I've thrown the gauntlet here to get things rolling. Any takers? :P
The leaden war axe known as The Tooth of Kali dragged behind him, red-hot with the fire.
Earthen tile parted beneath the instrument's formidable weight--heavy in his grip with the corpse of the bandit chief, clothed in an evanescent cloud of bloody mist that took flight with the wind, flecked with shards of vaporizing bone.
Torn legionnaire armor at his lower body fluttered in the smoky forest wind, rattled the twisted chain mail that lay upon the hulking brawn of his nearly bare chest and washboard abs, glistening with sweat.
With a powerful roll of his shoulder, Krota tightened his grip upon the Tooth's handle and threw the Chieftain's mangled body front and center into the clearing, almost ruptured the leather bracers at his wrist that were flash-dried to a crisp by the heat of his volcanic flame in mortal combat.
The ancient war axe was Krota's weight to bear, the curse bequeathed upon him for his unholy judgment, and the only ally at his side as the rest of the bandit camp spilled into the forest clearing. The ring of hard faces marked him, accusing and baleful, and among them he spotted the vice captain...a likely opponent.
A shudder of sinful ecstasy rippled across the slabs of lean, pure muscle at his back, thick with obscene strength. His blood red eyes flew wide--so hollow--as a smirk tugged at the corner of his torn mouth, breath hitching in his lungs as he shouldered the Tooth and his cruel old lips framed the word he knew only too well.