The release of an arrow, heading straight for my motivated deamonic soul, with its black veins coursing through me.
The arrow, I can see, is of a tribe that dreads me, worshiping me in fear.
I Am Fear.
Poison pointed right at me. I am ready, and so is my shield masked in arrows, it takes its last one.
This waiting has gone on long enough.
Arrow shafts break, as my sheild falls to grace. Poison ruing the fresh grass around me, whats left, from what I haven't touched.
A movent to my left, I see it but I look right. I see you. I turn and grasp my sword, in antticipation. Your chest rips open, course blood running from your lips. Your commrad screams, and charges. I glower with the kill.
A smile broadens on my face. I can't be bothered. Its myself against you all. My sword, and your throats. Deranged glory, to this day. To this day I hold psychotic pleaser in your pain.
I stand on your land, sword a-ready, waiting to kill you, and more of your commrads.
Stay cool.
Run To The Hills.