Yourself

Adrianna and Zachary are too far. You must act now. You nod for Cutter to follow and dive into the horde. External magic might be too much to focus on in the chaos of battle, but surely you can manage to extend your speed and strength. You fill yourself with hazel fire and drink deep from the alien power. You are the storm!

Slash, dodge, kick. Goblin heads roll even as you come to your feet. You fight with divine purpose. No fancy moves or odd forms. Raw power is your guide. You cut through gobbos like soft cheese. Your mighty swings don't remove heads they chop bodies in half. You kick and cave in chests. Everything seems to move in slow motion but you. You chop down another three goblins and their blood fills your open mouth. When did you start laughing?

Cutter has been lost to you for some time. In truth you have no idea how long you have been fighting. All you know is the slaughter. You roar for the chieftain to show himself, but he fears your great power. Laughter fills you again. Why did you even bring an army.

You do feel something though, a touch of pain? No, nothing can touch you. Your power is endless. You scream another challenge. Another dozen gobbos fall to your sword. Where are your men, why do they not cheer your triumphs? The setting sun casts long shadows. When did the sun begin to set?

You search for your men, but see only greenskins. Where are your archers, your knights? Where is Adrianna and her cadre?

You find yourself before the Beastmaster, you've killed so many of his pets today. You smile, a wry twist of your lips. A wolf's head lies at your feet. You toss if back with a grin. The goblin throws a head back. Sir Zachary's. Even blood smeared, the face of your friend is unmistakeable. A terrible grief fills your heart and the sword drops from your hand. Your mind clears and the piles of your dead men explode into focus. You're arrogance caused this. If only you had been willing to trust someone else's advice. Tears fill your eyes as you survey the carnage that will be your only legacy. Screams fill your ears and you look up to see Adriana and the few captured female Frost Knights being dragged into the tunnels. The Gods only know what horrors await them before ****. You want to help, but truly you know this is the end.

You hardly feel the tackle of many bodies dragging you to the ground. Their kicks and stabs are distant pinpricks as the blackness closes in.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The handful of your soldiers who escaped describe the battle as a nightmare. The tell your story even as they curse your name. The bards call it The Doom of House Von Doom.

Within a few weeks its in nearly every tavern in the south. Its almost fitting in a way. Men sing that song with gleeful cheer and abandonment as the great Goblin Host pours out of the tunnels and devours the south. The Frostpeaks are lost, save a few forgotten strongholds who even generations later curse the name Von Doom as they huddle in the darkness, fearful of the screaming hordes.