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Snippet #1127777

located in post-apocalyptic earth, a part of A World's End, one of the many universes on RPG.

post-apocalyptic earth

Post Apocalyptic Earth is where everything begins. It is where your character was born and raised until the time they heard the bell. This is a place absent of magical or supernatural powers. And as far as your character remember this is how the world has always looked, barren and dead.

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"Blood flows in and out, up and around. Through the body, out of the body. It made no difference to blood. Blood was a free thing. Blood was sacred. Blood could do what blood pleased. And blood wanted to flow. So flow it did. Like rivers, rains, oceans and lakes, the blood flowed off mountain-tops like melting ice, dripped from ceilings and rooftops, and ran down the gutters. Everywhere you went there was blood. But it's not the kind of blood in you or me, no... It's the blood of fate... Of the higher power.... Or powers, if you're that kind of person." The rythmic pounding of the blacksmith hammer on the plate of metal kept Faolan focused while he talked to his 'companions',

"Blood and fate. Intertwined. One and the same. Don't you see?" He asked, suddenly stopping and staring down the wooden plank carved with eyes and a mouth, "Don't you see...?" He went back to work and after an hour or so had finished. He held up the piece of metal, beautiful and polished, slightly curved, but perfectly even all around. Faolan frowned,

"It's rubbish. But it'll have to do." he said to the wood plank again. Faolan took the metal and fastened it with some cloth strips to his jacket, wearing it like armor. He picked up his supplies and began walking through the town he had found. It had small buildings, no taller than four stories. Obviously when it was still in use, it wasn't very big anyway. A suburb maybe. Faolan trudged through the alleys, walking by rusted out garbage cans and broken windows. Trash and refuse littered the gutters along with the occasional human skull. It was all Faolan could do to think about nothing more than wanting to crush in the skulls in the gutters. He didn't know them, but he was sure they'd died such terrible deaths. Worthless deaths. but he would change that. He would. He began collecting skulls. Keeping them on a cloth rope he tied around his chest until he had a total of seven. They rattled and banged against each other, but he kept them. Talked to them. Tried to figure out their stories. How had they died? Why? When? Where? Surely they must be runoff from a rain or something. All these thoughts were prominent in his mind up until the point where he heard the footsteps...