- Invitation Status
- Writing Levels
- Intermediate
- Adept
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Female
- Primarily Prefer Male
- Genres
- Space, Fantasy, Space Fantasy, Medieval Space Fantasy, I could go on. I probably shouldn't though. Really, any genre can work given the right concept.
With every footstep towards the ominous structure in the distance, that eerie feeling of somethin' just ain't right here would only grow that much more intense. While there wasn't a literal malevolent aura in the air, the environment had an unnatural feeling, void of any light or sound aside from the very faint whistling of the wind; not even a cricket could be heard chirping, and the light of the moon and stars just faintly outlined their surroundings, very much leaving the group as the only beacon of light in the darkness.
Daron's armored mitts gripped his mace like he never had before, a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his forehead. It was a good thing he had put his helmet on at that point, he thought to himself, otherwise his comrades just might notice his expression and see how fearful he really was. There were dark nights in the capitol city, but none as dark as this. Were the evenings normally this dark in this dreary part of the Sorrow Fields, or was there something supernatural at work? He could only hope for the former. His head swiveled over to look at the comparatively stalwart Olfina, who had been walking side-by-side with him in the meanwhile. She'd caught the cleric's gaze for a short moment, and while she had a look of determination in her eyes, there was an unmistakable hint of anxiousness as well. Wordlessly she gave Daron a nod of the head, turning her attention back towards the farmhouse in which they were rapidly coming up on.
Squinting her eyes, the redhead approached the doorway, holding her torch out to illuminate their path, revealing that the door had been left halfway ajar. With the shifting of plate metal, Daron strode forward to get a closer look, noting a set of familiar scratch mark patterns on the door as well.
"This is... not looking good." Daron turned over to gauge his female cohort's reaction before noticing that she'd lowered her torch, as well as her wide-eyed stare, to his feet. The holy warrior's eyes followed hers, looking down towards his legs... and what he saw made his heart jump. He had thoughtless tread into a pool of dried blood that clung to the patchy grass, and when the gears in his head finally clicked he jumped back with a shocked gasp, looking all around nervously.
"That's what that smell was..." Olfina grimaced, having grown accustomed to the scent of spilt blood in the last few weeks. "At least its not one of those undead bastards' blood. Theirs is all black and putrid, makes me want to-" A sudden cry in the distance interrupted the redhead's comment, followed by another series of calls in succession, as if responding. The voices sounded like that of men, only distorted and high-pitched, rather grating on the ears. The noises continued on, ringing out from all around and seemed to grow closer, the shuffling of hurried feet in the dirt not following soon after.
"Shit..." Olfina growled, backing up towards the other two with both hands tightly gripping her spear. "They're coming." Daron's eyes widened, the cleric gulping hard. He kept his back to the warrior woman as they grouped up with the rest of their party, his free fingers falling on his amulet of Selros, whispering a silent prayer to his lord to grant him courage. He gave a concerned glance to Reynard, as if looking to him for guidance as well.
Shadowy figures tore across the farm fields that surrounded them, vaulting over fences and any other obstacle in their path with a surprising speed. It wasn't long before they were close, a sizable force of at least fifteen or more unidentified assailants surrounding the small band of adventurers on all sides. Their low moans and growls could be heard, some audibly slurping their tongues as if in anticipation of a meal to come... their thin figures could be seen twisting about violently in the darkness, like rabid dogs being held back an increasingly thinning leash.
Finally, one dared to wander out from the darkness, revealing its grisly appearance in all its repugnant nature; with gray, blotched skin, and a deathly thin body the man was quite obviously more than sick; he was dead. His sunken eyes were as black as jet, jagged misshapen teeth bared visibly and permanently, seeing as how he was missing his lips... and yet he managed to curl his mouth into a menacing smile, chortling demonically.
With a powerful roar, the creature pointed its clawed finger at the group, seemingly issuing a command to attack as his similarly undead cohorts cut through the veil of darkness and charged the group head on.
Daron's armored mitts gripped his mace like he never had before, a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his forehead. It was a good thing he had put his helmet on at that point, he thought to himself, otherwise his comrades just might notice his expression and see how fearful he really was. There were dark nights in the capitol city, but none as dark as this. Were the evenings normally this dark in this dreary part of the Sorrow Fields, or was there something supernatural at work? He could only hope for the former. His head swiveled over to look at the comparatively stalwart Olfina, who had been walking side-by-side with him in the meanwhile. She'd caught the cleric's gaze for a short moment, and while she had a look of determination in her eyes, there was an unmistakable hint of anxiousness as well. Wordlessly she gave Daron a nod of the head, turning her attention back towards the farmhouse in which they were rapidly coming up on.
Squinting her eyes, the redhead approached the doorway, holding her torch out to illuminate their path, revealing that the door had been left halfway ajar. With the shifting of plate metal, Daron strode forward to get a closer look, noting a set of familiar scratch mark patterns on the door as well.
"This is... not looking good." Daron turned over to gauge his female cohort's reaction before noticing that she'd lowered her torch, as well as her wide-eyed stare, to his feet. The holy warrior's eyes followed hers, looking down towards his legs... and what he saw made his heart jump. He had thoughtless tread into a pool of dried blood that clung to the patchy grass, and when the gears in his head finally clicked he jumped back with a shocked gasp, looking all around nervously.
"That's what that smell was..." Olfina grimaced, having grown accustomed to the scent of spilt blood in the last few weeks. "At least its not one of those undead bastards' blood. Theirs is all black and putrid, makes me want to-" A sudden cry in the distance interrupted the redhead's comment, followed by another series of calls in succession, as if responding. The voices sounded like that of men, only distorted and high-pitched, rather grating on the ears. The noises continued on, ringing out from all around and seemed to grow closer, the shuffling of hurried feet in the dirt not following soon after.
"Shit..." Olfina growled, backing up towards the other two with both hands tightly gripping her spear. "They're coming." Daron's eyes widened, the cleric gulping hard. He kept his back to the warrior woman as they grouped up with the rest of their party, his free fingers falling on his amulet of Selros, whispering a silent prayer to his lord to grant him courage. He gave a concerned glance to Reynard, as if looking to him for guidance as well.
Shadowy figures tore across the farm fields that surrounded them, vaulting over fences and any other obstacle in their path with a surprising speed. It wasn't long before they were close, a sizable force of at least fifteen or more unidentified assailants surrounding the small band of adventurers on all sides. Their low moans and growls could be heard, some audibly slurping their tongues as if in anticipation of a meal to come... their thin figures could be seen twisting about violently in the darkness, like rabid dogs being held back an increasingly thinning leash.
Finally, one dared to wander out from the darkness, revealing its grisly appearance in all its repugnant nature; with gray, blotched skin, and a deathly thin body the man was quite obviously more than sick; he was dead. His sunken eyes were as black as jet, jagged misshapen teeth bared visibly and permanently, seeing as how he was missing his lips... and yet he managed to curl his mouth into a menacing smile, chortling demonically.
With a powerful roar, the creature pointed its clawed finger at the group, seemingly issuing a command to attack as his similarly undead cohorts cut through the veil of darkness and charged the group head on.