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Description
Art done for "Just Games Interactive Entertainment"
All rights reserved.

The following text is an artistic interpretation based on the image that a dear friend of mine wrote ( www.facebook.com/simon.velchev… ) . It has no claims reagarding the copyrights of the picture and is here simply for your entertainment:

Umor leaned on the twisting trunk of a tree, blood dripping from his lips.
He was at the edge of an unfamiliar forest, a hill-strewn plain behind his back. The skies were growing darker by the minute as evening fell and an easterly wind swept across the land, carrying a scent of burning wood and flesh. Stormclouds spread from horizon to horizon, boiling overhead as the tempest gathered strength. The warrior could feel the thunder deep in his bones. This night would be the last for many mortal men.
“The fools”
The whisper drowned out everything for a moment and Umor dug his fingers deep into the treebark, grimacing with pain. Every time the Blade spoke, it felt as if a red hot iron poker went through his skull, but that agony cleared his mind. It washed away the dirt of delusion and showed him the true path, defying the power which other men worshipped.
“Only because they don’t know His true will”
Umor bellowed, his tainted eyes wide with rage. Pain. Searing pain. He tore out pieces of the tree’s husk and flung them aside. There would be no more running. The Hunters that chased him since Sakar would soon be upon him and the warrior turned towards the grasslands. He’d make his stand facing the blasphemous heathens, back against the towering forest.
“No, not here”
The sword on his hip pulsed, drawing him away from the plain. Umor shuddered and spun on his heels, staring into the hollow twilight of the woods. He could hear the baying of hounds and voices rising above the howling gales, but everything began to grow distant. A moment later Umor was walking under the twisting branches and the further in he went, the more of the world seemed to fade away. Mist coiled around his feet and the corrupted warrior could feel the cold air tug at his pale skin, but something urged him to press on. He’d learned to trust the Blade’s will, so he let his body go forth, and let his mind wander to the past. He could feel anger boil in his veins as he thought about the Seers – the wretched men who’d tried to shape his fate, and upon failing to warp him into a tool of their faith, they had killed him. Umor remembered laying broken upon the slopes of the Spine, just like all the other scum sentenced to die there. He remembered the pain that had pierced through his body end to end like a stake, the burning thirst, the smell of rotten meat accompanied by withered screams … and then the taste of living flesh. Despite the will of the Seers, his spirit had endured - though shattered, the pieces had been molten and recast by the constant agony, giving him strength where others found only ruin. Through this he’d managed to survive, and now he was going to use it to kill the self-proclaimed prophets.
Umor stopped and unsheathed his black blade, smearing blood over the leather grip. It pulsed in delight, but said nothing. The warrior could see torches light up the dark not too far from him, their flickering light reflected off the monstrous plate his Hunters were clad in. A heartbeat later he raised the sword before him, opening the gates of his mind to the rage. One of the soldiers spotted him and yelled something at which the rest rushed to his side as fast as they could. Thunder from the gathering storm seemed to fade away and a thick silence embraced the woods. A feeling crept in with the rage – Umor barely noticed it at first but as his eyes scoured the trees and the moving shapes between them, he realized he’d been there before.
“This was our birthplace epochs ago”
The words cut into his mind, brighter than the ring of torches that now closed around him. “Think back to our roots. Remember…”
… The woods burned, yet no flame licked the stale bark of the trees. The leaves took in their embrace the dying light of the day, and left only twilight that crept at the roots of the looming giants. Patterns whirled across the bare ground, lingering for a moment when the air grew still, only to resume their dance with the winds a flash later. This was a place where instinct was reborn and then woven into wisdom. A place where apparitions came to life at the cost of blood.
The silence here was alight. And a soul now awoke to the fire.
“Feast tonight, broken one, for tomorrow kings shall fall”
Umor the Corrupted screamed and threw himself at the nearest figure in impervious armor.

Description
Art done for "Just Games Interactive Entertainment"
All rights reserved.

The following text is an artistic interpretation based on the image that a dear friend of mine wrote ( www.facebook.com/simon.velchev… ) . It has no claims reagarding the copyrights of the picture and is here simply for your entertainment:

Umor leaned on the twisting trunk of a tree, blood dripping from his lips.
He was at the edge of an unfamiliar forest, a hill-strewn plain behind his back. The skies were growing darker by the minute as evening fell and an easterly wind swept across the land, carrying a scent of burning wood and flesh. Stormclouds spread from horizon to horizon, boiling overhead as the tempest gathered strength. The warrior could feel the thunder deep in his bones. This night would be the last for many mortal men.
“The fools”
The whisper drowned out everything for a moment and Umor dug his fingers deep into the treebark, grimacing with pain. Every time the Blade spoke, it felt as if a red hot iron poker went through his skull, but that agony cleared his mind. It washed away the dirt of delusion and showed him the true path, defying the power which other men worshipped.
“Only because they don’t know His true will”
Umor bellowed, his tainted eyes wide with rage. Pain. Searing pain. He tore out pieces of the tree’s husk and flung them aside. There would be no more running. The Hunters that chased him since Sakar would soon be upon him and the warrior turned towards the grasslands. He’d make his stand facing the blasphemous heathens, back against the towering forest.
“No, not here”
The sword on his hip pulsed, drawing him away from the plain. Umor shuddered and spun on his heels, staring into the hollow twilight of the woods. He could hear the baying of hounds and voices rising above the howling gales, but everything began to grow distant. A moment later Umor was walking under the twisting branches and the further in he went, the more of the world seemed to fade away. Mist coiled around his feet and the corrupted warrior could feel the cold air tug at his pale skin, but something urged him to press on. He’d learned to trust the Blade’s will, so he let his body go forth, and let his mind wander to the past. He could feel anger boil in his veins as he thought about the Seers – the wretched men who’d tried to shape his fate, and upon failing to warp him into a tool of their faith, they had killed him. Umor remembered laying broken upon the slopes of the Spine, just like all the other scum sentenced to die there. He remembered the pain that had pierced through his body end to end like a stake, the burning thirst, the smell of rotten meat accompanied by withered screams … and then the taste of living flesh. Despite the will of the Seers, his spirit had endured - though shattered, the pieces had been molten and recast by the constant agony, giving him strength where others found only ruin. Through this he’d managed to survive, and now he was going to use it to kill the self-proclaimed prophets.
Umor stopped and unsheathed his black blade, smearing blood over the leather grip. It pulsed in delight, but said nothing. The warrior could see torches light up the dark not too far from him, their flickering light reflected off the monstrous plate his Hunters were clad in. A heartbeat later he raised the sword before him, opening the gates of his mind to the rage. One of the soldiers spotted him and yelled something at which the rest rushed to his side as fast as they could. Thunder from the gathering storm seemed to fade away and a thick silence embraced the woods. A feeling crept in with the rage – Umor barely noticed it at first but as his eyes scoured the trees and the moving shapes between them, he realized he’d been there before.
“This was our birthplace epochs ago”
The words cut into his mind, brighter than the ring of torches that now closed around him. “Think back to our roots. Remember…”
… The woods burned, yet no flame licked the stale bark of the trees. The leaves took in their embrace the dying light of the day, and left only twilight that crept at the roots of the looming giants. Patterns whirled across the bare ground, lingering for a moment when the air grew still, only to resume their dance with the winds a flash later. This was a place where instinct was reborn and then woven into wisdom. A place where apparitions came to life at the cost of blood.
The silence here was alight. And a soul now awoke to the fire.
“Feast tonight, broken one, for tomorrow kings shall fall”
Umor the Corrupted screamed and threw himself at the nearest figure in impervious armor.