Diary of the fleshsculptor.
The Battle at the Valley of Mars
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The Battle at the Valley of Mars

The story of a nice simple battle.

The general gazed out upon the field where the ambush would take place and reflected on what he was doing. The emperors legendary thousand man army was on it's way to try forcibly make his small town of Aries join the imperial coalition. The townfolk would not capitulate! Signing the treaty was as good as signing thier own death warrant.
For years the villagers had watched countless other towns fold under the emperors iron bootheel only to become slave labor pools for the imperium.Not Aries not on this day.

The men tensed as they heard the approach of the emperor's ranks.They came in five columns proudly marching with heads held high knowing that this, like all of thier attacks, would be swift and decisive.
As the third column passed the ambush point the signal was given and the soldiers let fly with thier spears. The officers were the first to go down the spears homing in on thier targets with unerring accuracy. One of the columns leadman took his in the shoulder at an ugly angle shattering collar bones and shredding tendons. The arm hung on by only a few tattered ribbons of flesh and the warrior quickly bled out onto the grassy field. the general officer caught a spear in his left temple, the heavy iron and wood shaft exploding through the frail bone and grey matter as if it were only paper. As he fell the point jammed into the ground leaving the corpse to hang limply like a flag at half mast on a windless day.

As the emperors men looked around for thier attackers the signal was given to let fly with the discus'. Each man carried at least thirty in thier pouches and knew how to put them to expert use.
The air was filled with the wizzing projectiles pouring into the imperial ranks in a hellstorm severing limbs and smashing thier way through bodies. One unlucky soul had a discus crunch through his chest in a cloud of blood and bone shooting out of his back and thunking heavily into the belly of one of his comrades.
A high pitched whistle sounded the end of the fussilade and the onslaught died down. Let the sword play begin.

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