The morning air was frigid as a bitter wind began to blow across the hills, rustling the still living grass as it descended into the tree-covered valley below, carrying with it a message most unwanted: that of the coming winter. The first rays of sunlight followed soon afterward, lighting the tops of the trees with a cold light as it entered into the grove which had been stricken with the bright and colorful throws of autumn. Many of the leaves had begun to abandon their branches, spinning to the earth to cover it in a warm blanket of fiery reds, oranges, and yellows, rustling with a dry vigor as more of their brethren came to join them. The few leaves that still clung to their charge shivered and shook as the gelid breeze darted amongst the ashes and oaks, tearing many more of the leaves from their places, some of which became its passengers as it continued its pilgrimage across the colored grove. The wind did not notice the lowly leaves riding its current for it could not be bothered by such minor things. It would not take pause for the leaves; it would certainly not pause for the dead.
As the wind exited the grove and entered the hushed silence of a meadow, it passed over the remains of a battle hard-fought but of which there was no victor. The scene that covered the earth of the meadow was nothing short of carnage. The bodies of men, beast, and demon littered the ground, twisted amongst each other into a web of death and gore. The splinters of shields, spears, arrows, and swords racked the bodies like needles, each shard a testament to a single violent and painful death. The tall grass of the meadow had been turned into mush from the boots of men and the tracks of war machines, the dirt itself having become nothing but bloody mud in the ensuing chaos. The air was eerily silent, for the cries of the dead and dying had long been consumed by the empty surroundings. The wind paid no heed as it glided over the fallen and continued it's journey westward, eager to bring it's message to the living of Newerth...and that's is when it passed by the last faint beating heart.
A lone Behemoth limped amidst the decay, it's gasping breath forming a wreath of fog around it's massive head from the bitter cold of morning as it shook from the effort to keep moving. Covered in the blood of others as well as it's own, the giant was drenched a dark scarlet from the caking of mud and gore, it's right arm hanging useless and limp. The beast held the shattered remains of it's enchanted weapon, a tree trunk, which had splintered and broke from the strain of combat. Forced to use it as a crutch, its progress from the battlefield was slow and painful but steady, moving with a purpose known only to itself. Each step brought forth fresh blood from it's many wounds, which continued to ooze from the strain as the Behemoth plauded onward. It did not care to treat itself or to look for aid, for it knew in it's weakening heart that it's wounds were too many, and it's blood loss too great: The Behemoth was dying.
It's destination was not far, for all the behemoth wanted was to drink the water of Newerth, it's home, one last time before the dark void of death came to consume it. Close to collapse as the Behemoth staggered towards the tiny stream on the edge of the meadow, blood began to dribble from it's lips as the giants breath became more labored and erratic. As it's neared the end of it's journey, the strain on it's salvaged crutch proved too great and it snapped like thistle under a heavy weight. Disgardimg it's once mighty weapon to the ground, the equally mighty beast shuffled it's last few steps onto the sands of the stream before collapsing to it's knees, it's large eyes beginning to glaze from it's inpending death. Peering into the bubbling water, it lowered it's only working arm into the gelid stream, cupping it's hand as best as it could so that it could take it's last drink of water before death. Numb from the pain and the cold, the behemoth tried to raise it's hand to it's mouth but to no avail; it did not have the strength to go about it's final wish...and that's when the final barrier was breached.
It was then, there on that unassuming shore, that a broken mind joined a broken body. An inferno of rage, despair, and insanity erupted within the soul of the behemoth, a blaze of such magnitude that it destroyed it's mind and spirit utterly. The Behemoth screamed from anguish, a roar that seemed to echo across the whole of Newerth entirely as the final throes of live ebbed from it's body, eyes glazing over as the beats of it's might heart stopped cold. As the screams stopped, the body tilted forward into the stream, splashing into the bubbling water before slowly but surely floating along the current, much like leaf would on a gust of wind. Strangely, the body of the mighty creature floated with a haste unnatural, as if something waited it's arrival impatiently and pushed it along with an ancient force not seen for millennia.
As the wind sailed over the current, it could not help but notice a sense of dread following the corpse ad it continued on its strange journey. It had heard the behemoth roar, and as the echoes of it traveled across the surrounding land, it was sure that something from the deep places heard it as well. The carcass was heeding the call of something that should not be but would become. For the first time of it's existence, the breath of winter shook from a mortifying presence that seeped from the air of a distant ocean. The Undying King had awoken. The Undying King was coming.
I would just like to note I wrote this on an iPod touch, because my computer is on the fritz. It is 9:44 pm CST on April 27 when I submitted this so I should have made the deadline. I wrote this in about an hour so please excuse any spelling errors on my part. Thanks for reading!!!!
Last edited by DreadLocks; 04-27-2012 at 10:46 PM.