And now for something completely different..

I wrote some fluff for my application to Forge World.  It's a bit of a rainy Friday here, so I thought I'd just throw it online :)


            Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death.  It is a tainted place this, though most do not believe it. They feel simply a chill, a foreboding itch that bores into the mind destroying peace.  The ragged forms of Men, Dwarves, and other races alike scuttle through the shadows glancing askance though no ambush is possible.   They feel it.  I can see they feel its memory, but they cannot speak it.
           The blackness of this pass is deeper than the darkness of even the caves of the Night Goblins.  In those at least, a torch would bring light, casting a shadow of hope upon the rock burrows.  In this pass the light dare not shine.   It is confined to only what can be seen of the sky, a taught string of color.   These walls are an etching of death to the eyes.
            Only I remain to witness and bear the violence of this place, though few will listen.  They mock me by heeding my name for it, but not my warnings.  A small morsel of the tale is this. It was here that the armies clashed. A mighty throng of brave and proud Dwarf clans, hearts set for battle.  An Empire force mustered from the provinces with haste.  They faced a multitude of Orcs and Goblins vomited forth from the depths themselves.  The impact of their battle shook the mountains as the peaks loosed their grip and fallen boulders extinguished the hapless.  Chaos does not contain what happened here, but it serves to define it in words.
            Each boulder that fell formed an island of stillness within the raging battle.  The battle line soon shifted to contain these defensive barriers with stout Dwarf warriors and Empire swordsmen forming shield walls between them; hacking and slashing at the Goblin fodder forced to the vanguard.  After a time, the battle settled to a sedate pace with fighting occurring only in a thin line between the solid bulwarks.  As the Dwarfs and Men took the time to reset their war machines and bring up black powder and ammunition, the battle settled into a routine.
           It was then that they came, these mighty heroes of the age.  The Dwarf Slayer, he who had sworn to Grimnir to slay his shame with his death, howling as he attacked the Orc Warboss, who had pledged to destroy all with tooth, and claw, and spike.  The Empire Captain, sword clashing with forlorn vengeance against the Night Goblin Boss, mounted upon a beast of muscle and violence and armoured in the metal remnants of his defeated foes.
          There was one then, a Night Goblin Shaman who had risen to a position of some power among the goblins, I called him the Black Flame.  He is the pawn who drew me into this tale, and I have such stories of our past, but suffice to say, it pains me still to think of his form.  He was wreathed in a thick and languid black smoke as he advanced to his death.  I saw him make his way to a particularly large Squig.  I believe the vermin referred to them as Gobbas.  It was grotesquely corpulent, and the chains binding it thrummed in their tension as the Black Flame drew near.  With a mighty lurch the Squig swung forward and swallowed the Goblin whole, wisps of smoke marking his disappearance.   The monster began thrashing about, his acidic bile spraying the hapless Night Goblins nearby.  The chains shattered with an audible crack as a shrill
tittering giggle echoed in the pass.  The Gobba became wreathed in smoke, pouring from its’ mouth and eyes until it exploded with a terrible silence to shatter the goblin army in its midst. The Black Flame shot into the sky, his smoking wreath increasing in size and density as he flew higher and higher.  He became a comet of Blue and Green smoke, pulsing with a terrible intensity before all was shadow.  I flinched at the sight of my former master, and the battle ceased as all light was extinguished from the pass.
           With an avian shriek the light pierced our sight once more as he dove into the alliance of Men and Dwarfs, screaming the words of a spell in an immortal voice.  His impact was preceded by a lance of darkness.  The absence of light enveloped him and then spread with fiendish speed and intensity up the walls of the pass.  It reached me and I saw a rich blue film coat my vision and felt the nails melt in my flesh, but my ears.  My ears heard the flame and crackle of marrow and flesh.  My ears heard the explosion of stone bursting in terror. My ears heard the death of three armies.  In that moment I became other.
          To this day I cannot know when I became myself again.  I know not if it was day or night.  In jet stillness I placed one foot before the other. After a time I came to a place where I heard water.  I felt for purchase and washed my face in it. My sight returned.  I watched as the filth flowed with the current.  It filled the water with a sooty film, and fish jumped from its touch.  As they entered the air, their bodies writhed and changed growing eyes and wings and mouths before death came for them all.  Their bodies melted as wax to the flame and then the filth was gone.  I remained.  I remained with my memories.  I cast my eyes behind me, and saw then the residue of the battle.  I had but stumbled from the entrance of the pass.  It stood before me now, a straight and clear path.   There were no boulders; no birds feasting on corpses and no memory of the event save for the noisome vapor, an echo of the Black Flame’s power.  How long I stood there staring into the silent depths, I know not.
          Now I have returned, penitent and confused to the brink of my nightmare.  I stare once more into the depths of this place, this place now known as Black Fire Pass.  You have asked me for my tale, and so it shall be.  But look upon this defile of ice-black glass and know that I tell the truth.