stopping them ended with a mighty blow ending their struggle for survival, while others tried to run, but were dragged back into the carnage by a rampaging warrior.
The Champion cut his way through the army, watching as blood spilled in pools around him, hearing countless cries of blissful symphony to the Dark Gods that his other brothers served. Cutting through another soldier that dared to stand in his way, he now stood in front of the commander, who glared at him with a deadly calm, and as the fighting around them grew thicker, he would only glare back.
The challenge had been made, and he was all too eagerly to accept.
The commander brought his hammer forth, swinging it at the Champion, who blocked it with his blade, deflecting it to the side as he brought his fist down, smashing it against the commander's cheek, sending him down to the ground. Though this didn't end the commander's resolve. He quickly arose once more and tackled against the Champion in a desperate attempt to get him off of his feet, sending the warrior down as he brought his hammer up, more then eager to deal any final blow he could get upon him. The Champion reached up however, squeezing the wrist of the commander hard, preventing him from bringing down his heavy hammer upon his head, crushing the man's wrist, hearing his bones crunching as he did so, hearing the man's cries of pain soothed him. Throwing him down now, he made the commander lay against the ground, placing his foot upon his wrist so he would not be able to lift his hammer, once again putting more pressure on his wrist, delighting in the pain he caused, before raising his sword, bringing it down upon the commander's head, watching the blade sink in and as the last defiance fell before him.
His warriors had more then routed the army of men arrayed against them, any who saw their commander slain had done all they could to retreat, none given the chance to do so, mauled to death by the warriors that thirsted for more carnage, or by their large war hounds that feasted upon them as they ran from the battle. The Champion stood there, observing the remains of the battlefield, staring over the corpses all around him. Reveling in the conquest, and in the bloodshed, he would slowly sheathe his sword, staring down at the body of the commander for but a moment, giving a small nod of approval to the only worthy adversary he fought amongst the enemy ranks, before he continued his march, to catch up to his barbaric warriors and continue their passage to the cities, to finally conquer a world that rightfully belonged to them.
Victory in the end, would be theirs...as it should.
A short thing I wrote for Warhammer because I downright love it. I hope you all like it.
Picture and Lore of the Story is copyright to @GamesWorkshop
Story made by me.