elliot
Seasoned Survivor
Onion Warrior
Farts are like.. really funny to me.
Posts: 58 
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Post by elliot on Dec 11, 2015 21:27:04 GMT
 The Last StandReezyn stood in front of the kings throne, her eyes narrowed. She looked over all the dead soldiers that had stood in her path. It was quite easy for her to strike them down. Her dead quick to chew on their still warm flesh. With a wide grin, she took a seat, setting the end of her staff on to the broken floors of a once holy room. "I am War - the inevitable, beautiful, exquisite end to this world. Come, face me warriors. Let me see the tears flow from your eyes and the hope from your hearts as I claim your intoxicating final breath..."
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Post by ghost4life on Dec 11, 2015 21:47:00 GMT
The candles burned low and unnoticed as the tired wizard's eyes grew accustomed to the lingering darkness. The pages of his journal, gifted by his dearest friend Xunae, rapidly being filled with theory after theory, ward craft becoming the mage's burning obsession. Not only their construction but how to dismantle them as well.
If you, as a fly on the wall, were to look into the corner of his lab, you would see a pile of armors and other equipment stacked neatly within runed segments of floor. It would appear random at first, but to the practiced eye there is a pattern and reason for every piece being in its place, connected to each other by yet more runework.
Completing his work in the journal, Jach makes his way out of the lab, warding the door shut and making his way slowly to Kalaram to see what he can find out about this Reezyn woman...
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Myrdroko
Fresh Survivor
GET THE HELL OUT OF MY INN
Posts: 12 
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Post by Myrdroko on Dec 11, 2015 22:11:50 GMT
The cold winds raced past Durnan his eyes squeezed near shut as he braved the treacherous mountains that was the Faeloth mountain range. His cloaked flowed wildly in the air as he climbed the steps up into Tilram a familiar hungry feeling in his gut. His food sack starting to sag and drip as he moved closer towards the fort. He was fed up with the constant undead hordes being driven into the survivors safe area and he wasn't going to let it continue. The moment he stepped through the doors they slammed shut a familiar voice called out from the snow an wind. "Who is war and where are the cannons he called aloud into the fort." His bags filled with various metal bits and bobs.
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Terallis
Seasoned Survivor
>8( so mad
I'M TOO GOOD AT VIDO GAAAEEEMMMS!
Posts: 74
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Post by Terallis on Dec 11, 2015 22:19:20 GMT
In his quiet dwelling in the Sundered Desolation, Aedan just peers through the gaps between the boards serving as barricades on the windows. He watches the dead occasionally wander by, aimlessly driven by their urge to feed on the living. As always, he's very tense, but he remains quiet and watchful for a long while.
As he sits where he is, his hand absently runs over the chestplate of his armour. Beneath the armour being the place where the mark had been burned into his chest. His thoughts can't help but dwell on what the purpose of the mark was. Why was he one of the ones given a mark. He couldn't read it, either, which made him even more worried and curious about it. One thing is for sure that, good or bad, he was definitely chosen for /something/. But he was still unsure about exactly what.
Finally dropping his hand, he would get up and head out through the trapdoor. His gaze drawn up to the sky for a few moments. He had a bad feeling about what was to come next.
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Post by abyss on Dec 12, 2015 0:56:35 GMT
Within the secluded boarded home the knights head would rise suddenly, peering straight ahead at the makeshift shrine he had created for his god. A simple set of scales with incense burning within. The herbs were time consuming to gather, but they added a sense of peace and calm to the room and his time in prayer....And it was a pleasant step up from the smell of the shambling dead that seemed to permeate the air constantly. But that peace was lost to him for now....Something was wrong. He wasn't sure what but perhaps in time he would....
Pushing himself to his feet he would blow out the few candles he had lit for his vigil before moving from the room, stepping out into the dark streets as he moved to the familiar outpost of the Sundered Desolation. Perhaps others had felt something similar?....But one thing was certain....If he was able to feel this unease and unbalance in the world perhaps others did as well....
Maybe it was time for another trek to the top of Mount Faeloth....Maybe it was time to gather more answers....
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Post by martyr on Dec 12, 2015 1:56:17 GMT
A soft, eerie breeze rolled through the forests impossibly thick canopy, leaves whispering among themselves in the blinding darkness. Abel was motionless, in the grim low-light, his eyes worked over the shape. The mulch of the forest floor was hammered down into the worrying shape of a Hunters foot print, it's jagged claws and wide foot soul a fairly tell tale sign. His un-armoured hand rose to rub over the thick stubble that had grown on his face - the hand itself coiled with a bandage soiled from soot, ash, and crusted blood. *Crack~*  A stick, still green by the sounds of the lasting snap, perhaps a branch. It drew Abel's silent gaze, the man peering up. There were no low hanging branches - whatever it was, it was either in the Canopy, watching, or a creature of immense size. His eyes searched in a practiced manner - his breath held; no sound came from the man. It was then that he had spotted more tracks, many more tracks... All following the same heading... He set off at a sprint. |
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