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In the Midst of a Storm: Reserved for Spats.

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In the Midst of a Storm: Reserved for Spats.

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Squidi on Sat Oct 14, 2006 3:21 pm

Here you go, Spats. Should be a fun spar. :d

Black clouds scorned the night sky, casting a dark cloak around the moon and stars. Rotund rain heavily poured down like a waterfall. Individual drops discernible with each timely flash of lightning, scarring the sky for a brief moment, and then promptly followed by the boom of tumultuous thunder, like god's raging roar at the pitiful pawns he created. The secluded village, so cursed to be damned by this sinister storm, was located in a vast clearing in the center of an oaken forest.

It was often traveled through by wandering warriors of far off lands, seeking to earn a name for themselves in legends to be told by future generations. The doomed village itself was rather simplistic. A series of modern log cabins were built to form a giant square. From a bird's view, it was a huge brown chessboard with the only exception being the main street that cut through the town, which should be noted was about a quarter of a mile long.

That unnerving night the townspeople were obviously shitting in their pants in fright. They thought this wicked weather was a sign of god's unyielding hatred. The ground was shaking, houses were shaking, people's bones were shaking. Planks of wood began to fly off roofs, and doors began to burst off their hinges. Families kept huddled in the corner of their dark houses, silently praying and desperately crying for this howling hell to pass. How long until the entirety of houses crumbled, and the village would be left as a mountainous pile of rubble?

Drenched and getting wetter, if that were even possible with each passing second. The only visible figure out in this apparent apocalypse, somehow stood on his own two feet—they must have been made of lead. His soaking, dark cloak and hair billowed in the whirling gusts of wind. Nothing much was pronounced about him. The buckets of rain obscuring and silhouetting anything truly distinct. He stood in the middle of the main street with his head staring straight ahead.

Then he opened his sharp eyes, coinciding with a streak of blinding lightning. They were a horrid glowing red, burning bright with an inner fury, a sense of hatred and evil, and no guilt; pupils like a cat. They were set in an immaculate face of beauty, hardened features and a pale complexion. A demon from the atrocious Abyss! Was it him that created this storm? What was he doing out in it? He was waiting, but for what? The sheathed sword at his side might provide a clue.

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Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Spats Marauder on Mon Oct 16, 2006 1:02 am

Sorrowful, singsong voices, accompanied by wailing wind instruments, intermingled with the rhythmical patter of the rain, into an eerie and embittering melody.

Brief flashes of lightning lit momentarily the way to scores of miniscule elves, swarming into a large stone edifice a little off the village. A temple veined with bizarre carvings of symbols and pictures and embellished with phosphorescent azure enamel.

Murky adumbrations sprouted out of the obscurity of the darkest of black shadows, dancing about the aged and twisted oaken trees, which counted millennia of existence.

''Be gone from my village evil fiend'', a voice was heard in the darkness

Abruptly the dancing shadows started converging into a single gigantic amalgam of abominations. Somber creatures, spattering their slimy goo substances about, as they guffawed at the obscure adversary, in their distorted way.

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Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Squidi on Mon Oct 16, 2006 8:34 am

The rain felt like bricks carrying the weight of the world; the wind was an eternal lash by a cat o' nine tails. Wooden debris whirled through the atramentous air, looking like ravens, the harbingers of death. Lightning streaked across the sky, marring the suffering scenery for a second and a half. Thunder growled like a mythological lion, shaking the world below. The demon known as Jax never blinked, not once. His satanic eyes sickly fastened upon the forces brewing in the gloomy forest.

A vigorous voice came from the darkness, everywhere and nowhere at the same time. It told the cruel creature to leave, but of course it would not. High-pitched laughs came from the strange things like foolish children, somehow audible to the demon's ears despite the hundred-yard distance and all the natural factors. Jax found it awfully amusing, almost making him laugh—Did they not know they were going to die this glorious night? His wide mouth twisted into some sinister smile, briefly revealing his sharp, pearly teeth soon to be stained in sanguine.

He began to take slow, steady strides forward; mud tarnishing his black boots. A dark, silver embroidered gloved hand placed itself around the handle of his sword; his left hand gripping the ornamented sheath. The demon didn't know exactly what was going on in the covering of the oaken woods, and he didn't want to enter them to find out. He stopped his practiced pace about fifty yards away from the tree line, and raised his voice above the natural elements, so that the somber figures could hear. "Come out of your homes, so I may leave you in your graves!"

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