The whistling winds filled my eardrums as they laid down a rushing, vacuous beat of flesh and liquid crimson followed by the wheezing rasp of lungs too long heaving without proper, adequate ventilation giving way to the inevitable wretching when one's spittle travels down 'the wrong tube.'
Attempting to quell the spastic coughing accompanied by such a feat is still futile at best, but, oh, the glorious lack of air required for the onset of the famed 'starbursts' in the outer reaches of one's vision, while one props one's self up on hand and bended knee, elbows still glistening the with the crimson liquid which accompanies these fine sensations, and of course, one's minor victory on the battlefield -- which knows no end, nor sensibility.
The Winds of Chaos: their shrieking, whistling tune attests to the warriors who do not accept the mere wearing of armor as a uniform, but the intaking of The Void, The Chaos that is The Changer of Ways... and forms... as the banner of those among the ranks of The Chaos Marauder; those who request and accept that perfectly imperfect Mark.
The Mark allowing those of such fortitude to ride the slipstreams within The Winds of Chaos, drifting in and out of solid consciousness whilst in heated, deadly battle, only being lifted clean away from one's terrestrial confines when one is finally deemed worthy of Complete Change, only available to those of us with the perseverance to slipsail beyond the Order of this plane into Chaos Undivided. To be counted worthy to navigate those Currents, as they wrench their traveler's to and fro with anything but smooth sailing (a ludicrous prayer often prayed by those filthy-clean Order abhorrents as they flit about on liquid currents one finds in one's young-life bathwater) is to be counted among those for whom Undivision has become their very essence; a prize actually worth battling for; the bliss of Chaos Undivided.
On this Eventful Day, here on the Chracian battlefield commemerating the fall of the great Lady Allisha, as fortold by the Demigod Azarael, the starbursts grew dim. I knew my Undivision was not yet at hand. A fact readily confirmed by the foggy sillhouettes of two hulking figures swiftly maneuvering to each side of me and hoisting me to my feet, the one we call Hittinstuff (due to his well-named propensity for such an endearing quirk) shouting, as Orcs are compelled to, in my face,"WAAAGH!!" The other, the infamous Jaggernaut, stating plainly,"That was sport. Now let's show these Order fools the true meaning of 'Change!' "
Into the thick of it they hurled me, pacing the stride they demanded of me, my spiked gift still gnashing on the gristle it ripped from my last challenge, The Winds of Chaos heaving, Undivided among us, as though we cycled that life force with lungs of one mind; a mind Undivided; one mind, forever Changed.
(-- For Ooul: thank you for your encouragement through example. Now go hit something!
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