Announcements: Cutting Costs (2024) » January 2024 Copyfraud Attack » Finding Universes to Join (and making yours more visible!) » Guide To Universes On RPG » Member Shoutout Thread » Starter Locations & Prompts for Newcomers » RPG Chat — the official app » Frequently Asked Questions » Suggestions & Requests: THE MASTER THREAD »

Latest Discussions: Adapa Adapa's for adapa » To the Rich Men North of Richmond » Shake Senora » Good Morning RPG! » Ramblings of a Madman: American History Unkempt » Site Revitalization » Map Making Resources » Lost Poetry » Wishes » Ring of Invisibility » Seeking Roleplayer for Rumple/Mr. Gold from Once Upon a Time » Some political parody for these trying times » What dinosaur are you? » So, I have an Etsy » Train Poetry I » Joker » D&D Alignment Chart: How To Get A Theorem Named After You » Dungeon23 : Creative Challenge » Returning User - Is it dead? » Twelve Days of Christmas »

Players Wanted: Serious Anime Crossover Roleplay (semi-literate) » Looking for a long term partner! » JoJo or Mha roleplay » Seeking long-term rp partners for MxM » [MxF] Ruining Beauty / Beauty x Bastard » Minecraft Rp Help Wanted » CALL FOR WITNESSES: The Public v Zosimos » Social Immortal: A Vampire Only Soiree [The Multiverse] » XENOMORPH EDM TOUR Feat. Synthe Gridd: Get Your Tickets! » Aishna: Tower of Desire » Looking for fellow RPGers/Characters » looking for a RP partner (ABO/BL) » Looking for a long term roleplay partner » Explore the World of Boruto with Our Roleplaying Group on FB » More Jedi, Sith, and Imperials needed! » Role-player's Wanted » OSR Armchair Warrior looking for Kin » Friday the 13th Fun, Anyone? » Writers Wanted! » Long term partner to play an older male wanted »

0
followers
follow

Nylle Lyszt

Former Specialist of Combat Engineers, 3rd Legion

0 · 291 views · located in Nazria

a character in “The Age of Change - Year of the black march”, as played by Jenna Patterson

Description

Image

Name: Nylle “Tattered” Lyszt
Age: 64
Gender: Female
Height: 5’6”
Weight: 256lbs
Race: Heidrox

Physical Description: Nylle is considered quite average for a typical heidrox; she would fit perfectly un-noticeable amongst her race en-mass. As with most of her kind she bares markings of her races ‘cursed’ past; fangs, horns and wings. Dark black long hair that could be compared to that of a mane of a horse; it is course and thick though is typically kept neatly tied behind her head. Eyes are similar to that of a human however the color is crimson flecked with gold. Long curved horns starting above her temples on either side of her head and curve forward so the tips of each hover inches above her shoulders. These have been decorated over the years in typical heidrox female fashion; etched with precious metals and drilled to allow bobbles to hang. She also has four smaller ‘horns’ that protrude above her eyebrows though these resemble closer to facial piercings than bone. Nylle has a set of dark leathery wings that are essentially useless, in her youth their wing span would have been well over 10ft however with a generally destructive military career her left wings is missing half its length while the right is entirely tattered; earning her nickname.

Brief History: Recently ‘retired’ from active duty Nylle was a former Corporal of Combat Engineers, 3rd Legion, Commanded by House Ne’elan. She had been with the Legion for two tours (10 human years) before its last active combat saw nearly all of its ranks decimated. She was among a hand full of sappers that returned home victors for her House. Her Legion had lost far too many of its ranks to rebuild effectively and as such the Captains and High Fist determine to merger the 3rd and 4th Legion allowing those like herself to either re-enlist for another tour, or retire from active combat.
She was named “Tattered” by her Captain after her first skirmish. Due to nativity as well as the jitters of first combat Nylle nearly killed herself as well as her troop confusing a simple flame missile with an explosive one. The error made luckily cost her only the damage to her wings and burned scaring her to back. The nickname, among the Legions, is not considered a good omen. Those with names like her own are often found out casted from their peers and last to be promoted.
Leaving the Legion with little more wealth than she entered, Nylle has been hiring herself as armed guard for merchant travellers, protecting them with several other guards. She is part of a small band of guards of various races and ranks however do not have any loyalty to them.
Nylle is cold and distant, given the majority of her life was spent first losing family to war then participating in it she tends to keep to herself. Considering the race she belongs to she was well-educated and considered intelligent, however traveling to foreign lands she has been met with nothing but other races’ prejudices’ many believing and flat out telling her that because of her blood she simply cannot comprehend some of the most basic thoughts. She is a brute to them; an oversized Neanderthal, and she plays into this with any given opportunity.

Equipment/Belongings:
Basic Cloak: Large enough to fit her demonic frame made of various animal hides that have been patched and re-patched over the years and clearly maintained. This article has been watered proofed by spreading wax over the outside. Several pockets have been sewn into the interior.
Scarf: Cotton like material that is woven tightly; likely in a loom. Gray in color it is typically tucked inside a pocket within the cloak.
Light Chest Mail: Made of thin metal links the only piece of mail/armor Nylle wears as protection from knives and some projectiles. Any other means of armor are deemed unnecessary, she does not consider herself a closed combat agent given her military talents.
Leather Leggings/Tunic/Gloves: Standard soldier issue, dark in color.
Plated boots: Seemingly typical leather boots however these have been reinforced with plated toes and soles. Heavier standard though it isn’t an issue for Nylle. The extra weight is necessary for firing missiles; they provide traction despite ground conditions as well as added accuracy for targeting.
Iron Helm: Custom worked this iron helm fist snugly into place hooking over her large horns and covering her face entirely leaving a large slit for her eyes to see though.
Large Pack: Worn over the back held on by two straps over the shoulders, like the rest of her attire it is also dark in color. Inside it holds basic toiletries of any sapper, food packs, water, and medical pack. Odds and ends also fill its contents, pieces of metal scrap and discards she uses to create more missiles.
Standard Issues Sapper “Clutch”: 10 inches in diameter and around a foot long, a tube shaped carrying case meant to hold sapper used missiles, each case hold about 15 fully completed missiles as well as 20 shafts for creating more in addition to 15 standard crossbow bolts. The bottom of the case opens to reveal a compartment where sappers hold their gun powders and other items for missile creation.

Sappers’ Crossbow: Much like a standard crossbow however this has been modified to hold standard bolts as well as missiles.
Missiles: (There are too many types to describe them all, I will mention those that are used by Nylle)
All missiles look the same, long shaft like an arrow with feathers or thin pieces of leather for fletching, the differences are at the tips of the missiles, and the only way to tell them apart.
“Cursed Mother”: a black rock about the size of Nylle fist sits at the end of this shaft, it is lumpy and sometimes does not form perfectly round. This, when the rock’s shell is crack, explodes in a radius over around 20ft, will ignite anything flammable, even in wet conditions. Created a Cursed Mother is difficult has that the chemicals and ores used for the explosion ignite when exposed to air. These are only used in desperation by many sappers. Current Inventory: 2
“Burners”: Glass cylinder filled with explosives, upon use they create a fireball meant to be used to burn enemy troops and supplies. Current Inventory: 4
“Smokers”: Grey cloth wrapped around the tip of a shaft with a two inch fuse. As the name suggests these are used to created large clouds of smoke to cause panic and confusion. Current Inventory: 7

So begins...

Nylle Lyszt's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Crowen Antillia Character Portrait: Atma Gatae Character Portrait: Veran Del'Lok Character Portrait: Nylle Lyszt
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

The dean of the cathedral had left Atma's sight for several moments. His form carving its way through the crowd and they parted in their fearful state, being led away from the main door by the sister of the parish. Their whit and red robes leading them each to a place to rest themselves. These people were all members of the faith of Nariss the patron goddess of forgiveness. The tell tale item of all members of this sect was the same as the Deans, being a flat gold medallion strung around the neck. The center piece being a white tear stone pearl fixed to its center.

It was at that time that Atma caught sight of the Dean once again, having sat himself down next to the center isle of the main hall and keeping his eyes fixed on the door. Two priest, young men despite their occupations penance towards the elder. Were closing the latches on the main door, before sliding a heavy crossbeam on a set of mounts to hold it shut. The beam was new compared to the rest of the door, indicating that it had been added not long before this night began.

The Dean kept his eyes fixed on it though and Atma could see that he was preoccupied with heavy heart and memories. He looked as tough he could cry at a moments notice and in his hands there sat a long, thin, black crystal. Almost reminiscent of a wand, though its form was strangely worn by time and use. He focuses on the door, wringing his fingers around this little keepsake all the while. Only for a moment does he take his eyes from there to look back at Atma "You best be ready to run when the time comes. Though by the looks of you, your will to fight may hold out."

"Crowen will do what he can to keep them at bay as long as possible."

He rolls the crystal wand over in his hand, revealing that the brim of its head is crowned by small white objects. On closer inspection, these small objects appear to be polished stone, but instead are revealed to be five dagger like teeth that meet one another at the wands top.

* * * *


On the eastern edge of the city, the gate sets closed and secured, with its ramparts manned and ready. A line of militia men stand on its peaks and watch the inky blackness of the moonless night. Their number is abuzz with the information they receive from the main gate to the west and each of them banter with the possibility of what may transpire tonight.

Among them was one of their number who had just arrived to the city that night.

Nylle sat on the coaches seat of an abandoned merchant wagon, last of the few to be allowed into the city before the gates came to a close. Her feet dangled from the side of the cart as soldiers and militia alike moved back and forth, sending word from command to front as they went. Her appearance in the city being one of the topics within the rank and file, but she can hear them speak about her from time to time as they think its under their breath.

She has yet to retrieve the rest of her items from the wagon and due to the original owner abandoning it, she is the sole person left to take advantage of the situation. It owner already having disappeared somewhere deeper into the city to seek shelter.

* * * *


Back at the western end of the city, things were far more different.
The gates of the city slowly pulsed with the weight of fleshed pressed against the other side of the barrier and the sound of limbs being struck against its walls were mounting every passing moment. The soldiers had already retrieved their supplies from their barracks and were now well into their fourth volley of throwing firebombs into the crowd of undead amassing at the walls. They would toss the bombs far from the walls and gate, with the flames spreading through the ranks of undead as they marched ever closer.

To say the least, the smell was not in the least way appetizing as corpses fell to the roiling flames. However the tactic was working its magic on the ranks of the undead, those that fell spread the fire to those that climbed over them and the further they marched the more undead they passed the flames on to. Veran could see very few ways that the undead could possibly deal with this threat and did his part with the other militia to drop the burning walkers from reaching the walls or gate.

His face distorts with a wince as something flies past his head, causing him to shift his stance. A question that he cannot formulate in his mind starts to wander, before he realizes what has happened. The soldier to his left falls with little effort in his way to stand. A long twisted bolt stands erect from his left eye, as whats left of his life drains from the new hole in his person. It takes Veran a moment to peer over the rampart before ducking back and he can instantly see what is going on.

There is a line of undead approaching, not at all like the ones before. They march in rusted and pitted armor, still bearing the holes of the battle that took their lives originally. A large force of them marching in formation, like that of a seasoned army on the move. Those in the back of the formation possessed crossbows, pelting the walls and ramparts with a near endless volley of flying death. While the ones leading the formation wielded the weapons of distorted iron, using their own arms to cleave apart the walking undead in front of them. Clearing the way for themselves and the troops behind.

Crowen on the other hand had spent the last few minutes at the back of the gate, kneeling and praying with his book in one hand and his weapon in the other. Though the look of him was a man in prayer, no words escaped his lips and though they moved no sound was uttered. The only thing that could be seen, was a frosting mist that poured forth from his mouth as he prayed. He held his mace, facing its head towards the base of the gate and as he slapped his book closed, the weapon came down. As it made contact with the ground, a sheet of its formed were it struck and the ice traveled up the face of the structure. Long ridges of ice formed as it encompassed the gate and as they reached the top, the growth of the ice came to a stand still.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: [NPC] Bartender Character Portrait: Nylle Lyszt
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Nylle was exhausted. There was no more a perfect word for how she felt than that. The day’s push had been hard, the hardest she’d done in years since leaving the armies ranks. At sun rise that morning the merchant had declared he’d spent enough time dawdling in the wastelands paying their wages and he would be damned if he’d spend another night in make shift camps. Little did he know of the trouble ahead he had pushed the coach hard, his horses blowing by the time they were within site of the city. The guard captain had suggested to camp just outside the walls for the night lest he ruin the horses permanently but he’d hear nothing of it and as a result one now lay dead still harnessed to the coach it had diligently hauled all day.

The second horse stood next to its deceased mate, head low and swaying; it was not long left for this world. She wrinkled her nose in disgust; she had no taste for waste like this. There had been no reason, so they had thought at the time, for the merchant to push forward as hard as he had. No reason to kill off two perfectly capable animals because he wanted to sleep in a real bed. Now she regarded the soldiers and militia that ran past her to and from the gate captain with the same disgust, but for different reasons. They were human, plain and simple. They knew nothing but their own greed and wants and now they stole glimpses of her while she rested and assessed her new surroundings.

Did they think she was so simple she couldn’t recognize their attempts to keep their conversations to themselves? Whispers of heidrox made her skin crawl, she idly wondered how many in this small backwater town would have the gall to approach her and ask their perverse questions. She had more than enough experience with this human interest that she decided she wasn’t going to wait any longer. She was going to introduce herself in the fashion she’d been accustomed to, in the only way she knew to prevent future curiosities from coming to light.

She slipped from the coach seat with a thud, her thick frame and heavy boots landing on the dusty cobblestone pave sending up a puff of dust. She’d wait until the next nervous soldier glanced her way before she’d growl and point, “You.”
The human child (by her standards) blinked, looked around himself, and then pointed at his chest, without speaking a word.
“Yes, you.” She’d growl a second time and turn slightly to point back at the coach she’d previously been seated on. “This. Mine.” She’d wait; making sure this poor child soldier was paying close attention, as well as the other men and women of human service close enough to hear. “I go. I come back. This mine. You no take. It gone. I kill.” She’d smile inwardly, now the whispers had changed. No longer curious, no more interest, now only knowledge that if anything was amiss that belonged to her, she’d come searching for the blood price.

Seeing her message was delivered loud and clear she’d turned to grab her pack and slide it over her shoulders between her broken wings. Cloak tucked through the strap of the pack she’d carry her modified crossbow in her right hand and the sappers clutch slung over her left shoulder. With a final glance around she’d turn and head towards the inner portion of the city, she needed to find some food and hopefully a functional inn.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Nylle Lyszt
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

She felt her feet dragging as she made her way slowly through the small town. There was no one in sight and if she was in peak condition and fully aware of her surroundings this alone would tell her something was greatly amiss. It would take several minutes of her slow awkward stumble along the cobblestone street before the sound of battle pierced her consciousness. She’d give pause and frown, glancing back down the street she’d come towards the eastern gate. No, the noise wasn’t coming from there, she’d turn back towards where she’d been headed, westerly through the city and then she could see. Over the rooftops was light; the light of a great fire.

Was the city under siege and she truly had no idea? She shook her head and gave herself a rueful smile. Too many years of ‘peace and calm’ and now she didn’t even recognize the sounds of battle, the scared looks in the eyes of the wall guards she’d left. She’d not been the only thing they were terrified of, it was word from the other gate perhaps? Under attack? With a heavy sigh she’d pick up her pace and head towards the battle; at the very least she would investigate and determine if it was worth her while to be involved.

She was embarrassed by the knowledge that she was hardly two streets away from the western gate, that the shouts and noise and stench had eluded her. She knew full well she would be the cause of her own death, her own worst enemy. Carelessness was the worst bedfellow.

Nylle came to a stop at the edge of what looks like a city centre; despite it clearly not being in the centre of the city. She took a moment to survey what was happening. Men on the walls fireing down on an enemy at their gates, more men being fired back at from below the walls. Enemies pushing against the gates that had been magically reinforced with what Nylle could only assume was ice? Frost, perhaps?

What are the odds the enemy outside will believe I am nothing but an innocent traveler? Caught up in someone else’s war? She knew this would never be an option for her, sit back and wait to see who won and bow down to the victor. She’d slip her back from her back and settle it before her, squatting down and balancing on her toes she pulled the top of her pack open and fished around searching. She’d first withdraw her iron helm, custom fit to secure around her horns; she’d fix this to her belt and continue searching the pack. A second item was produced; a small tin canister. She pried it open and took a wad of dried herbs from it and stuffed it between her teeth and cheek. Lid replaced and canister back into the pack she’d stand slowly and wait.
The effects of the herbs never took Nylle long to react to. Native plant species in her home land the plants, once dried, act like adrenaline. She could already feel the tingling of her nerves in her cheek where the herbs were and she forced them to the other side of her mount. Over a short amount of time she could feel that tingle traveling through her body, running down her arms to her fingers where they would twitch with newly found energy. Wings and tail would join into the movement; though she had little feeling in her wings they would twitch and flit, her tail snapping behind her.

She needed to wait until the side effects wore off; otherwise she risked dropping an incendiary on herself. The adrenaline would last several hours before she would be rendered unconscious; all energies spent.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Crowen Antillia Character Portrait: Nylle Lyszt
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

As the last of the frost came creeping up the gates surface, forming a thick sheet as it interlaced with the rest of its form. Crowen backed away and took a moment to admire his work, though the time between performing rites and using any of the knowledge he gained from his formative years. This moment was ended when the sound of beating fist and scrapping nails renewed his idea of that singular moment in time. His eyes trailed down to the gates base as he could see small pools of darkened blood pooling from under its edge. The dead army on the other side, not caring whether or not its collective arms are beaten too a pulp before the deed of battle could be realized.

His heavy boots tread back a few feet as the sand riddled cobblestone of the road began to darken with each passing second and he slid his mace back into its ring on his hip for the time being. Letting his left hand rest on the cover of his book, for the moment all he could think about was finishing his smoke.

Crowen keeps his eyes fixed all the same, listening to the tell tale sounds of war on the other side of the gate. Hoping that what the guards can manage to do to the horde on the other side, will be enough to tip the scale in their favor, should the battle spill over into the city. The sound of bolts striking against the ramparts becomes more apparent as he looks up for a moment to see small glints of metal wring by. This told him that the more valuable dead, have finally come into contact with the city guard. A damning and saving grace, seeing as he knew that it meant the armies numbers were getting spent clashing against the wall. While also meaning as well that the more powerful specimens cannot be too far behind. Though, for as long as the wall holds one can admit it does add a momentary reprieve.

After some time staring at the gate, the sound of marching began to reach Crowen's ears and he found himself concentrating on the large door in front of him. However he was soon surprised to realize that the sound was not emanating from before him, instead it was coming from behind and as he turned his head he could see them. A detachment of guards formed into a phalanx was set, marching towards the gate. Though he could see that the look of them was not that of a group determined to fight the black march on this night. His eyes focus to see someone standing in their path, a woman by the look of her silhouette and as the site becomes more clear she is one of the Heidrox as well. Though her spent wings and form show she is ready for combat as well, he can see she is running on nearly nothing and possibly using some other means to keep her stamina up. One of the men in the phalanx push her to the side roughly, a display of discontent that is sometimes unanimous in the city.

The heavy march of the armored guards brings them to a halt nearly a few yards from Crowen's position. The men being in absurdly heavy gear, wielding spears and shields, all pointed in defiance towards Crowen. As their number split to reveal a smaller more well dressed man. Who Crowen could easily pick out from a distance as Ruthverd. City crier, treasurer, assistant to the Duke of Kontr and more or less a pain in any decent mans ass. His primp and powdered face framed by that garishly done hair was not enough, seeing as he wore the same damning grin that he did when stepping on people underfoot and though he was a blatant bastard.

The Duke himself was worse...

Crowen looked on at Ruthveryd as he returned the stare as usual, looking down his nose the whole time. "I warned you.. twice even and not one of you would hear of it. I guess an apology is rather late though I am still open to the fact."

Ruthverd spoke back, with barely a chance for Crowen to finish his words. "No apologies specter.." Crowen's lip winced as he registered the derogatory statement. "We know you had something to do with this.. and the fact your trying to leave, proves your guilt all too well." Crowen takes the time to free his pipe once again, still warm from its last use and proceeds to lite and smoke the remainder of the tobacco. Ruthverd continues unabated however "You are to hand over your arms and come with me to be escorted to see his eminence."

Crowen laughs at the use of such a title, it being hammered home more by the fact it was Ruthverd saying it.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Crowen Antillia Character Portrait: Nylle Lyszt
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

She had been pushed. It took a full sixty seconds for the thought to be processed successfully from her clouded thoughts and register entirely. She had been pushed, shoved like some kind of mongrel; like a commoner no less, and far worse. She’d been pushed by a human. It took everything in her somewhat civilized mind to prevent herself from throwing herself in amongst the well armored phalanx and tearing them to shreds. Part of her drug enhanced, and clouded mind knew she would be killed; there was certainty in that. However she knew quite well that within this state she could clear a third of those men before they could kill her.

She would snatch her pack and clutch with one hand and her crossbow in her other and stalk towards the humans that dared annoy her this day. She already hated humans, despised them and their petty ways, this was just one more notch on her belt of reasons to kill each and every one she ever came across in the future…. Provided she lived through the coming invasion.

The soldiers split allowing a small man approach the ice magiker. She could not hear clearly what was being said but by the grimace on the magikers face it was far from a kind conversation.

“… and the fact that you’re trying to leave, proves your guilt all too well. You are to hand over your arms and come with me to be escorted to see his eminence.”

The magiker was laughing despite the face he was making, but she was too angry, too enraged to think clearly; instead she came to stop between the magiker and the little man with a snarl on her lips. Crimson eyes would regard the small man for a moment before traveling the guards behind him. She would speak with a growl, slowly to make herself heard clearly. “These are your men.” It was not a question; she would only pause for a moment before continuing. “They should be guarding your people not escorting around a whore in times like this.” Eyes would focus back on the painted man before her. “Do you not live in this town? Do you not see what is happening? You are under attack and yet here you wander freely.” She’d snort with laughter, the irony was appalling. “Who will serve you; whore, when your people are dead?”

The side effects of the herbs she had taken had not worn off. Her wings, which she typically kept tucked and folded against her back where erects, arched behind her. If they had been white and feathered they would resemble human art work representing their angels, however Nylles wings were leathery, torn. Both sets rose above her head nearly a foot and a half before arching downwards. Her right wing was cut short at her waist, tattered ends would flicker in the wind, whilst the left reached the ground around her feet, bend and dragging. Had they been undamaged they could be spread out to span ten feet from shoulder blade to wing tip. Nylle had little control over them, or feeling since she’d injured them nearly twenty years ago.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Crowen Antillia Character Portrait: Atma Gatae Character Portrait: Nylle Lyszt
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

The old priest Janos laughed for a moment as Atma sprawled too her feet and looked out of the adjacent window, standing himself he spoke. "If it were so simple; maybe, but Crowen and I were fighting to do good things. In a regretibly horrible world, which I'm sorry to say. May have been a little before your time young mam." He stepped to the heavy wooden door and gazed up at Atma, wondering what it was that caught her attention.

He opened the spy slot on the door, working his hand around some of the new additions that were meant to strengthen it and sighed as he peered out. "And that would be a testament to the more horrible aspects of this world." He leered closer to get his eyes as close too the viewing slit as possibly. "As always, Ruthverd never brings enough men..."




As Crowen looked on at the men in front of him, the soldiers pared off with him and the woman behind them. Holding their spears aloft and shields held bare in front of them, like a bulwark to any storm. The slots in their helmets, only visible from the notched edges on the sides of their shields. Ruthverd's face had become contorted at this point, with the added ideal that he had been ignored this whole time and his voice burst out with a broken shrill as he screams at Crowen. "Listen you damned ghost, drop your weapons and give in to his eminences law or die right where you stand. You will have till the count of ten... one.. two.." As the words began to leave his lips, a blast of force hits the gate and its weighted mass buckles, sending splinters of wood and ice flying. The only one not to turn is Crowen, as he knows all too well what that meant. Locking eyes with the winged woman on the side of the road, he nudges with a motion of his head for her to move. Another crash at the gate sounds, more splinters and ice flying. This time however, the act is accompanied by multitudes of guardsmen scrambling from the top of the gates rampart.

Everything goes silent for some time, as everyone, even Ruthverd had stopped making any form of noise. Crowen clutches his shield tightly as he readies for the hell that is to come and as if one cue, the gate erupts into a sea of flowing splinters and bolts. Its mass torn from the frame of the gateway and flung too the side.

What came crashing though was nothing short of a nightmare. It was a monstrously side undead, with the look and proportions of a man. Its size however was easily three times that of a normal solider and its body was a pale blue, like that of a sunken bloated corpse. its body bound with large trappings of stitching and leather bindings, while its head was completely enclosed in a massive, rusted, iron shell. It walked on misshapen legs, awkwardly connected too its own body.
Its gate was set off even more by the daunting weapon that it drug along its side, attached too the one arm it possessed. Its forearm had been amputated and a great iron ball had been affixed with a heavy chain, with which it swung around with reckless abandon.

As Crowen turned to face it, he ducked a wild swing by the monster as it slowed to right itself. The miss, causing it to nearly spin wildly in its stumbling gate. The armed guard on the other hand, had already clustered and ran. With Ruthverd being held in the center of their tight formation.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: [NPC] Bartender Character Portrait: Crowen Antillia Character Portrait: Atma Gatae Character Portrait: Nylle Lyszt
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

The little man was fuming; she was pleased. She heard his words with little interest, something beyond the gate was drawing her attention and as the small man started to count the wooden gate groaned and splintered. She would not move, at first, from her defensive stand, she would not allow the humans to catch her off guard, however her eyes would flicker towards the magicker, the one the small man had called a ghost. He had not moved either, however he nodded his head towards her and she’d move as indicated, away from the man and the phalanx seemingly in the nick of time.

Men were running from the ramparts, shouting and screaming for others to flee; she couldn’t even begin to imagine what would case this sort of panic among trained soldiers. The men within the phalanx as well as the small man had fallen silent and still, like her all watching the gate in awe and confusion. As though some sort of karmic god were mocking her; the gate was thrown open, tossed to the side like it was made of cloth. Ice, wood and metal shattered forward and a leathery wing would draw forward to protect her eyes from the debris.

The thing that had come from the night was beyond description, a thing she’d never seen before and she was now cursing herself for even coming to this gods forsaken place. It shambled towards them and she instinctively backed away. She was no warrior, not equipped to fight in combat with this sort of thing. The man and his phalanx were fleeing, though this didn’t surprise her, however the magicker was standing his ground, shield held up she could only shake her head. Fool.

Pack was dropped from her hand tossed out of the way, there was nothing of use within it for the time being, clutch was slung over her shoulder, opening facing forward. She’d pull her iron helm from her belt and lock it over her horns, at least if it tossed any more debris her direction she’d be ready. Deftly her skilled fingers worked at restringing her crossbow and knocking her first bolt; regular ammunition. She could only assume the magiker knew what he was doing, that there was some sort of plan ahead, so she’d do as any soldier would: wait for her orders, if none came she’d work it out herself.

Her best guess was to disable the thing; a headshot would not be possible. It seemed as though it would be possible to destroy its legs, however using an explosive with the man within its proximity it would kill them both. She would do it if the shambling nightmare threatened her life, but as far as she could tell this magicker was of the same position as her. No choice but to fight for a city that could careless of their presence.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Crowen Antillia Character Portrait: Nylle Lyszt
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Crowen leaned back on his foot to let the creatures swaying motion miss him again. Its obvious lack of mobility was only overshadowed by its unbalanced gate and every time it swung the metal orb, it took several moments for it to rights its own position. Crowen looked past its legs after ducking another swing and look on to see that several packs of undead had pushed in though the breach and splintered off. The guardsmen who fell were now prey to gnashing teeth as their screams could be heard from some distance away. Every large, wobbling step from the giant was followed by a swing of its wrecking ball and each step took them closer to the from of the cathedral.

The creature readied another swing as Crowen did the same, pulling his mace back and holding his shield steady, waiting for his opening. He tightened his grip on the hilt of his weapon as he slowly began to recite words of prayer and the head of the mace shined a dull blue. The beast swung its arm with great force, sending its weapon careening over its own mass and down towards the paladin. Crowen ducked forward rushed ahead of its impact, several pounds of dirt and cobblestone being flung into the air as the weapon came crashing down.

Crowen spun as he swung the mace, its dim glow brightening as it traveled. In the midst of the swing a large block of ice crystallized over the head of the mace, right before impact with the creatures knee. The resounding impact, was that akin to the sound of a dull thunder strike and the ensuing crash left ribbons of flesh and sinew flying through the air. The creature did not cry in pain, though its discomfort was evident. Lacking the ability to get its weight back, the iron ball was now an anchor tethering it too the earth and its weight threatened to buckle its one remaining knee. The beast feel with a strained thud, laying across its own embedded weapon and began to scramble in place as it tried to right itself with limbs it did not possess.

He looks on at the woman down the street, giving her a strange look. Partially mixed with a form of recognition and need, before looking back up the stairs leading to the cathedral. "Janos, open up. The gate.. has fallen." He yelled up towards the door as he looked back towards Nylle. "I think its time we dug in and got ready." Several of the walking dead managed to get closer, drawn by the commotion of the large bruisers actions. Crowen is able to dispatch them with swift swings to the head, before kicking one away and doing the same again.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Crowen Antillia Character Portrait: Atma Gatae Character Portrait: Nylle Lyszt
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

#, as written by Alligot
Atma





Atma had seen and heard much, both personally and in proxy. Yet, she had never seen such a brutish creature before. It made a fully-grown Heirdrox seem as dainty and fragile as a young child. Even so, the vampire had laid it flat with a single, catastrophic blow. Behind the beast, she could see the undead hordes leaking through the wooden remnants, cutting and devouring those who stood in their way.

"Janos, open up. The gate.. has fallen."

She could hear the muffled voice, even from behind the thick door. Though she was not the priest, she sprung up, ignoring the wails of fear behind her. One of the young men who had secured the door was in a heated debate with another, on whether or not they should open at all.

Placing her hands under the thick wooden beam, she lifted it up with a grunt, the beam almost too heavy for her as she was now. The second robed man assisted her, and after a minute, they managed to prop up the beam, allowing the door to open just barely enough for someone to enter.

"In, in! Quick, hurry!" The robed lad said, making a desperate, panicked motion.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Crowen Antillia Character Portrait: Atma Gatae Character Portrait: Nylle Lyszt
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

~Crowen~




As the door swung open, only to show a tight avenue to move though. Crowen reached out as he moved over to touch Nylle "Come on.. no time to argue." He pulled her along, making sure to scoop up her bag as it was nearly left behind. Undead began to climb the stairs to the cathedral as the would reach out for the door, falling over one another. Black slack jawed faces, with inky red stains trailed from their mouths approaching. Only for them to receive a few cursory shots with his mace as Crowen came barreling through.

He allowed Nylle to squeeze though first as he kicked away several unwanted hands, doing his best to keep himself secure from the ever growing mass of grasping hands and biting jaws. They were relentless in their pursuit of flesh and within the moment of the bruisers fall, they were now amassing from the broken gate. Fleeting figures of scared towns people could be seen between the latching of homes and alleyways. As they scrambled to find respite, either by locking themselves in or fleeing towards the center of the town.

As Crowen pulled his shoulder in the door, several gnarled fingers came chasing through. Trying to snatch at whatever surface they could gain purchase on and pull. Janos stepped forward, pushing his way between two priest and producing his wand. Shoving it through the door and shouting a singular word "Pulsus" a wave of energy get is released from his wand at this command and even the heavy door has a hard time stomaching the force. As the mass of bodies on the other side are flung away and scattered through the air. The door is slammed shut as Crowen lays his shoulder into it and quickly, the heavy bar and bolts are slid back into place.

Janos moves up and opens the slid once more to gaze out, only for a barrage of hands trying to find their way in, to force his head back. "This is far worse then what you warned about Crowen, where did they get so many?" Crowen shrugs slightly as he wipes a dingy red streak from the plate on his left shoulder and hangs his mace back on his hip. "I think they must have taken more settlements while on their way here."

"Those poor, sorry, bastards."


He places his hand on the door and a look of contemplation comes over him. "We should be able to wait this out here, its our best bet for now at least." Janos places his wand back into the sleeve of his robe and slowly begins to pace "This is insane, if only they had listened.. we could have had a full regiment here. Enough men to defend the gate and not a single dead would have entered the city." Crowen sits on the first pew that he could get too, rummaging through one of his pouches and packing his pipe once again. "This isn't a mistake, the duke most likely has them huddled around his manor." A slightly horrified look quickly passes over his face and he gains a somber expression as the end of his pipe lights. It seems that something has crossed his mind, though he does not speak about it.




Atma can hear a voice issuing from within Crowen, only for her to realize that it once again is coming from the book strapped across his side. "They will all die Crowen.. all of them, clawing at the walls of the dukes manse. If only he wasn't a vile little worm of a man.. all of those innocent people would survive the night." Crowen quickly places a hand on the books cover and all indication of a voice stops.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Crowen Antillia Character Portrait: Atma Gatae Character Portrait: Nylle Lyszt
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

#, as written by Alligot
Atma






If there was one positive thing about being trapped in this chapel, it's that Atma might finally figure out the secret behind Crowen and his book. Especially with how impenetrable the chapel seemed.

She could hear the undead outside striking at the windows, causing the spectators to retreat and scurry to hide behind benches and pillars in the center. Many of them were much too small for anything but a child to slip through. This, coupled with the unlikely case of them breaking in the first place - bound with iron that they were - left the windows as cause for little worry.

The tower above might actually be a worry, as it was wide open. But it was more than a few yards from the nearby battlements, and she doubted that any of the dead could scale the weathered stone walls. An exceptionally fit human might be able to make the jump, but even then, it wouldn't be certain.

Which leaves the door, so long as there weren't any underground passages. It was made of a thick, heavy wood. Burning it normally wouldn't work, and she suspected it would be rather difficult to strike or open it with magic. Many places of worship tended to be protected or blessed against such things. Some tricky bit of alchemy might be able to gain the undead some purchase - if she believed they were capable of such a feat at all. And a battering ram would be useless -

A battering ram. Atma thought, her eyes widening. She'd been an idiot to let it slip her mind - she'd just seen it happen a moment ago! Those gates were supposed to be invincible against any sort of ram. And they're much, much larger than this door.

Her gaze shifted between Crowen, Janos, and the woman who had accompanied the former. Atma had never seen too many of her kind. But from what little she knew, this woman was a bit short in comparison to others, and her wings were to be in painful tatters - though the injury seemed far from fresh. What's she doing in a human city, especially in the middle of all this?

Atma wished she could ask. Instead, she approached the trio, raising her left arm and snapping twice - a startlingly loud noise that even drew the attention of some refugees, as distracted as they are. She motioned out towards one of the windows - where the brutish, grotesque undead could still be seen tottering about, then pointed towards the firmly-secured door.

There's nothing stopping them from breaking open this one, too. She thought.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Crowen Antillia Character Portrait: Atma Gatae Character Portrait: Nylle Lyszt
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

There had been no time to consider the odds, no time to even think about survival; the horde of undead were pouring through the gaping gates, over running any man or woman that attempted to stop them. It had been her first thought, to turn and assist any remaining guards with keeping the swelling mass at bay but even as her crimson eyes turned back towards the gates she'd seen no men left. It was so confusing that she simply didn't move, she just stared. Where had they gone? It didn't occur to her that they were beneath the mass until she felt Corwen hand brush her, drawing her attention. She frowned as he spoke: Come on.. no time to argue." She was drawn along, and she would make no argument, he'd kept her from harms way thus far, no reason he wouldn't do so again.

Ahead the churches door was pushed slightly ajar, and she balked for just the slightest moment before she was being encouraged between the doors. It was a squeeze and once on the other side she was stunned at the masses huddled within. Several of the closer humans, those not part of the clergy or the woman whom waited near, step away from her, worried whispers amongst them until Corwen pulled himself through and the doors were closed.

This was most certainly not the place she wanted to be, though outside of the doors were not currently preferable, she'd been in situations much like this in the past and herds of frightened humans often did very strange things. She'd read of and witnessed humans sacrificing those not like themselves to their god for safe passage and it was easy to see she was the only one here not quite like the others...

Corwen was seating himself on a pew and speaking, she listened while keeping a wary eye on the humans near by, but something caught her attention enough to draw closer and hiss: "Wait it out? Stay in here?" This was not something she counting on, she'd though, she'd hoped, that there was some sort of exit from this church away from the attack, perhaps somewhere where they could redouble their forces and possibly make a better stand.

The woman approached, caught their attention with noise then motioned first to the window, or rather beyond to the nightmare beast outside, then to the doors she'd just squeezed through. A groan would escape her lips as she came to realize what the woman meant and she'd turn her attention back to Corwen. "Ice didn't prevent it last time, anything else that might? Does holy water work against this sort? Is that even a thing?" She'd give a side glance to the one name Janos, hoping she didn't offend the man in his place of worship, but she knew quite well the human god would not save her sorry flesh.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Crowen Antillia Character Portrait: Atma Gatae Character Portrait: Nylle Lyszt
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

~Crowen~





Janos slightly sighs with a smile, as Nylle raises the question about holy water. "Yes, it does. However that is only from an exceptionally powerful priest and one that specializes in banishing such things. The goddess of redemption does not forbid such things.." Janos clutches his hand lightly around the medallion framing his neck and looks on too Crowen. "She is right Crowen.. we cannot stay here for long. Something bigger is bound to come and then we will no longer be safe here."

Crowen still puffed away on his pipe for a moment as a look of intense thought could be seen running across his brow. He was not sure what to do, the walls here where thick and stone built yes. It was the problem that someone would do something stupid in the long run though and the numbers outside would not bode well for the city. He hated not knowing what to do, after all those years in service and following orders, he thought he had his life figured out by now.

His eyes landed on the winged girl who he brought in with him, she had the look of not wanting to be here as much as the others. Suppose though that he was the one to blame for that. He stood and knocked the last of the ash from his pipe, snapping it against his left gauntlet. "Well one hope is that you stay here while I make sure the alcove is clear, keeping it that way should be easy enough at least." He stowed his pipe away one last time before turning and looking dead at Nylle, approaching her slightly. Doing so, he caught the site of the young woman from before. She was on her feet and snapping her fingers for his attention, no less the attention of the whole gathering hall.

She pointed out the widow, motioning towards the beast of an undead as it still attempted to right itself. However due to its broken state, the chances of that were incredibly abysmal to start with.

He nods and replies "Yes, he is still there and I think we do have some time before something like that comes by. However I'm not willing to bet my life on it.. I have faith.. but I'm not stupid." He looks her over for a moment as sees that on closer inspection there is something off about her. Nothing dangerously wrong, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Crowen Antillia Character Portrait: Atma Gatae Character Portrait: Nylle Lyszt
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

#, as written by Alligot
Atma






Staring at someone is not a healthy habit, old one. Atma thought, holding the Vahn's gaze for a few seconds and cursing the fact that she currently had no way of knowing his thoughts. She wouldn't dare try tampering with such things - at least, not until she's figured out that book of his. Though, even then, she was too wary to even listen to spirits at the moment. She could still feel the horde upon her mind, washing over her like a current. They didn't notice her, they were too far gone for such things. Poor, trapped souls fueled by nothing but an animistic lust for blood. Maybe Crowen could notice this - just as she could hear his book.

No, that's foolish. You're overthinking again. He has a simpler motive. Most do.

She broke her gaze away. On a different note, the man seemed very sure of himself. And rightly so, though she didn't like to admit. While he hadn't killed the brute, he had managed to incapacitate the beast in a mere two strikes, breaking bones that were likely as wide as she was. If they moved a majority of the refugees into an alcove or underground, then it might be possible for him to stop another in the main hall - though, by that point, the doors would be destroyed, and even the finest warrior cannot outlast an undead horde on their own, no matter their skill or whatever advantage they had. Even Atma would eventually fall, though she hoped she'd give them a better run for it, at least.

She saw a few others glancing her way. Most missed what she had pointed out. Some seemed to catch on, their worried tones rising and falling around her as she walked through the aisle, heading towards the back of the chapel. After a minute or two of carefully checking doors and corners, she found a set of steep, narrow stairs that led downwards.

It was unlikely there was a tunnel. Though some small towns might have dug escape tunnels under their churches, she was skeptical this chapel would even have one, as it was so far from the center. It would be far from a staging point for a last stand in a traditional siege. And - well, if there was a tunnel within, she'd expect Janos to have known about it.

As the stairs grew darker and darker, she raised a hand, the familiar vibrant tongue of flame dancing and twirling through her fingers, casting a dull, red glow on her nearest surroundings, fading every so often when the flame would nearly flicker out.

Atma didn't really know what she'd find. Probably not a tunnel. Probably not anything. But it couldn't hurt to take a look. Though with every step she took, she could feel the pressure - the dull effects of the horde - ebb away ever so subtly.

Maybe that'll happen when I go underground. There's quite a bit of stone between me and them, after all. She thought curtly - though, she knew that's not how it worked.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Crowen Antillia Character Portrait: Atma Gatae Character Portrait: Nylle Lyszt
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

She was surprised to learn the holy water was a true human item. Being from a far different land than this one she'd been taught that humans used it to torture young heidrox children when they misbehaved. She'd come to believe that the infamous holy water was just a fable and it gave her slight chills knowing it was a real thing. She didn't believe that this faithful water could actually hurt her, it was simply off-putting that her mother had actually been right about something. The priest was also concerned for the well-being of those trapped within the churches walls, more so than Nylle herself, however she watched Corwen with interest as he answered. He seemed calm on the outside, smoking from his pipe as he regarded the priest, though she could only assume he was as lost as the rest trapped here.

"Well one hope is that you stay here while I make sure the alcove is clear, keeping it that way should be easy enough at least." He moved towards her slightly as he spoke and she'd give a small smirk and spoke "Where else would I go?" This small building filled with nervous humans made her nerves stand on end, perhaps the alcove would give her a calming sense, away from the people and their worried looks "I'll go with you, unless you don't need my assistance."

The other woman had already started off, the humans parting in her wake even giving her strange and off putting glances. This woman was much stranger than the other humans she'd met, not a word spoke, though this itself was not an oddity, she'd met plenty with such curses, however she made Nylle move cautiously, think carefully. She was never one to shy away from another being, it's the stubborn heidrox way, but this woman had something about her that made others, not just Nylle, consciously aware of her mood and mannerisms.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Crowen Antillia Character Portrait: Atma Gatae Character Portrait: Nylle Lyszt
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

~Crowen~





Crowen looked on as Atma moved through the crowd and into the back of the main hall, she would likely find the center causeway that lead to the under croft. He looked back to Janos as if looking for a sign of recognition from him and the old priest gave him a somber nod of the head "Go, I will ensure that everyone stays safe and help barricade the door." Crowen nodded in return and motioned for Nylle to follow him through the crowd as well, showing her the entrance to the stairwell in the back of the room.

The stairs twisted downward sharply in a spin as they both caught sight of a dim glow and they could both see the hand of Atma extended, holding the flame as a candle in the darkness. He looked on as they closed in on her and continued to walk together, coming to a slow halt as the stairs bottomed out against a marble floor. Crowen laughed slightly as he stepped forward and reached out for a sconce, holding several small torch rods on the side. He takes one and casually holds it over Atma's hand, letting the flame spread. "Its felt like a decade since I've been down here.." He holds the torch out in front of him and it illuminates more of the passage ahead of them. Which quickly turns out to be the burial hall, large stone coffins and smaller jars containing ashes, littered the sides of the wide hall. Some withing their own alcove and engraved with a small name or symbol at the base.




Atma's ears begin to fill with a soft sound that is far removed from the chaos up above. The sound was that of a low hum and toned to sound like a song. Dropping and raising its tune as the notes carried on and soothing her slightly, like a friendly hand laid upon the shoulder. With time, the sound would prove to be actual singing, cascading from within the jars that lined the center of the walkway. With dozens, upon dozens of long burned out candles framing and dotting the path.




Crowen leads the two of them as he steps lightly around the jars in his path and around them to walk down the clear path. Looking back over his shoulder slightly and speaking "I must apologize for the way they look at you.. one such as yourself is a rarity these days, even in a city like this one. Don't feel bad though.. many of them are still uneasy about me." There was a wry smile on the edge of his face as he said that, like the truth of it was disgraceful to a point.

"I am Crowen by the way.. Crowen Antillia."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Crowen Antillia Character Portrait: Atma Gatae Character Portrait: Nylle Lyszt
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Nylle would follow Corwen down the aisle of pews mildly aware her wings brushed the backs of seats on either side of her. Quietly she'd step into the darkness behind him and carefully follow his footsteps down the stairs. Ahead was the strange woman, apparently also a magicker, holding a small flame of light in her palm. Of course I end up on my last day surrounded by humans in need, two magickers, and crawling around in religious crypts... She paused at the bottom of the stairs, the floor was littered with urns and jars of the dead and it unnerved her. Not death, she'd been courting that god for many decades now, but the ritual of keeping the dead with you always made her skin crawl.

She'd wait for Corwen to so show a clear path through and she'd follow, stopping suddenly at the first jar she came across, her right wing, the only one that still had it's full length had been dragging behind her and now it brushed across the side of an urn. She'd wince rather dramatically as she'd reached a gloved hand beside her and pull her wing upwards, bending it at the crook and tucking it behind her back, to keep it out of any further issues. Nylle watched Atma with curiosity, she was clearly attuned to another level of interaction, something beyond what Nylle could hear, or even come to understand.

Corwen drew her attention back and she'd only give a slight shrug and shake her head. "It comes often when you resemble so closely the humans "Devil"." Lips would turn into a slow smile. "Some days it's advantageous to look like you'd eat one of their children if they didn't pray to their God.... But today isn't one of those days." She understood how it felt. "Pleasure to make your aquaintence, Corwen. I am Nylle Lyszt" Once more she'd turn her gaze towards Atma, though she suspected the woman would not give an answer.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Crowen Antillia Character Portrait: Atma Gatae Character Portrait: Nylle Lyszt
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

~Crowen~




Crowen walked along for several feet more, the form of the hall opening more as he and the two woman moved on. Only for it to end in a sizable round antechamber, small pillars and sconces framing its rounded sides. Unrealized to all but Atma, the low ominous hymn was not present here. Save for some quieted whispers echoing from the darkened corners and shadowed recesses.

As he places the lit torch into one of the mounts, he tilts it to let the flame strike a receding ledge above and the flame spread. Flowing to make a solid burning flame that encircled the top of the room, spreading light and pushing the darkness back. This room once lit could be seen fully, as a singular grave with a singular stone coffin held within the center. The rooms sides gave way to other halls and tombs, that quickly gave way to darkness past the neck of light issued by the burning flame. Directly behind the coffin from where they stood however, there was a massive iron gate. It stood shut and held fast by the passage of time, the cobwebs holding firm as not even a gust would disturb them.

"This path will take us up to street level, its been some time since the temple has used this path it seems." As Crowen circles the grave and begins to try and force the gate, more details of the grave can be seen as the eyes adjust. Its made from a solid marble common in this edge of Nazria, but the craftsmanship is strange. Small runes and words in a foreign language litter its base and even lining the edges of its lid. A small bundle of age wilted flowers sits on the edge closest towards Atma and Nylle, obscured by years of dust and framed by several heavy impressions in the stone. At the coffins base there sat half of a large tablet made of a thin sheet of silver. The name etched was instantly familiar, it said Antillia.


As Atma stared on at the coffin, a form came into view. Like watching a long past event though the eyes of someone there. There was the figure of a man, though the vision was not entirely clear to see all. It was easy to see that he was mourning, along with several other figures around the room. She could hear him cry and leaned his body upon the cold stone of the sarcophagus, where his head and arms filled into the impression in the stone. Like being fit into a puzzle long overdue of being complete.
Then as quickly as before, the vision was gone and the world was back to its old ways.


Nylle had followed Crowen closely, her wings enjoying the extra room and the warmth of the flame being an added bonus. Though the tomb was still as ominous as before and she stood, ready to help Crowen with the gate in turn. The sound of something nearly dragging along the floor close behind catchers her attention. Turning quickly she is met with nothing, though the sound continues and grows more pronounced as she waits. Shortly a ball, small and nonthreatening in its make. Rolls from out of the shadowed corridor and slowly comes to a halt at her feet. A small perfectly round velvet thing, as clean an untouched as the day someone first laid hands on it. The item its followed by the sound of giggling and whispers from beyond the unlit hall as she can see small forms darting too and fro. Only for her to look down and find that the ball had somehow vanished.



Crowen is unfazed by the nature of this place, as he said before. It had been some time since his last visit here, but it appears that his nerve of it is as clear as ever. He physically argues with the gate, getting the years of lost time to finally release its grip on the hinges and he speaks. "Don't worry, they have always been playful.. honestly, its good to know that they still are after all these years." He grips both hands on separate bars and gives a singular strong wrench of its frame. The gate pries open and shrieks in pain, after its long years of not being moved. The sound of the creaking iron echoing through the whole tomb as the sound resounded back at them

He returns to the torch and takes it in hand once again, before making his way for the open gate. He looks back into the room and scans the area with his eyes, as if taking it in for a long distant memory. "We are safe in this place." He added, as he lifted the torch to the top edge of the now open hall. The air of the tunnel was slightly pulling at the flames of the torch, making them flicker slightly in the lite breeze. "Only the children are buried here and only here do they play.." He walked on without another word, keeping silent for some time after that.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Crowen Antillia Character Portrait: Atma Gatae Character Portrait: Nylle Lyszt
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

#, as written by Alligot
Atma





A father? Brother? Hell, with his age, that could have easily been a son. Atma thought, glancing at the tomb. It had seemed like they molded the stone around him, like a sculptor with wet clay. Perhaps Vahn burials were different, but most where she had come from looked down upon magic - especially when used with such a formal ritual. Then again, most human burials were done when the buried had already left this world. Why bury a man alive?

Maybe they did many things differently, for the dead seemed to run amok in these lower corridors. Though - even with their young disposition, they were surprisingly passive... although, it could explain why the memory had come unbidden. She usually had to coax secrets from the dead, digging and coercing akin to a mental archaeologist. For usually they had already either passed, uneager to return to the point of their death - or lingered the world still, filled with anger, confusion, and rage.

She pressed forward, ignoring the noise of childish mirth behind her, and watching as Crowen managed to pry the hesitant gate open. According to him, it would lead to the street. But with the undead horde running amok, what exactly did he have in plan?

"Only the children are buried here and only here do they play..."

Quite a few children must be buried here. It is fortunate that they do still play. Walking among the living is typically a... maddening task for those who have passed. She thought, glancing back at the jars that lined the crypt. Though, what misfortune had to befall this city to make it require an entire tomb devoted for children?" Her gaze caught that of the woman behind her - Nylle, as she had named herself - as if she could answer all the thoughts running through the mute's mind. With a quick (and hopefully subtle) gesture, she pointed towards the coffin. Maybe she'd read the name. Hopefully she'd ask.

By now, Crowen had already continued into the new hallway. And Atma reluctantly followed him, the warm, wonderful feeling of protection slipping away step by step, as the horde once again started to assail her thoughts. She could physically feel the answers to her questions slip away, as cryptic as they'd likely be.

Well, except for two. Crowen and his eerie book still trudged ahead, after all.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Crowen Antillia Character Portrait: Atma Gatae Character Portrait: Nylle Lyszt
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

~Crowen~




Crowen looks on as the light of the torch reaches a door at the end of the tunnel, a familiar wooden color starts to reflect back at the group. Stopping, he looks back at them and realizes that they are both just doing their own thing. Though the girl from before is eyeing him up slightly, as if searching for something. The look he gives her, is a that of contemplation, only for his mind to dismiss it for the moment. "This tunnel leads up into an old spice store, which if I recall has been closed for the last few months. Now if we find anyone in there, there shall be no brash actions. The owner and her family would most likely be the only ones there anyway."


It was at that moment that Atma heard a familiar voice again "There, she's looking at you again." Crowen straightens his stance for a moment before leaning in on Atma's face, holding the torch above the two of them. He takes a moment as he "inspects" her for a moment. Letting his gaze settle over her and it is rather obvious that he is looking for something out of place. "From what I've seen she doesn't speak.. mute maybe? But she is connected to the chain of life somehow..." Crowen nods his head for a moment, as if all he could do was agree at that moment. There then comes a vast moment of silence as Atma can hear a strange mulling sound, followed by a quick sensation desperation. "I think.. I think she can hear me.." Crowen's eyes stiffen into a scowl as he pulls away from Atma. Placing a hand back on his book, quieting the voice in a near instant.

cron