The moans and shrieks of the fleshly killed abyssals slowly sliding down the poles laid out for them remain a grisly reminder to the others who would dare disobey the Laws of Garagoth. And for the unlikely tourists who might trespass on its' domain.
Behind him a vast monstrosity flexes and snaps its two misshapen heads, bones scratching and crunching in what seems to be a macabre dance of death. Even hunched over, the grotesque skeleton stands fifteen feet tall. But that is not what drew Urguuroths' attention. It is a battle before him.
Two ancient foes, one from the vast plague of urban sprawl, Neversummer, and the other a champion of the Black City, crossing swords at lightning speed. The flecks of light stain the air in their wake, adding to the bitterness of the scenery.
"Cling.. clang.. Vsssh"
The sounds echo endlessly in the damp air.
The swordsman, both masters, fight an endless duel fueled with the thrill of adrenaline and glory in blood. But the odds are in favor to the Black Swordsman, his right arm a noticeable mass of bandages and shambles.
Blood runs down in streams as the day turns into night, masking the area in a eerie red mist. Almost with the dying of the sun, the champion from Neversummer collapses to his knees, and Bril grants him the final strike of death.
Seldom had he seen such a masterful duel, Urguuroth smiles, deep in thoughs of dark glory.
// Great battle today - thanks to everyone who participated, but especially to the two swordsman depicted here. Honor in battle is something seldom seen in this place
