Well wasn't this the story of the century. The elves actually accepted help from a warrior, a human one at that to protect their forest. Had their standards fell, or had their hate of past events suddenly vanish? Whatever the case, Nero was pretty sure it had something to do with a certain companion.
Maybe they trusted him because of Muse, the elven sharpshooter? There's one more to the list of things she did for him.
He shook these thoughts out of his head as reached the area which the elves said that the barbarians would go through. It was a clearing. Certainly one big enough for a whole tribe to camp out, or as they feared, settle.
The elves made it clear that they didn't want anyone settling in the forest, like it was a sacred shrine or something. It wouldn't really surprise him if there was a shrine here, personally knowing a full-blooded elf.
It was really overcast and night had already fallen when the first of many barbarians broke through the treeline, taking full notice of a campfire with a lone armor-clad swordsman in the middle of the clearing with his back turned to them. Nero just kept silent.
"Well look at that boys, another one of those pansy forest patrols." The leader of the tribe spat. "What's say we thank him for setting the campfire for us? HAHAHA!"
Nero slowly stood, paying no heed to the poor excuse for a taunt. Facing them with glaring eyes, he simply uttered, "Leave. Now." He cared little for what they said next since in the end, this was going to end in a fight.
"Or what? You're going to 'fight' us? You elves are not fit to fight! You huddle inside your shrines, hoping someone will save you! You are weak!"
If only they knew how wrong he was. "Last chance. Leave. Now." His cape blew in the wind as the barbarian just laughed his lungs out. They can't say he didn't try diplomacy. At the back of the pack just past the treeline, he could see the glimmer of arrowheads as their shafts were drawn back with the string.
And so it begins.
As the first hail of arrows fell from the sky, a loud roar of collective battle cries erupted from dozens of frenzied ill-kept fools charging blindly at the gladiator.
Nero drew his sword and cut down the first three barbarians with a single swipe while he let the arrows miss him by inches. He grabbed a barbarian and used him as a shield from the oncoming arrows, then threw him at another one once his last breath was drawn.
He didn't notice that some of his enemies were already behind him until he felt himself lurch forward into a giant fist. Luckily the blow landed on his mask. Of course one good blow deserved a sliced off hand and another jaw-breaking jab.
The arrows were getting too close now. In response, he threw down a warrior into his campfire as he swung his spiked club at the gladiator. With the lights out and the skies as pitch black as anything else in that forest, darkness reigned supreme.
Even though he couldn't see very well now, he still had the advantage. Everyone was his enemy. He could strike down every humanoid figures close to him without worrying about friendly fire, unlike his enemies.
One by one, they screamed as their guts were cut wide open. Some could only see the flare on the crystalline blade of Nero's sword as it arched down to slice into flesh.
Deciding to end this now, Nero summoned his energy to the sword, making it glow like a flame. He struck the sword into the ground and the ground itself burst into an array of pillars of flame which swallowed up everyone within five feet of him.
The sound of popping and the smell of burning flesh was oddly, sickeningly satisfying. He glared at the remaining barbarians, striking fear with just that simple flash of the eye. They just ran out after that.
The rain fell after, dowsing the flames on the still-burning bodies.
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Tue Jun 11, 2013 7:10 am
