Romans & histoires Glutton Berserker

He sang, clothed in embellished robe, holding a shimmering long sword with the letter ‘E’ blaze on it and in the other holding a decanter filled with the mixture of glowing honey and soaked egg in it. “Earlier I saw two of the Divine Humanes fighting those bounty hunters and it was magical, on the other hand not threatening enough.” Said a middle-aged male having a grandiose and a muscled body, with his brown dreadlocks packed upward, balbo bearded, dressed in fur clothing only covering the lower part of his body with the letter ‘G’ scared vividly on his brown-skinned muscled back.

Weapon Name: Berserker's Fury Warhammer Weapon Level: 20 Weapon Type: Rare Weapon Requirement: Traits(Hammer Mastery/Master-At-Arms), 110 Strength Weapon Attack: 90-110 +85 Attack (This doubles when Berserker is at 30% health or lower) +5% Fury regeneration per 3 seconds (while in combat) +3% Health Recover per second (outside of combat) Weapon Description: A weapon designed by the player . This weapon was designed to take advantage of a Berserker's strengths and give the user a much better chance when in prolonged combat. Because it was made with inferior materials, this was the result.

I said carefully, and the man’s olive-skinned face broke into an amused smile. “That’s funny, neither do I.” He whispered and the hard edge in his voice told me he wasn't a wolf to be messed with. I had heard tales of Markov the Slayer. A white-haired wolf with the power to wield silver swords and not take any damage himself. A feat that exhausted even the great Fedora. There was no doubt that we would need him out there on the field seeing as the elders had refused to give us more soldiers. “To war and bloodshed then,” My smile was full of teethstopping just short of my cold, hard eyes before I snatched a goblet from the outstretched tray of a servant, raising it in the air as the wolves su

Velsusi met with the clan leader and warned him to stay out of combat, but Sylloph ignored the Wise One’s warning. Sylloph went to the field where he found Gor, son of Mor, of the clan Gratar standing in front of his men. Sylloph stood in front of his men of the clan Balac. As in many battles with Menians, they stripped themselves and covered their bodies with mud. Both clans began yelling out insults at each other raising their voices to a loud frantic melee. Without warning, Gor charged forward. The battle was bloody with men ripped apart as swords whipped about in every direction.

Three massive figures stepped out. They were ten feet tall, clad in golden armor that shone like the sun. They wielded massive hammers and shields. They didn't look like monsters. They looked like angels. BOSS DETECTED: THE SERAPHIM. LEVEL: 99. TYPE: ANTI-VIRUS PROTOCOL. "They're hunting the glitches," Jax said, gripping his data-sword. "They delete anything that doesn't follow the script. They've already deleted the Merchant's Guild."

He looked like he was about to say something, but he was cut off when he started coughing violently. He spat out a mouthful of blackened blood. It made for a gruesome sight against the white carpet. Felix stared at the blood in disbelief before he jerked his head up to look at me. "Why?" I set my wine glass down and looked down at him from the tip of my nose. "I'm just fulfilling my responsibility as a mother." Felix's eyes widened when he finally registered my words. The wolfsbane worked quickly, especially since Felix had been caught completely off-guard. It didn't take long before he crumpled to the ground.

From the shimmering heat-haze, a figure emerged. He did not walk; he Harvested his way toward us. He was draped in a cloak made of "Desiccated Silk," his skin the color of parched bone, his eyes two burning pits of Unsatisfied Craving. It was the Lord of the Blood-Grain. He held a Scythe of Obsidian-Flint and Human Teeth, its blade etched with the calorie-counts of every failed pack in the Eastern territories.

And for the first time, he didn't feel like he was drowning. He felt like he'd been saved. **************************** INDEX: Murmillo- a type of gladiator fighter, uses a big shield Thracian- a type of gladiator fighter, a gladiator who uses speed

he growled, shifting into his wolf form mid-stride. The intruders barely had time to react before Lucifer lunged at them, his claws tearing through flesh with terrifying speed and precision. Blood splattered as he ripped into one man after another, his supernatural strength making him unstoppable. He relished the violence, pouring all his frustration and anger into each brutal attack. Raphael and Dominic joined the fray, their own skills honed from countless battles. Dominic wielded a large machete, slicing through the attackers with ease, while Raphael used a pair of silver daggers, his movements swift and deadly.

If the alpha was lost, so was the clan. "Keep fighting, Alpha!" Kelda, the pack's shaman screamed over the rising wind and the crack of lightning crossing the sky. Brodolf threw his head back and howled, the sound long, loud and dripping with pain. Suddenly, he felt a pop, weak as a soap bubble, but a sign that he had won this round. They had once again beaten back the berserker that lived within him. Slowly, his body righted itself until finally he was left lying on his side, naked and spent, upon the frozen ground. Kelda sat next to him, murmuring nonsense and stroking his hair, giving him what comfort she could until he recovered enough to sit up and wrap the blanket she held around his b