The rise of Glorath

The throne room of Yarth the great.

A throne of gold and skull. A Majestic seat of power bedecked in grinning death. She sites, towering over her men and making me feel small. Even as her men tower over me, she is a behemoth of muscle.
I am told that I am to be blamed for the death of their great mage. A master that has served this kingdom for an eon, who was destined to outlive it. I am told if it weren't for the things that I lived, and the steel of my shattered mind, I would be dead, but Yarth finds that visions that could kill such a man, but leave me standing show I have some strength and perhaps.s I can be put to use to stop this demon from arising from the abyss.

So I was left to battle her weakest warrior that sits on her concule. A man that could fell an army and scare a drake with but a glair. I wonder as I am offered my pick of tools, what sort of men that lay on her councile if he is considered her weakest. I was told that their queen beat an elder dragon, naked with a butter knife drunk of her gourd, but surly they jest?

I pull twin scimitars off the rack, as a lith thing, of strung muscle, glides into the ring. He holds the look of a man that has seen into the abyss and taunted it for daring to exist. I can see how he could scare off a drake looking into those eyes. Only my training under the captain of the gourd, and my mission abroad leave me able to stare into those eyes. Yet still, For a second, I felt doubt.
I started it with a scream as I flung myself onto him, both of my swords sything the air in front of him.
With a broad sword, he swept my attacks and lunched me across the throne room. I could hear the chains, they beg for my blood, they beg for my flesh. The barbarians wish to feast upon me, But nay, they shell fest apond there warriors head!!

I launch three missiles, I swear if he had wings, I would say he flew, my blast ate chunks from the marble floors, and he flew, and swayed. Before I understood what was going on, my body acted on instinct. Our blades clashed, and we danced and jigged. my pelt was marred, he bled, and we danced some more.
No time for spells, for the concentration was not there, for the movement of this man, was that of myth. every ounce of my training was tested, every bit of skill I earned was mocked. We fought and time melted under our wreath, the chanting bled out as our ears rang to battle.
In the end, we were spent, yet we fought, for we knew the spears at the walls of the room thirsted for the week, we fought as our blood started to sing for blood. We fought despite the superficial flesh wounds bleeding us dry. In the end, he slipped, and my horn dug into his neck, speered into his mouth, and broke his braincase from beneath. I felt his life drizzle down my horn and bath my face in blood,. I felt my front get soaked in his spray as I yanked myself from this man, I tore his head off and shouted to the barbarians.
YOU WANTED TO FEAST, SO FEAST!!

There shocked silence brought some sanity to me, as I watched that mighty titan head sail in the air, and land at their queen's feet. I felt fear, for if that was their weakest, what foolishness has my blood lust just brought me?

Laughter apparently. It shook the halls, it drowned out the silence of her council. I felt it in my boons, and I swear it blew my blood-soaked main back.

The battle has sapped my strength, a strength I have yet to recover from my flight of panic, despite the dirt nap that led me to their stable, despite the weighting for the queen's judgment. The world sank to black as my ears rang. May the sun goddess have mercy and the barman queen judge me just.