Elderwood Hecarim
1350 RP
Release Year: 2015
Skin Spotlight
Hecarim Lore
"Break their positions and ride them down without leniency. Smash the living and devour their dread."
Hecarim is a protected goliath who charges from the Shadow Isles at the leader of a ghastly host of unearthly horsemen to chase the living. A tremendous combination of man and monster, reviled to ride for time everlasting, Hecarim revels in butcher and squashing souls underneath his defensively covered hooves.
Naturally introduced to a domain since a long time ago gone to clean and overlooked, Hecarim was squired to an unbelievable organization of knights known as the Iron Order, a fraternity promised to guard their lord's property. There he persevered through the harshest preparing conceivable, a rebuffing administration that educated him to be an imposing warrior.
As Hecarim developed to masculinity, he beat each type of battle and war-stratagem effortlessly. He immediately overwhelmed his kindred squires in mounted fighting, and the Knight Commander of the Iron Order saw enormity inside of the young fellow and perceived a potential successor. In any case, as the years passed and Hecarim won a great many victorys from the back of his forceful warhorse, the Knight Commander at last perceived a developing haziness inside of his lieutenant. Hecarim's hunger for wholesale butcher and over the top strive after brilliance was disintegrating his honor and the Knight Commander knew the youthful knight should never turn into the expert of the Iron Order. In his private chambers, he told Hecarim that he would not be his successor and however his lieutenant was irate, he bit back on his resentment and came back to his obligations.
At the point when the Order next rode to war, the Knight Commander got himself encompassed by foes and secluded from his kindred knights. No one but Hecarim could ride to his guide, yet in a minute of antipathy, he dismissed his mount and left the Knight Commander to kick the bucket. At fight's end, the surviving knights, neglectful of what Hecarim had done, stooped on the bleeding ground and promised to tail him as their expert.
Hecarim rode to the capital, and met with Kalista, the ruler's general. Kalista perceived his extraordinary nature, and when the lord's wife was injured by the harmed cutting edge of a professional killer, she tasked the Iron Order with staying at the ruler's side while she looked for a cure. Hecarim acknowledged, however being given what he saw to be a modest errand planted a seed of disdain.
Hecarim stayed with the ruler as he plunged into despondency prompted franticness. Grasped by neurosis, the lord seethed at the individuals who tried to isolated him from his diminishing wife and despatched the Iron Order to control what he saw as difference all through his kingdom. Hecarim drove the Iron Order in grisly concealments of discontent, procuring a shocking notoriety as a savage implementer of the ruler's will. Towns smoldered and the riders of the Iron Order put hundreds to the sword. The kingdom was in obscurity, and when the ruler kicked the bucket, Hecarim spun lies around the lord, discussing how he had revealed reality behind her demise, looking for approval to lead the Iron Order to outside terrains and gain yet more dull prestige.
Before he rode out, Kalista came back from her journey. She had discovered a cure for the ruler's disease upon the fabulous Blessed Isles, yet was past the point where it is possible to spare her. Appalled at what had happened to the kingdom, Kalista declined to share what she had found and was detained for her insubordination. Hecarim saw a chance to win yet more support and went by Kalista's cell. Promising to keep the ruler from any impulsive activities, Hecarim induced Kalista to uncover what she knew. Kalista reluctantly concurred and guided the lord's armada through the glamours veiling the Blessed Isles from sight.
Hecarim drove the demolished type of the lord to the focal point of the supernatural island, where he met with its gatekeepers and requested their guide. The watchmen offered their sensitivities, yet told the lord his wife was past their assistance. Goaded, the ruler requested Kalista to slaughter the watchmen one by one until they yielded. Kalista rejected and remained between the lord and the island's occupants.
Hecarim perceived a junction in his life and settled on a choice that would damn him for time everlasting. Rather than supporting Kalista, he drove a lance through her back and charged the Iron Order to kill the occupants of the Blessed Isles. Hecarim and his warriors butchered the gatekeepers until a lamp bearing heel at last drove the ruler to what he looked for - the key to restoring his wife.
Be that as it may, when the ruler came back to life she was an awfulness of rotted meat and larva ridden tissue who asked to be permitted to kick the bucket again. Repelled at what he had done to his adored wife, the lord ordered a spell to end their lives and tie them together for all time everlasting. His conjuration was effective, however unwittingly engaged by the numerous intense supernatural antiquities put away on the island, its energy was expanded a hundredfold.
A tropical storm of dark fog encompassed the ruler, spreading over the island and executing all that it touched. Hecarim surrendered the ruler to his fate and drove the Iron Order back to their boats, slaughtering all in their way as the spirits of those killed by the dark fog emerged as undying phantoms. One-by-one, the knights were dragged down into undeath until just Hecarim remained. As uncontrolled witchcraft filled him, he and his compelling steed were melded in an immense evil entity that mirrored the genuine obscurity of his spirit.
Yelling in anger, the titanic mammoth known as the Shadow of War was created in a horrifying change, a baldfaced beast of rage and hate. The wrongdoings of his previous life were increased by the bedlam of dim enchantment, birthing an animal of interminable noxiousness and alarming force.
Presently Hecarim is certain to the Shadow Isles, watching its bad dream shores and murdering all before him in a joke of his previous obligation. Furthermore, when the Black Mist comes to past the Shadow Isles, he and the otherworldly host of the Iron Order ride with him to butcher the living in the memory of glories since quite a while ago passed.
Nobody Lives
Cold waves smashed on the distressing shore, red with the blood of the men Hecarim had as of now butchered. The mortals he had yet to slaughter were withdrawing over the shoreline in dread. Dark downpour soaked them and stormclouds bubbled in from the grieving heart of the island. He heard them yelling to each other. The words were a throaty fight cant he didn't perceive, however the importance was clear; they really thought they may live to achieve their boat. Genuine, they had some ability. They moved as one, wooden shields interlocked. Be that as it may, they were mortal and Hecarim relished the meat-stink of their apprehension.
He orbited them, threading disintegrating vestiges and inconspicuous in the shadowed fog ascending from the pale sand. The resounding thunder of his hooves struck sparkles from dark rocks. It bothered their valor. He viewed the mortals through the slitted visor of his steerage. The frail light of their pitiable spirits was flashing corposant in their tissue. It shocked him even as he pined for it.
"Nobody lives," he said.
His voice was stifled by the fear iron of his steerage, similar to the carcass grate of a hanged man. The sound scratched along their nerves like rusted sharp edges. He savored their fear and smiled as one man tossed down his shield and kept running for the boat in distress.
He roared as he dashed from the weed-gagged vestiges, bringing down his snared glaive and feeling the old rush of the charge. A memory gleamed, riding at the leader of a silver host. Winning grandness and honor. The memory blurred as the man came to the dull surf of frosty breakers and looked behind him.
"If it's not too much trouble No!" he cried.
Hecarim split him from collarbone to pelvis in one deafening blow.
His ebon-bladed glaive beat as it showered in blood. The delicate wisp of the man's soul tried to fly free, yet the fog's craving would not be duped. Hecarim looked as the spirit was turned into a dull impression of the man's life.
Hecarim drew the force of the island to him and the wicked surf stirred with movement as a large group of dull knights wreathed in shining light rose from the water. Fixed inside bygone plates of spooky iron, they drew dark swords that gleamed with dull brilliance. He ought to know these men. They had served him once and served him still, yet he had no memory of them. He turned back towards the mortals on the shoreline. He separated the fogs, delighting in their dread as they saw him plainly interestingly.
His giant structure was a nightmarish cross breed of man and steed, a chimeric juggernaut of baldfaced iron. The plates of his body were dim and stamped with etchings whose implications he just enigmatically reviewed. Bunch flame seethed behind his visor, the soul inside of chilly and dead yet disdainfully fundamental.
Hecarim raised as forking traceries of lightning split the sky. He brought down his glaive and drove his knights in the charge, hurling monster bunches of blood-drenched sand and bone sections as he went. The mortals shouted and raised their shields, yet the phantom knights charge was relentless. Hecarim struck first similar on his right side as their expert, and the booming effect fragmented the shieldwall completely open. Men were trampled to grisly gruel underneath his iron-shod mass. His glaive struck out left and right, murdering with each strike. The phantom knights pounded all before them, butchering the living in a wrath of whipping hooves, cutting spears and hacking sharp edges. Bones split and blood splashed as mortal spirits fled broken bodies, effectively caught in the middle of life and passing by the fell enchantment of the Ruined King.
The spirits of the dead orbited Hecarim, obligated to him as their executioner and he delighted in the surging delight of fight. He disregarded the wailing spirits. He had no enthusiasm for oppressing them. Leave such insignificant brutalities to the Chain Warden.
All Hecarim administered to was executing.
"Break their positions and ride them down without leniency. Smash the living and devour their dread."
Hecarim is a protected goliath who charges from the Shadow Isles at the leader of a ghastly host of unearthly horsemen to chase the living. A tremendous combination of man and monster, reviled to ride for time everlasting, Hecarim revels in butcher and squashing souls underneath his defensively covered hooves.
Naturally introduced to a domain since a long time ago gone to clean and overlooked, Hecarim was squired to an unbelievable organization of knights known as the Iron Order, a fraternity promised to guard their lord's property. There he persevered through the harshest preparing conceivable, a rebuffing administration that educated him to be an imposing warrior.
As Hecarim developed to masculinity, he beat each type of battle and war-stratagem effortlessly. He immediately overwhelmed his kindred squires in mounted fighting, and the Knight Commander of the Iron Order saw enormity inside of the young fellow and perceived a potential successor. In any case, as the years passed and Hecarim won a great many victorys from the back of his forceful warhorse, the Knight Commander at last perceived a developing haziness inside of his lieutenant. Hecarim's hunger for wholesale butcher and over the top strive after brilliance was disintegrating his honor and the Knight Commander knew the youthful knight should never turn into the expert of the Iron Order. In his private chambers, he told Hecarim that he would not be his successor and however his lieutenant was irate, he bit back on his resentment and came back to his obligations.
At the point when the Order next rode to war, the Knight Commander got himself encompassed by foes and secluded from his kindred knights. No one but Hecarim could ride to his guide, yet in a minute of antipathy, he dismissed his mount and left the Knight Commander to kick the bucket. At fight's end, the surviving knights, neglectful of what Hecarim had done, stooped on the bleeding ground and promised to tail him as their expert.
Hecarim rode to the capital, and met with Kalista, the ruler's general. Kalista perceived his extraordinary nature, and when the lord's wife was injured by the harmed cutting edge of a professional killer, she tasked the Iron Order with staying at the ruler's side while she looked for a cure. Hecarim acknowledged, however being given what he saw to be a modest errand planted a seed of disdain.
Hecarim stayed with the ruler as he plunged into despondency prompted franticness. Grasped by neurosis, the lord seethed at the individuals who tried to isolated him from his diminishing wife and despatched the Iron Order to control what he saw as difference all through his kingdom. Hecarim drove the Iron Order in grisly concealments of discontent, procuring a shocking notoriety as a savage implementer of the ruler's will. Towns smoldered and the riders of the Iron Order put hundreds to the sword. The kingdom was in obscurity, and when the ruler kicked the bucket, Hecarim spun lies around the lord, discussing how he had revealed reality behind her demise, looking for approval to lead the Iron Order to outside terrains and gain yet more dull prestige.
Before he rode out, Kalista came back from her journey. She had discovered a cure for the ruler's disease upon the fabulous Blessed Isles, yet was past the point where it is possible to spare her. Appalled at what had happened to the kingdom, Kalista declined to share what she had found and was detained for her insubordination. Hecarim saw a chance to win yet more support and went by Kalista's cell. Promising to keep the ruler from any impulsive activities, Hecarim induced Kalista to uncover what she knew. Kalista reluctantly concurred and guided the lord's armada through the glamours veiling the Blessed Isles from sight.
Hecarim drove the demolished type of the lord to the focal point of the supernatural island, where he met with its gatekeepers and requested their guide. The watchmen offered their sensitivities, yet told the lord his wife was past their assistance. Goaded, the ruler requested Kalista to slaughter the watchmen one by one until they yielded. Kalista rejected and remained between the lord and the island's occupants.
Hecarim perceived a junction in his life and settled on a choice that would damn him for time everlasting. Rather than supporting Kalista, he drove a lance through her back and charged the Iron Order to kill the occupants of the Blessed Isles. Hecarim and his warriors butchered the gatekeepers until a lamp bearing heel at last drove the ruler to what he looked for - the key to restoring his wife.
Be that as it may, when the ruler came back to life she was an awfulness of rotted meat and larva ridden tissue who asked to be permitted to kick the bucket again. Repelled at what he had done to his adored wife, the lord ordered a spell to end their lives and tie them together for all time everlasting. His conjuration was effective, however unwittingly engaged by the numerous intense supernatural antiquities put away on the island, its energy was expanded a hundredfold.
A tropical storm of dark fog encompassed the ruler, spreading over the island and executing all that it touched. Hecarim surrendered the ruler to his fate and drove the Iron Order back to their boats, slaughtering all in their way as the spirits of those killed by the dark fog emerged as undying phantoms. One-by-one, the knights were dragged down into undeath until just Hecarim remained. As uncontrolled witchcraft filled him, he and his compelling steed were melded in an immense evil entity that mirrored the genuine obscurity of his spirit.
Yelling in anger, the titanic mammoth known as the Shadow of War was created in a horrifying change, a baldfaced beast of rage and hate. The wrongdoings of his previous life were increased by the bedlam of dim enchantment, birthing an animal of interminable noxiousness and alarming force.
Presently Hecarim is certain to the Shadow Isles, watching its bad dream shores and murdering all before him in a joke of his previous obligation. Furthermore, when the Black Mist comes to past the Shadow Isles, he and the otherworldly host of the Iron Order ride with him to butcher the living in the memory of glories since quite a while ago passed.
Nobody Lives
Cold waves smashed on the distressing shore, red with the blood of the men Hecarim had as of now butchered. The mortals he had yet to slaughter were withdrawing over the shoreline in dread. Dark downpour soaked them and stormclouds bubbled in from the grieving heart of the island. He heard them yelling to each other. The words were a throaty fight cant he didn't perceive, however the importance was clear; they really thought they may live to achieve their boat. Genuine, they had some ability. They moved as one, wooden shields interlocked. Be that as it may, they were mortal and Hecarim relished the meat-stink of their apprehension.
He orbited them, threading disintegrating vestiges and inconspicuous in the shadowed fog ascending from the pale sand. The resounding thunder of his hooves struck sparkles from dark rocks. It bothered their valor. He viewed the mortals through the slitted visor of his steerage. The frail light of their pitiable spirits was flashing corposant in their tissue. It shocked him even as he pined for it.
"Nobody lives," he said.
His voice was stifled by the fear iron of his steerage, similar to the carcass grate of a hanged man. The sound scratched along their nerves like rusted sharp edges. He savored their fear and smiled as one man tossed down his shield and kept running for the boat in distress.
He roared as he dashed from the weed-gagged vestiges, bringing down his snared glaive and feeling the old rush of the charge. A memory gleamed, riding at the leader of a silver host. Winning grandness and honor. The memory blurred as the man came to the dull surf of frosty breakers and looked behind him.
"If it's not too much trouble No!" he cried.
Hecarim split him from collarbone to pelvis in one deafening blow.
His ebon-bladed glaive beat as it showered in blood. The delicate wisp of the man's soul tried to fly free, yet the fog's craving would not be duped. Hecarim looked as the spirit was turned into a dull impression of the man's life.
Hecarim drew the force of the island to him and the wicked surf stirred with movement as a large group of dull knights wreathed in shining light rose from the water. Fixed inside bygone plates of spooky iron, they drew dark swords that gleamed with dull brilliance. He ought to know these men. They had served him once and served him still, yet he had no memory of them. He turned back towards the mortals on the shoreline. He separated the fogs, delighting in their dread as they saw him plainly interestingly.
His giant structure was a nightmarish cross breed of man and steed, a chimeric juggernaut of baldfaced iron. The plates of his body were dim and stamped with etchings whose implications he just enigmatically reviewed. Bunch flame seethed behind his visor, the soul inside of chilly and dead yet disdainfully fundamental.
Hecarim raised as forking traceries of lightning split the sky. He brought down his glaive and drove his knights in the charge, hurling monster bunches of blood-drenched sand and bone sections as he went. The mortals shouted and raised their shields, yet the phantom knights charge was relentless. Hecarim struck first similar on his right side as their expert, and the booming effect fragmented the shieldwall completely open. Men were trampled to grisly gruel underneath his iron-shod mass. His glaive struck out left and right, murdering with each strike. The phantom knights pounded all before them, butchering the living in a wrath of whipping hooves, cutting spears and hacking sharp edges. Bones split and blood splashed as mortal spirits fled broken bodies, effectively caught in the middle of life and passing by the fell enchantment of the Ruined King.
The spirits of the dead orbited Hecarim, obligated to him as their executioner and he delighted in the surging delight of fight. He disregarded the wailing spirits. He had no enthusiasm for oppressing them. Leave such insignificant brutalities to the Chain Warden.
All Hecarim administered to was executing.
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