drums of war (requiem for lothorethiel)
replying to alice's challenge as a drummer. sadly i can't write poetry, but i believe my worlds can meet the challenge.
*dum* *dum* *dum*
it was not an usual sound in her battlefields. elven hears were used to the deep wooden trumps echoing through the valleys, urging their armies to battle. yet this was no elven army - at least, not any more -, and arienoë was in no position to complain.
and she remembered the glory and the splendor of the elven legions - glimmering with their shiny plate armours, carrying long and sharp spears and broadswords. elves of lothorethiel were infallible with the bow, and from behind of lines of spear-armed warriors, rows and rows of deadly volleys were shot towards their foes. and the druids, the mighty druids, usually dressed in light armor with the colours of nature, called the wrath of the land upon their enemies.
and yet it hasn't been enough to stop those enemies. they emerged from the depths of the underworld to lay siege on lothorethiel. led by a powerful and devious fallen angel, the demons laid waste to the great forest. thousands, perhaps millions of trees were chopped to fuel the demonic war effort, or simply burned. great cities of marble and oaks and vines were levelled. the elves fought back though, and demons died in scores as the land itself rose in anger to punish those who were despoiling it.
but the despoilers were too powerful even for the land.
*dum* *dum* *dum*
and with the king and the ranger-general of lothorethiel gone, saved from the fall of the city of elviondel, the bulk of their armies was ruthlessly killed in the ruined forest - leaving the young druid alone with a band of rag-tag survivors from the slaughter. they fled from the fallen nation, towards the southern regions between the mountains and the sea. and there, they mourned for their losses. but it was no longer time to mourn.
it was time to retaliate.
and the drums of war would play the requiem for lothorethiel.
*dum* *dum* *dum*
the drums were not an elven artifact. but the conflict was no longer an elven war. lost in the contested lands, arienoë and her band of rebells came across the inhabitants of those lands - dwarves, orcs and minotaurs. those races were sworn enemies, and usually fought against themselves, alliances forming and dissolving to fast for any observer to follow. yet they were not figthing against themselves now - at least, not the ones who joined arienoë. they were together, old enemies side by side. they had cast their hatreds aside, and their resolve was only one - to strike back.
*dum* *dum* *dum*
the orcs came up with the drums. they said the beat would induce a blood frenzy to anyone who listened to it. she didn't know if it was true - for the time being, they merely marched with their rhythm. but there were strange powers in the nature, she knew that much. and knowing the savagery with which the orcs fought, she wouldn't be surprised that they had something to spike their rage.
*dum* *dum* *dum*
their march came to a halt in the borders of the now burned forest. the dying woods stung painfully in arienoë's heart, like the agonizing scream of a wounded animal. yet underneath the charred earth, the broken twigs and bloodstained leaves, the land still pulsed with life. it was already healing - slowly but steadily. but more than that, the land pulsed with despair, with a powerful desire for vengeance. arienoë understood that, and at the head of the ragged army she led, she drew from it.
*dum* *dum* *dum*
the demonic army sensed their presence, the steady rhythm of the war drums. they gathered and rushed to meet the alliance. the elves prepared their arrows and their spears. orc and dwarven warriors drew their battle axes. minotaurs took their halberds and prepared for the incoming battle. orc shamans conjured the wind and the lightning, urging the nature to fight by their side. and at the head of the army, arienoë summoned the land.
*dum* *dum* *dum*
and the land answered the young druid's summonings. the roots and twigs of the few surviving trees reached out, grabing the demons and taking them to the air, or locking their armoured feet to the floor. vines leapt at the invading warriors, binding their movements and slashing their blackened skin with venomous thorns. the earth turned to mud, slowing down the demons. and suddenly in the middle of the enemy army, the ground erupted violently and two giant wurms emerged from their underground dephts.
and their eyes shone in red, as if the blood of the spoiled land had flowed into them.
*dum* *dum* *dum*
and arienoë noticed that the eyes of their warriors, that her own eyes, were suddenly red as well. and they pulsed, just like their hearts pulsed. the rhythm was the same.
the rhythm came from the orc drums.
*dum* *dum* *dum*
and she felt a sudden surge of power growing inside of her, flowing through her veins. it was her own power and the power of the suffering land, burning for revenge as the wind summoned by the shamans halted the demon's advance and lightning bolts mercilessly stroke their ranks. she and every warrior listening to the steady drum beat felt a strange frenzy, a sudden bloodlust, an ache for carnage and violence. the wurms' eyes burned eerily like a wildfire.
and arienoë let the wildfire loose at the rhythm of war drums.
*dum* *dum* *dum*
and hundreds of demons died - pierced by arrows, disemboweled by battle axes, beheaded by halberds, impaled by spears and smashed or swallowed whole by the pair of angry wurms. roots and vines strangled dozens of demons, and beasts like boars, bears and wildcats pressed forward, tearing through the enemy ranks with the fury of the nature itself. lightning strikes randomly incinerated everything they touched, and the howling wind scattered the ash and dust and dead leaves that covered the floor, blinding the demons, the enemies of the land. and arienoë kept pushing the nature forward, until the remaining demons had no other option than to flee, to run away from the vicious retribution of the land they despoiled. a retribution that gave them no pause, that hunted them through the dying forests with the will to slaughter every single one of them. a vengeance with red eyes, blood-red eyes that pulsed like a heartbeat at the rhythm of the drums of war.
4 Comments:
:)))))
fico muito honrada que uses este texto tão criativo e tão bom, em resposta a um desafio de recente maestrina ainda a tentar conduzir uma "orquestra". as várias imagens captadas ao longo da leitora são extremamente sonoras e agradáveis. o nome da elfa é lindíssimo e faz inveja conseguir escrever com esta imaginação e talento. o requiem é a voz de fundo deste cenário que virei reler sempre que me apetecer exilar um pouco neste imaginário fantástico. muito obrigada, joão. és o máximo. um beijo na tua mão*
errata: leitura*
Realmente, João, Parabens!
Está muito bela.
brilliant! ^^
you have such a big imagination!
x
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