Mar 21, 2017 7:09 am
In this post, Ryte tried to console Jarveena by saying "Tuin man lende, tir nia ammen," an elven phrase meaning "Those who leave, watch over us."
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Mar 30, 2017 4:10 am
RYTE
Ryte opened his eyes. He could feel the throbbing black cord almost immediately, pumping corruption and power into his body. An incredible hunger drove him to his feet. He picked up the two rapiers he had wielded in life and stalked silently down the tunnel toward the waterfall.
He turned the corner, and saw the battle raging in the cavern beyond. His former comrades gathered around a great monstrosity, hacking and slashing at it as it pummelled them with tumored tentacles. He could see the monstrosity's own black cord too, trailing off in the same direction as his own.
He observed their tactics, their tricks, their movements, all the while gripping his swords tightly. He had never felt stronger, and he knew at once he could take them all. He ached so badly to extinguish their lives. But, that was not to be, for this night he felt the silent summons that called him to the source of his black cord. He took one last look at the battle before departing.
"Tuin man lende, tir nia ammen" he spat, his voice cracking.
Those who leave, watch over us.
Ryte opened his eyes. He could feel the throbbing black cord almost immediately, pumping corruption and power into his body. An incredible hunger drove him to his feet. He picked up the two rapiers he had wielded in life and stalked silently down the tunnel toward the waterfall.
He turned the corner, and saw the battle raging in the cavern beyond. His former comrades gathered around a great monstrosity, hacking and slashing at it as it pummelled them with tumored tentacles. He could see the monstrosity's own black cord too, trailing off in the same direction as his own.
He observed their tactics, their tricks, their movements, all the while gripping his swords tightly. He had never felt stronger, and he knew at once he could take them all. He ached so badly to extinguish their lives. But, that was not to be, for this night he felt the silent summons that called him to the source of his black cord. He took one last look at the battle before departing.
"Tuin man lende, tir nia ammen" he spat, his voice cracking.
Those who leave, watch over us.
Apr 7, 2017 6:49 am
You ascend the stairs and make your way through the village, following the masked figures clad in black. The villagers have mixed reactions about you; some come and spectate your procession with curiosity and interest, while others shoo children indoors and follow shortly after.
You notice that most of the village inhabitants are children and the elderly. A few inhabitants stand out among the rest:
On one of the bridges, a heavily-muscled warrior with a painted skull mask moves through sword exercises with a massive wooden greatsword. His movements are more brutal than graceful.
From the front of one of the largest huts in the village, a figure in black observes you. They wear a white mask, and wear a cloak of black feathers.
You notice that most of the village inhabitants are children and the elderly. A few inhabitants stand out among the rest:
On one of the bridges, a heavily-muscled warrior with a painted skull mask moves through sword exercises with a massive wooden greatsword. His movements are more brutal than graceful.
[ +- ] Warrior on the Bridge
[ +- ] Mysterious masked figure
Jan 12, 2018 12:16 am
One morning, when Gregor Samsa woke from troubled dreams, he found himself transformed in his bed into a horrible vermin.
He lay on his armour-like back, and if he lifted his head a little he could see his brown belly, slightly domed and divided by arches into stiff sections. The bedding was hardly able to cover it and seemed ready to slide off any moment.
His many legs, pitifully thin compared with the size of the rest of him, waved about helplessly as he looked. "What's happened to me? " he thought. It wasn't a dream. His room, a proper human room although a little too small, lay peacefully between its four familiar walls.
A collection of textile samples lay spread out on the table - Samsa was a travelling salesman - and above it there hung a picture that he had recently cut out of an illustrated magazine and housed in a nice, gilded frame. It showed a lady fitted out with a fur hat and fur boa who sat upright, raising a heavy fur muff that covered the whole of her lower arm towards the viewer. Gregor then turned to look out the window at the dull weather. Drops
He lay on his armour-like back, and if he lifted his head a little he could see his brown belly, slightly domed and divided by arches into stiff sections. The bedding was hardly able to cover it and seemed ready to slide off any moment.
His many legs, pitifully thin compared with the size of the rest of him, waved about helplessly as he looked. "What's happened to me? " he thought. It wasn't a dream. His room, a proper human room although a little too small, lay peacefully between its four familiar walls.
A collection of textile samples lay spread out on the table - Samsa was a travelling salesman - and above it there hung a picture that he had recently cut out of an illustrated magazine and housed in a nice, gilded frame. It showed a lady fitted out with a fur hat and fur boa who sat upright, raising a heavy fur muff that covered the whole of her lower arm towards the viewer. Gregor then turned to look out the window at the dull weather. Drops