The Prince and the Savage

[GloriaPreussens 798]

The Prince and the Savage

 

 

Charles Philip, House of Horen-Balain, Imperial Prince, Governor of the Dunlands, Knight Commander of the Order of Alstion, the finest soldiers in the Imperium, and the first soldiers the Emperor called upon. Riding hard, riding fast through the Orcish jungles, the brave Knight steeled himself, most of the soldiers who went with him had died in a foul Uruk trap, the other taken prisoner or hopefully escaped. Charles knew he wouldn’t make it back to camp alive, the best he could hope for was to kill as many as he could before falling himself.

 

Riding atop his black charger, clad in regal bardings, the horse was exhausted and much more riding would see it dead. Turning his horse about face, he whisper a short prayer to the Creator above, to all the Saints, the Prophets Exalted, gripping his lance, charge at the coming Uruk riders. Atop great beasts of an exotic nature, his resolve remained hard as steel.

 

An ear splitting crack, a shriek of the greenskinned beast as the lance pierced through the crude armor, penetrated past the leather hide of the foul creature. Charles horse collapsed, a dozen teeth ripping it’s throat apart. The Prince moved off the horse swiftly, drawing his Longsword, an elegant yet simple blade made by the Nauzican smiths, rivalling that of even the Dwarves. Commissioned by Charles for the invasion of the Dreadlands, being christened “Persuasion” by the Prince. Bringing up his guard, the green mass ran at him, screaming in their feral tongue, calling for blood in their fury.

 

 

 

But the Prince did hold firm, his head cool, his humors balanced. He thought of his sons, Charles, the firstborn, and the newly born Edward. His wife, the love of his life. Shutting his eyes a moment, the horde came upon him. Letting loose the motto of the Order, the Prince did shout, “Imperator et Imperium!” as he swung his blade. The edge was sharper than any blade the Orcs could make, cutting through their flesh like butter. The crimson flashes from bisected limbs and newly made orifices splashed back to stain the armor of the Prince, his helm fell off somewhere, he recalled not where. He felt the pain in his arm from his arm as nothing more than an irritant, the exhaustion taking no toll on the man. The more he killed, the easier the war would be, the more of his men would live. He fought not for his life, for that cause would have left him desperate and long dead. Nay, the Prince fought for his sons, his wife, his Emperor, his family, and most importantly, the men he swore a duty to. The men who screamed his name in awe, the men who he led to glory after glory. The men of the Order of Alstion.

 

 

Letting out a war cry, the green tide would slowly move away from him. Gore coated the Prince, and Charles heaved in the stinking air, even in the humid jungle the hot innards of the slain orcs rose off the ground. Looking about he saw why they stopped. Chanting like savages, the Uruk horde parted to allow an Uruk chieftain, no shorter than nine feet through. Letting out a roar, the Chieftain postured for what had to be his own clan, though it was impossible to tell, the savage race has little markings. Turning back to the Prince, he let out a cry of rage, of excitement, or anticipation at the coming fight. The good Prince did no posturing, he simply raised his sword, his battered shield, his gaze narrowing at the Chieftain.

 

 

The Greenskin Chieftain charged the Prince, no poise, no skill, all brute force. A quick pivot of the Prince led to him cutting open the back of the Orc’s thigh, causing a screech of frustration from the animal. Turning, he slammed his mighty club into the Prince, knocking him back a few feet. Stumbling to his feet, Charles fumbled for his sword, his shield had broke, a shard dug into his wrist, he couldn’t move it. The pain was nothing to him, giving a grunt in reply, he let out a cry of rage, charging at the Chieftain. Sending a series of blows, he would push the Chieftain back, delivering wound after wound, not giving time for a counter, giving no quarter, holding nothing back. The Chieftain cried out in his bestial language, panicked, his tribe rushed forward, but it was too late. The Prince thrust his sword up through the skull of the Chieftain, killing him, the lifeblood pouring over Charles arm. He shut his eyes, imagining once more the face of his wife, his sons, the cries of his men as they won another victory. The Prince would perish under a horde of Uruk weapons, not caring as his body finally succumbed to the wound, a smile graced his lips, as Charles Philip of Horen-Balain fell.

 

Mere hours later, the body would be found, gathered up by weeping men, burned in the traditional manner of the Horens, and entombed in a gilded sarcophagus with the rest of the great Horens of the dynasty in the capital. His sword was given to his son, who didn’t understand, his widowed wife wept and screamed out as her heart was broken, and black banners were unfurled as the body was carried through the Johannesburg streets. So ended the life of Charles Philip, and the beginning of his legacy.

[wolfdwg 2677]

Charles Richard Horen-Balain, peeked into the main room, as he saw a soldiers and his mother crying. A pain felt at his heart for he had no idea what had transpired. His nurse pulled at him away from the opening, shutting him away, the only thought that crossed his mind, "Where's Papa?"

[Juli 1341]

Roslin stood in her room at the palace, staring out of her window as she clutched onto one of the few belongings she had left from her beloved husband, her wedding ring. Tears streamed down her face as she mourned the death of her true love. 

[Will (TauFirewarrior) 2466]

Maric Vimmark would return to the Order of Alstion headquarters, bloodied and frustrated, pacing around with Ser Avenel trailing him shouting in the barracks "They played us like a damn fiddle!"

[Miquill 188]

Duncan stands in silence after hearing the death of his mentor of many years. "He... he was like a father to me."

[yopplwasupxxx 5946]

Henry pulls his hood up, making way to see his brother's grave.

[MunaZaldrizoti 8037]

Anna Sofia would frown, upon hearing of her cousin's demise. "Who will I call 'Greenskinslayer' now?"

[whiteferrarii 123]

Jory Marbrand would smile from the Seven Skies, welcoming his good friend into the heavens. 

[_Bueno_ 492]

Charles Boniface smirks, "Another one bites the dust."

[Wendigo 786]

Moved to the Archive. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.