Grey clouds boiled across the night sky. Occasional lightening bolts flickered and cracked towards the earth, and the very air crackled with tension.
The dull, slow, thud, reverberating though the ground, slowly grew louder. There were other vibrations too: the steady marching feet of gathering armies far away; random mighty crashes, like giants and ogres wrestling and throwing each other in play; and always, the subtle whispering of the trees and forests, and the creatures of the ground.
Thud.
Thud!
Thud!!
The wind, which had been rustling the trees nearby, suddenly whipped into a howling gale.
Thud!!!
BattleWom trudged into view, his steely gaze assessing the road ahead.
He had heard the summons.
BattleWom was come, and those that would deny him would taste the wrath of his soiled claws. For ready he was, to tunnel under the river Styx, or through the carnal playpen of Babylon, to rend, to ravage, to win.
Excalibur would be his.
"Now, where is my magic hat of obfuscation?" he said.
Wombat image by pixabay.com
STEEMLORDS image courtesy of @bearone
