The Death of Darkmoon

*An old man sits in a chair in front of a group of small children in the forests of Cove. His grizzled beard lies stretched out over his red tunic, in his right hand he holds a staff of sorts, entwined with all sorts of ivy. The year is one hundred, that is counting from the death of the great Octiovus von Richter one hundred years, the children listen intently to the climax of what some would call a great tale*

And so you see children... Conan Darkmoons heart was a black one, he left the Covian Army in ruin, and returned to his dilapidated home, one which he had neglected to work on instead to pursue ways of discrediting the words of Raiden Morana at all possible junctures. But in his days of farming.. Conan felt that he was missing something of sorts, and with a feeling of complete depression, but also a great faith he strode out unto the swamps of Sosaria, where he himself had hidden his great golden Grenadier arms, and his trusty scimitar. He grinned as he looked upon these things, once symbols of his great power, before arrogance and hate had corrupted his simple mind.

He put on his old armor, and also yanked his trusty scimitar 'Now Rusty' out of the wooden box he had stored in the mud of the swamp. He put his grand armor on, and took out his sword.. Conan walked about one hundred paces to the Orc Fort "Fathueiim" in the Swamps of the land...as he neared it, he began to hear the archaic cries of all sorts of Orc, from the most ferocious of the frozen lands, to ones more docile like the mages from the likes of Cove. You must understand children that although it had been a mere month since his departure from Cove.. Conan could not die a mere peasant, a tear glistened in his eye as he hoped the Baron would at least allow him to die a Grenadier, as opposed to the grotesque low class peasant he had become.

Conan lowered the front of his helmet onto his head. Making the sign of the Ankh Conan kissed his sword as one would kiss an item that could be passed on through eternity. He approached the Orc Camp with a feeling of hapiness, he felt as a Grenadier again, what he had always longed to be. He smiled under his helmet and felt a great roar explode in his chest as he spotted the first orc guard. "FOR THE BARON! FOR COVE! FOR THE GRENADIERS!" at this Conan felt streams of tears running down his face, but those only of pure and complete hapiness.. or perhaps, lunacy?

The first Guard was no more in a matter of seconds! All of the younger boys and girls in the front row! *The old man shakes his stick!* cover you're ears! He was split into nearly four pieces, and his head still spoke as it lay on the muddy floor of the Orc Fort! As Conan walked in he could see the hordes of Orc that had ammased in this place only to do harm to do the surrounding areas of Cove and Vesper, of course. But Conan felt no fear, and as he ran towards the crowd his sword rang out to and fro! And not but three hundred and fourty four orc fell before Conan received so much as a scratch from an enraged Chieftain!

At this point boys and girls a miraculous thing happened, Conan finally understood that discipline and loyalty are what is really important in the modern army, Conan had forsaken them... He clashed now with the thirty or so Chieftains still remaining in the Camp. But these Orcs boys and girls.. where no mere guards, they attacked Conan in all sorts of ways! But Conan, feeling love for his mother Cove, and of course for his golden arms let his scimitar ring out! "FOR VINCE VALENTINE! FOR THE HEROES OF COVE!" he sang, as he hacked the heads off of forty or so of the enraged Chieftains.

Though, those orcs did something very treacherous children...they plunged their swords all at once through Conan! They went clean through his chestplate, a few pierced his helmet, killing him instantly of course. Others went through his legs.. but his Arms children.. his Grenadier Arms lay untouched. And that was the end.. of Conan Darkmoon.

(OOC) Hope you enjoyed (OOC)

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