- Joined
- Sep 24, 2010
- Messages
- 3,024
Butcher's cleaver
The hero descended into the abyss. The ruin swallowed him as he took one step after another on the narrow staircase, leading to the unknown. The last rays of sunshine abandoned him and gave way to the hugging darkness.
The first strike did nothing. The second neither. But the third finally produced enough sparks to lit the torch. The stench of mold and burning rancid fat chased one another, making him want to puke but also wonder, if it was worth coming down in the first place. But the the old cathedral promised riches beyond imagination, buried deep bellow the collapsed walls, within the tunnels of the long forgotten catacombs.
A shy, weak excuse of a flame was born among the oiled rags of the ancient torch, which finally illuminated the passage and the hall at its end.
The crypt was within sight, it stood right there, tall and proud in the middle of the chamber.
"don't open the door!" - echoed the warning of the old priest within his head, and he took a vow to heed it.
"just loot the coffins and get out" - these were his own thoughts.
Dozens of them littered the stone floor and hundreds were embedded into the walls. Most of them were sacked already. There was nothing for him to be found.
"don't open the damn door!" - ringed in his skull once again, but the oath proved powerless in face of disappointment.
He grabbed the giant lever, pushed it down and with a shriek, the rusty hinges moved after a millenia of waiting.
The door flung open and from the murky mist, white shadows rushed forward. Fear engulfed him. But fast as lightning, he reached for his sword and with a wooden buckler in his other hand, he hacked and slashed at the once motionless dead.
It was over within minutes. The bony fists still grabbed their broken swords and dull axes, but were no longer attached to the rest of their skeletal bodies. The magic keeping them together, faded away.
The hero rested on a tombstone, breathing heavily. He was tired, exhausted and still afraid. Rightfully so, for the shadows had one more challenge in store for him... a deep growl shattered the silence and sent a terrifying chill down his spine.
The butcher stood in front of him.
It is 14 inch long with a 9 inch long blade, forged of 5160 carbon steel at 0.4 inch thickness with carved beech wood handle and hammered iron pins.
Resting in a thick leather sheath.
It is available
The hero descended into the abyss. The ruin swallowed him as he took one step after another on the narrow staircase, leading to the unknown. The last rays of sunshine abandoned him and gave way to the hugging darkness.
The first strike did nothing. The second neither. But the third finally produced enough sparks to lit the torch. The stench of mold and burning rancid fat chased one another, making him want to puke but also wonder, if it was worth coming down in the first place. But the the old cathedral promised riches beyond imagination, buried deep bellow the collapsed walls, within the tunnels of the long forgotten catacombs.
A shy, weak excuse of a flame was born among the oiled rags of the ancient torch, which finally illuminated the passage and the hall at its end.
The crypt was within sight, it stood right there, tall and proud in the middle of the chamber.
"don't open the door!" - echoed the warning of the old priest within his head, and he took a vow to heed it.
"just loot the coffins and get out" - these were his own thoughts.
Dozens of them littered the stone floor and hundreds were embedded into the walls. Most of them were sacked already. There was nothing for him to be found.
"don't open the damn door!" - ringed in his skull once again, but the oath proved powerless in face of disappointment.
He grabbed the giant lever, pushed it down and with a shriek, the rusty hinges moved after a millenia of waiting.
The door flung open and from the murky mist, white shadows rushed forward. Fear engulfed him. But fast as lightning, he reached for his sword and with a wooden buckler in his other hand, he hacked and slashed at the once motionless dead.
It was over within minutes. The bony fists still grabbed their broken swords and dull axes, but were no longer attached to the rest of their skeletal bodies. The magic keeping them together, faded away.
The hero rested on a tombstone, breathing heavily. He was tired, exhausted and still afraid. Rightfully so, for the shadows had one more challenge in store for him... a deep growl shattered the silence and sent a terrifying chill down his spine.
The butcher stood in front of him.
It is 14 inch long with a 9 inch long blade, forged of 5160 carbon steel at 0.4 inch thickness with carved beech wood handle and hammered iron pins.
Resting in a thick leather sheath.
It is available
