Hey, was the deadline not supposed to be today at midnight?
![Very Happy :D](./images/smilies/icon_biggrin.gif)
Does not matter, though. My story exceeds the limit by more than 100 words and I really have no idea where I could cut without it losing sense. So here I present a bonus story, not part of the competition but hopefully worth reading anyway.
![Smile :)](./images/smilies/icon_smile.gif)
The duelA tall marauder smiled to himself and touched his lucky charm, a necklace from fangs of bears he had killed himself. Finally, the time for arrows and magic was over and weapons were to be drawn – and he was amongst the lucky warriors who were still standing, ready to shed blood. This will be a glorious day, the final victory of the Chaos Gods, and he will be part of it, if only in a distant part of the battlefield.
First, however, the champion of their band climbed on a nearby cliff, pointed his axe on the elves and shouted out a challenge. As always, first Göran kills their enemy's best and then they slaughter the rest, for the glory of the Gods, for the glory of them all.
The elven sergeant knew she would accept. Liara had always been the most ambitious, almost obsessed with proving herself against anything. She had always been the first to brave any challenge prepared for them on the training grounds; she did not hesitate a moment when a battle-crazed champion of Aestyrion was shouting insults at them; she stepped forwards when a demon singled them out and defended herself until help arrived; she did not lose a single moment now.
The marauder musician rolled his drum loudly, then broke the sound off. Two giant armies were clashing, but their regiments were standing silently in suspension as the two champions closed to each other.
There was a time when he was dreaming about this, about leading his own band and slaying opposing heroes. Then he met Göran, however, a strange man overlooked by all of Chaos Gods but still able to stand toe to toe with any of their chosen, and witnessed him chop down a tree with a single strike and cut a fly mid-air. Since then, he was his drummer and as proud as a man could be.
A sorceress was slowly catching her breath after throwing too many fireballs too fast. The duel had already lasted long enough for her to gain composure again. How was that even possible? The two combatants were by no means holding back, their fight was fierce and intense from the first moment, but neither of them was scratched nevertheless.
Her look wandered over the other marauders, the half naked muscular men with wild beards who were all holding their breaths and watching the duel without blinking away. Who were those people, actually? Did they have mothers or lovers, did they carve wood and sing songs? Were there other gods in the ether beyond the cruel four they were fighting right now? If this realm of demons reflects all thoughts of mortals, who was born from loyalty or respect?
A hero of Chaos halted his monstrous mount and looked at the duellists better. It was a good fight. He would not expect such ferocity and strength from an elf – she was able to knock her foe back several steps more than once. He, on the other hand, was landing blows with a precision few northmen possessed and moved as fast as a lightning and only a slight bit slower than the woman. It reminded him of ritual dances that tell stories of great heroes or of the nights where warriors prove themselves to their chosen consorts. In this dance, life and beauty were being born from the imminence of death.
It was a good fight. The warrior hoped it will never end.
The elven trumpeter did not notice when the drums made themselves heard again as he was too absorbed by the duel in front of them. He just realized that the clashing of weapons and swift side steps were studdenly being accompanied by a barbaric rythm that was fitting their movements perfectly, a loud beat for a kick, a short pause for a jump, an artful deviation from the regular pulse for a deceitful feint. Without thinking about it, he grasped his own trumpet and added its sharp and bright voice to the emerging song.
Then, a blast of vile energy burst over the battlefield, first cracks appeared in the sky and even the duel itself halted.
The joy the Chaos hero had originally felt quickly faded. He had fought to create a world of a never-ceasing holy battle but instead, some horrible contagion was spreading unnaturally fast among the victorious marauders, flames flared up in distant forests and the ground itself was being torn apart – and moments ago, he had to kill his own mount as the gift from his God had turned on him. He was a hero of Chaos but he could not understand. There was no glory in an empty world, nor change, nor decay, nor passion. A warrior without enemies is nothing, and a god without worshippers even less.
Defeated. But not subdued yet. The sorceress looked above and destroyed a boulder falling at them with a strong outburst of magic. When defiance was the only thing left, she wanted to remain defiant till the very end.
He was fighting the thought with all his will but as the demons begun to devour their former allies, as great heroes were falling down in great pain and dying in agony, the bear hunter was quickly forced to acknowledge they were indeed betrayed. Whole lives of loyalty, generations devoted to worshipping the Four with all their strength, and still they got discarded once their enemies finally fell. He would gladly die for a great scheme but this was just mindless destruction.
On his elevated position, Göran the champion duelist threw away his shield with the Chaos star; he removed his helmet and put down his armour – and behind him, hundreds of marauders did the same. Now he was just an ordinary man, strong and handsome with pale skin and bronze hair, in a simple loincloth and wielding a crude axe, like a warrior of dawn.
The elf followed, she put aside the symbols of her King and Queen who had died moments before, freed herself of everything except a light tunic and her slender sword and finally allowed her opponent to look at her face, dark from the southern sun, and into her eyes where falling stars seemed to find a new home.
Without saying a word, they bowed to each other and resumed their fight, their dance.
Their regiments were still looking at them, the musicians still accompanying them with a lamentation for the dying world. Almost nothing was moving, it was a quiet place in the midst of the storm of apocalypse; and the dance was gaining on intensity and grace, the last sparkle of beauty before every movement ceases, a shard of perfection no one will see again. And all around, broken warriors were gathering their last strength to get closer.
A wild rider, long ago lost in the endless waves of demons, spurred his tired horse, because in that duel, there was life.
An injured hero, formerly in favour of Slaanesh, decided to make his last stand together with them, because he admired their defiance.
A swordmaster that had almost given up rised his head again, because the warriors in front of him understood loyalty as well as he did.
A pain-filled forsaken, long ago a proud warrior and now just a mutated wretch, crawled toward them because for the first time in ages, he was seeing hope.
And when the apocalypse ended and the demons flew away, they were still standing, just a small piece of ground filled with sad remnants of two armies. And above them, on a cliff high and sharp, the two duelists were still dancing, Göran and Liara, the bringers of life, defiance, hope and loyalty, the rulers of this new realm, the Eternal combatants, day and night.
![Image](http://www.darkswordminiatures.com/shop/media/wysiwyg/GRRM/5016/grrm_5016_p_cmonkazz.jpg)
(A Reaper Miniatures
Bladesinger Sister and a Darksword
Wildling)