Relics Fiction

By Daniel Fellows
Ruk headed to the pit with a malicious sense of mischief about him. It had been a great scrap today and there is no better treat for the lads than a good game of tatters. They’d had great difficulty initially breaking through the Britanan defences and had incurred heavy losses. Their efforts paid off ultimately though and they had managed to smash the expansion force, hopefully delaying the horde by at least a few weeks. The Orcnar had slaughtered the Britanans down to the last puppet … well all save one.

By Daniel Fellows
Kullu scrambled to his feet and observed the carnage engulfing him. All around he witnessed his fellow Unmann dying by the minute at the hands of this latest Britanan menace. The puppet soldiers of the dread King Jorje had lined the crumbled ruins of the crucible and were concentrating their firepower on a narrow passage to the east forcing the Unmann into a death box.

By Daniel Fellows
“Such limited imaginations,” he thought as he watched the savage Unmann tearing heads off the fallen Britanans. Malrecha observed the battle from the safety of the ruined temple, neglected and ancient beyond comprehension, he wondered what terrible malevolent deities had been worshipped here during the absence of his people? The sanctuary of his ancestors had been desecrated almost beyond recognition through the occupation of various bloodthirsty invaders but the inimitable cog works that the foundations of the temple rested on could only have been forged by Nuem hands.