CORRUPTED: VOL I

[Boer 35]

 

CORRUPTED

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The city had been ruined; tainted by the corruption of war. It’s walls, desecrated. It’s surface plotted with magma and barbwire contorting into an ever-undeathly irritation to San’Kala’s inhabitants. Yet, a minor irritation still. The orks of Krugmar’s stubborn dignified code of life did not falter, however. It is in war when they strived.

 

Yet there was one of whom’s mind yearned for peace; sitting upon a golden throne, Eyeplucka’Raguk. His treasury laid before him; a room drowned with saturated gold. Jewels and various other riches dotted; the majority hidden beneath a curtain of minae.

 

He had spent his life collecting his obsession; the affection for his capital flourishing with each passing sun. Yet, it could all be taken away; away from his brothers, away from him . . .

 

Fleeting thoughts gnawed at his consciousness. His kin was of no importance to him, merely his arrogant greed. Under the disguise of nightfall, the ork blanketed the barrels of riches over his cart; the Myrzym of which had stayed loyal to Eyeplucka for a lifetime refusing the labour. Perhaps it had realized something he had not.

 

The Krimpmazta was fleeing; not in fear for himself but in love of his greed and ignorance of his brothers. The Road was long, and his journey awaited.

 

Eyeplucka trudged along the pathway; the mud beneath his frame filling up the crevices of his sabatons. Rain pounded against his backside; another weight placed atop his shoulders. Lightning illuminated the landscape; a great flash of terror and then, then a horn.

 

The marching Orenian trumpeteer at the Emperor’s heels. Eyeplucka sprung to the side; hastly beckoning the Myrzym to hide between the verdant foliage as a sizeable army marched on. Their faces long, and their ears longer. Fair; yet in the eyes of Eyeplucka, ratlike figures.

 

He had cowered for until long after the cohort passed; before only then peering out beneath his conspicious cover. A sigh washed over the Ork, yet no relief overcame him. The burden of the Gold, had all but dissipated. Realization dawned on Eyeplucka far too late; as the first trebuchet shot rang through the air like waves against the shoreline.

 

His glove grasped across the medals of which decorated his chestplate; tossing them into the mud. Eyeplucka descended onto his knees, cataracts zoned on his hands

He had abandoned his people, the blood of his blood. For what? Gilded material? Shards of earth? Greed and guilt swolled in his heart; a corrupted traitor. . .

[Couldn’t make Sunday’s warclaim on Krugmar, decided to make it a cool way to progress his character.]

 

 

[osumanduas 1442]

Moved to The Great Library. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.

 

If you feel this is a mistake, please contact myself or any FM and we'll restore it.