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- Last Login
- 08/14/2011 10:25 am
- Member Since
- 07/01/2007
About
I am....Swathed in fur hides and uncured leather, flesh mottled with red clay and war paint. I beat back the onslaught of the Others - those who walk on two legs, who use clubs and spears but are not men. The rude stone ax heavy in my hairy hands I smash skulls like eggs and ravenous after the battle I feast on my enemies hearts and wash in there blood.
Called the Hand of God, I wield a sword made of bronze. My shield is leather and beaten lead. I fought and I died in the desert sands of Jerusalem, struck down by the demon Ba'al in a holy war long forgotten by mankind though it echoes through eternity.
Here I died with my king the arrow pierced Leonidas, as the Persian chariots burst through the Spartan's defenses at he mountain pass called Thermopylae.
Near Bandirma atop a Ferghana bay I roll through the Persian cavalry on a field of 'heroic warfare'
At Carrhae, I retreat with Cassius's legions, cut to pieces by the Parthians who tricked the Legionaires into breaking formation then massacred the Roman troops with cavalry.
In burnished steel armor, astride a stirrupless saddle, I beat back the huns who seek to destroy Roman civilization and thrust the world into ignorance and superstition of the dark ages.
I ride a Mongol pony into Samarkand with Genghis Khan. We leave mounds of sun-bleached skulls and utter desolation in our wake, Harvesters of Death.
My chainmail encrusted with rust and sweat-salt. I hack my way over prostrate Jerusalem walls with the knights Templars. I put the Infidels to the sword and liberate the Holy lands in the name of my most holy Pontiff, Urban the Second.
At Bosworth I wear a white rose and die in the marsh during Lord Stanley's bloody advance.
I am the captain of mercenaries, I besiege Magdeburg with the Roman Catholic armies of Gustavis Adolphus. No one could stop us as we overwhelm the Hessian defenders and butcher thirty thousands Protestant men, women and children. Both sides fight for God, I fight for plunder.
Wind chimes tinkle in the chill night air, the garden sparkles with crystalline ice. I wear a sky blue silk kimono my skin yellow. I dance in the falling flakes, silver blade flashing, dark ninja blood staining the virgin snow as black-clad forms fall dead at my feet. Perfectly dealt, my strokes slash out a haiku of death, each cut a decapitation, each lunge a disembowelment. I fight for the emperor and a shogun master.
I trek across the deserts of Egypt and steppes of Russia with Napoleon. Our triumphs, our cruelty are legendary, out retreat through a freezing hell our penance.
At Verarus we remembered the Alamo by invading Mexico via the sea and defeating the Mexican army in next to a wheat field in a place called Antietan, then spring to life.
On the walls of Peking, I stand side-by-side with heroes, to beat back a horde of Chinese hatchet men who seek the deaths of all foreign devils
For fifty-five days we hold, a hundred United States Marines who defeat a two-thousand year empire.
I feel the wood and fabric of my SPAD shudder under the chattering machine gun. I watch a Fokker DV11 crumple in the air, it's wings burning as it plunges, spinning to the Western front far, far below.
I fight in the trench, breath in poison gas
I parachute into Normandy on D-day
I wage war in Malaysia, Virtnam, Korea, Loas, Cambodia, France, Belgium, Austria, Germany, Japan, Afghanistan, Algeria, Istanbul, and Peking.
In Jerusalem, Actium, Rome, Paris, Fort Pitt, Yorktown, Moscow, Cambrai, Flanders, Belleau Wood, Guernica, The Sahara, Caen, Berlin, Dien Bien, Phu, and Haneri.
All of them were me... me. The eternal warrior, the hand of God, the master of war, an immortal spirit with no beginning and perhaps no end only an eternity of suffering and strife and the tides of battle. No peace, no rest, no love, no family, no home, the sword my only mistress, the battle banner my testament.
With stone and wood, with bronze and iron, with steel and adamantium as my tools, my weapons. I live the warrior's life, die the warrior's death a thousand times over. My lives line up behind me on parade and I see them all, like dim silhouettes marching over Golgotha.
I've suffered the spear's tip, the headman's ax, the slashing sword, the arrow pierce, the crossbow bolt. I've drowned, been crucified, blown asunder, felt the hangman's noose, and in the end, all that pain ever led to was a finality that is never truly a climax, only another beginning in a endless eternal cycle of blood and as inevitable as the rising sun, the phases of the moon, the passing of the stars, and the falling rain.
There he awakes as if from a long dream.
An endless parade of death.... yet no release. Not for me.
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"Correction. I'm an insignificant hairy barbarian mutant with a mutant healing factor, adamantium laced bones, razor-sharp adamantium claws and I'm the best at what I do!"
[i:80d44e9f6a]Wolverine 33[/i:80d44e9f6a][/align:80d44e9f6a]
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