cult of the not yet named.

so here is the first part of one of the more important hq's of my wych cult. her name is Vix and i will  probebly use her as lelith on the tabletop. please let me know what you think and if there are any grammar or spelling issues. also i don't have a name for the cult yet, so if you might have a really fithing one after reading this i would like to hear sugestions.

enjoy.

Part one; an unusual day in the arena.
The arena was full as Vix stepped out of the barracks, looking upon the other side as the gate was opening. Out of the shadow came a colossal beast storming at her and the other hekatari. As Vix saw the great beast come closer she noticed the scars and cracks on its armour. “There must be a real special reason to have such a exotic creature in our house” she thought making her weapons ready. The sounds of her chains swirling in a hypnotic rhythm as she felt how her vision sharpened and the high of the drugs started to replace her thoughts of why there would be such a creature displayed. “it mattered not” she said to herself stepping aside as the berserking creature impaled one of the others leaving the lifeless body hanging on one of its four boneswords. the more glory for her to take it down she smirked, beheading a fellow hekatari that tried to run at the berserking bug like monstrositie.

Stepping like a feather on the wind dodging the fierce attacks of the giant bug. As the chains wrap around its arms and legs. As of a dance Vix and the creature going around each other building towards a final in which only one would survive. Using the chains Vix managed to get on top of the creatures back. Hearing the beast roar in anger and agony Vix felt a small smile on her face. As she pulled the chains together the roaring intensified as the spiked metal met flesh. The roaring turning into hissing as the beast started to stumble and finally fell to the flour throwing the blood-soaked sand into the air.

Vix was in an bliss of ecstasy still hearing the echo of a dying scream in her mind, if it were the drugs or not she didn’t care for there was no better high then stepping out of the arena leaving the husk of fallen soldiers behind. She looked at the creature laying whit its face in the sand. “How befitting it was that it almost looked like it was bowing to her”: Vix thought. It was then that as the dust in the arena settled and her high damped that she had noticed the audience had kept silence after the fight. And as that thought was in her head she felt a stinging pain in her upper left leg. Looking downward she saw a stinger the size or her fist ripped through her wychsuit. Her feelings of bliss turned into despair, for she knew the succubus would make sure she would be cannon folder the next time there would be a raid. So is the way of the cult of (no name yet), that those scarred or maimed would be put on the frontlines or against unbeatable odds in the arena. So only the best and beautiful would come out on top. Staggering into the barracks and out on the streets of Commarragh, panicking and becoming paranoid as to not show any weakness. Vix was full of pain but could not show it for any showing weakness would be sure to live a short life or worse. She knew of one who could help her, but for what price?

tell me what you think so far and if this should be in stories or in here.

Greetz,
 Jenna

I liked this. Could do with a revision or two but hey, there's always room for improvement.

Why not Wych Cult of the Scarred Pride?

I enjoyed and I look forward to reading more.