- Invitation Status
- Posting Speed
- 1-3 posts per week
- Slow As Molasses
- Online Availability
- Quite often
- Writing Levels
- Intermediate
- Adept
- Advanced
- Preferred Character Gender
- Primarily Prefer Male
- Genres
- Dark Fantasy, Fantasy, Zombie, slice-of-life survival, Post Apocalyptic, Cyberpunk, Sci-fi, High Fantasy, Modern, medieval
It had been three weeks since the last bomb dropped on the Citadel. The city, now known as Novum Infernum, stood defiantly against the devastated wasteland collective of areas that once formed the country of America. The city, once the glorious San Francisco, was now one of the few marks left by the civilized world when it faded into the dust, destroyed by a civil war that happened to go global, effectively destroying the civilized world. Novum Infernum was what was known these days as a 'Citadel', one of the few surviving remnants of a bygone age, and the only proof there was a time before the chaos. A time before carnage, a time before the Scarlet War.
Holden was laying on his bed in the room of what may once have been a hotel, but now was just another spire jutting from the horror. The sky was red, and the clouds dark. It often rained acid, burning through anyone unlucky enough to be caught in the downpour. Looking out of the window, he could see two groups of people fighting, one dressed like wolves and the other like mountain lions. Great. The two Clans were fighting again. Armed with swords and spears, clubs and daggers, maces and axes, all of wood, stone and bones of the fallen, they charged at each other. He moved away from the window and looked at the rest of his Clan, or, at least, those who went with him into the suite. "So, what do we have left to eat?" he asked. He pulled his pistol from it's holster and twirled it around.
Holden was laying on his bed in the room of what may once have been a hotel, but now was just another spire jutting from the horror. The sky was red, and the clouds dark. It often rained acid, burning through anyone unlucky enough to be caught in the downpour. Looking out of the window, he could see two groups of people fighting, one dressed like wolves and the other like mountain lions. Great. The two Clans were fighting again. Armed with swords and spears, clubs and daggers, maces and axes, all of wood, stone and bones of the fallen, they charged at each other. He moved away from the window and looked at the rest of his Clan, or, at least, those who went with him into the suite. "So, what do we have left to eat?" he asked. He pulled his pistol from it's holster and twirled it around.