A Tale From The Battlefields: Splinters Of Bone And Steel

As the sun dips low beneath the horizon, bathing the field in crimson light, I, Gruumsh, survey the devastation left in my wake. Amidst the tangles of broken limbs and discarded armor, my heart swells with pride, fueled by the intoxicating scent of fear and blood. This day, the demons of the abyss themselves would have bowed before the might of my scythe, Grond.

With each swing, bones shatter, steel groans, and lives snuffed out like candles in the wind. My enemies writhe in agony, their screams lost among the thunderous clamor of war. But even now, they dare to curse my name, to beseech their paltry gods for deliverance. Fools, for it is I, the God of Battles, who decides the fate of empires.

Once more, I raise Grond high above my head, feeling the power coursing through my veins. My eyes blaze with the fire of a thousand burning pyres, and I howl a challenge to the heavens. Let them tremble, for today, the world bears witness to the fury of the Bringer of Ruin.

And when the last breath leaves the lungs of the vanquished, and the cries of the dying fade away, I shall rest momentarily, savoring the taste of victory. Yet, my slumber is fleeting, for already, the drums of war beat once again, calling me to spread the harvest of my wrath anew.