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Shame, delight and sensation.
Posted: 13 Jun 2006 12:30 PM |
He hated it...and he loved it.
Orsk swung out with his scythe in an upward arc, splitting the incoming brigand from waist to shoulder. Even before the pieces of the man reached the ground, Orsk continued the scythe's terrible route through human flesh and bone with a twist of his body, driving the blade of his tool deep into the skull of a second attacker from a near-impossible angle. The warmth of splattered blood on his neck confirmed yet another kill.
He hated it. The killing. The screams. The agony his not-so-precise strike caused the victims.
A warrior, they called him. When would the world realise what a warrior really is? Orsk never felt honored or delighted when allowed to go on a killing spree. He was a murderer. That much he knew. No matter if it was called a battle, a skirmish or a siege...it was still murder.
Years of murder. Too many years.
He loved it though.
The adrenaline in his veins. Every muscle in his massive body ready to do -something-. The release of a confirmed kill.
In the beginning he felt frightened by this feeling. But as he realised it wouldn't leave him, he accepted it. Even grew on it.
Blind rage clouded the excitement of battle. Only through dicipline could he do it perfect. To kill something in one blow...that was perfection. Only through such perfection could he obtain the full sensation of his lifestyle.
Orsk turned his cold eyes on the tents hidden in the undergrowth. Raising his scythe, he started approaching the shame, the delight, and the sensation of killing. |
Lol = Lack of linguistics |
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