Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-29461586-20150519235325/@comment-6006054-20150601071013

Ekrun, fighting a nordic man clad in legion armor, stepped back. Shocked and stunned by flame, he was caught off-guard by the long-dead warrior, and fell to his knees in a spray of blood. He rose, cleaving upwards with his claymore as he did. His wild blow was parried, but he followed up by sweeping his opponent's legs. The soldier toppled, and Ekrun stepped back to ready himself. The flame had struck fear into his heart for the first time, and hordes of doubts toook hold of him. The illusion clambered to its feet. Ekrun responded almost automatically, detached and still reeling. He parried the strike, and just as always during their sparring, decades ago, his foe countered with a left handed punch. Ekrun stopped the strike, catching the dead man's wrist. He dropped his sword, punching the illusion in the stomach. It reeled from the blow, and they both toppled over. Ekrun drew his dagger, and killed his opponent. He staggered to his feet, sheathing the ugly knife. His hand shook as he snatched his claymroe from the ground. The dead men were dredging up memories buried nearly as long as them, and hateful fire was all around.