An experiment in typing from my hudl 2

He stood, summoned the hounds with one sweep of his gnarled hand as the other mess of flesh that passed for a hand summoned a force of firey damnation “Be the wheat as the blade cuts it, the man of no position under my rule of force” with a chilling laugher, the darkly cloaked figure that stood before such a monster posing as an excuse of a man looked up, the crueliest smile the only thing that could be seen as he raised his head “what the makes you stand so tall before me wretch?” The monsterously deformed ruler asked, purple energy snaking though the exposed viens of his rough skin.

The cloaked figure spoke softly, almost unheard was his volume that the disfigured ruler leant in to hear “Even the demons have a sense of humour you know” as the hood was removed, the ruggedly handsome hero revealling the truest extent of that sense of humour “remember me” a tone to make the word serious seem lighthearted “or have you forgotten just how much you sacficed, brother” never had a word struck so hard as the ruler double backed, barely able to prevent tripping on his luxurious robe.

The fierey projectile from that force so damning failed to even mark his tortuous vision, the foaming mouths of the vicious hounds receded into a feeble whine as the illusion of impervious strength once so intimidating crumbled into a manic panic “Brother, forgive me my foolishness, such things I did once I now regret so” painfully decending to his knees in a disheveled fashion “may I ask that you cast me in the light of mercy that once you exuded so radiantly” the hooded figure’s cruel smile twisting into a sinister grimice, the only noise audiable been the whines of the once fearsome hounds, not as pathetic however as the broken figure on its aged knees.

The cloaked figure was unmoved by such displays of pitiful weakness, circling his brother as shark would its prey “Mercy, mercy… That once aplied but has long since decended deeper than the pits into which the demon you dealt with now resides” the fireball in the hooded figures hand drawing attention from the blackening eyes “now it is your turn brother” as with obvious relish he opened a vortex so dark it made the pits into which the aging ruler had thrown his enemies seem as bright sparks “may my prison cell be as grand a monument to your failure as a good brother as this kingdom will be fair compensation for the years I rotted in it”.

All the guards outside heard were screams of such subsint sufferring that even the rebels outside the palace gates paused in reverence to what cruelty was been endured.

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