A Tired Form Wanders

[Parkins 550]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LKZUFO-w9HE&index=20&list=PL8ewBDH5ZkrUqmzDJvyIPoUcM8qLsJ2bZ

 

 

Ger'Veran would walk slowly through the swamps of Embermoore, before stopping in front of the large gates of the fortress itself. He turns his gaze upward, watching the castle for a moment.

 

He would glance over to his staff, a twisted, blackened root of unknown origin, before looking behind him, to the ghoul he brought with him. He would be silent for another moment, before speaking in a muffled tone to nobody in particular, a ghoul being the only one to hear.

 

"A kingdom divided.. is no kingdom at all.."

 

With that, he throws back his hood, reaching back to undo his mask, removing it and handing it to the ghoul. He stares at the gate a moment more, the wind sending his hair into a flurry.

 

"Perhaps, as with most wounds, time shall heal this Adherency."
 

He then turns from the gate, waving for the ghoul to follow, as he slowly makes his way toward the main road.

 

((Note: This is not a death post, merely a post for Ger'Verans abandonment of the Adherents of Immortui.))

[Rig 17580]

Mithras readies to hunt the Adherents, sharpening his dagger, and repairing his crossbow. 

[TavernLich 324]

            Serthek’s skull contorts and chatters to form that of a smile. Lonesome within the confines of a frozen tundra, the eldritch figure cackles in pleasure at the disbandment of his former cult. Waving a boney finger into the air as a single flame illuminates the darkness before him, revealing the body to be that of a walking husk of bones.

 

 

            The ivory gleaming amongst the light before the newly resurrected Lich would flick his hand in a dismissive manner, the flame instantly dispersing into minuscule wisps of smoke and embers. Two purple glows penetrating the darkness… his horrid face coming into view.

 

 

A hollow voice escapes the skull, seemingly devoid of tone and emotion, “…Those who are not with The Coven shall be… given Mercy."

[Mj. 697]

Many lone stalkers hunt in the mists of Embermoore, including Aethos.

[Mephistophelian 977]

A figure reaches out, it's muscle laden arm extending an equally thick hand. It grasps at the air before the lich's bone phizog, quickly reaching back and slapping the creature, the other hand waggling a finger.

"No. Use your words properly."

Two hands raise up on either side of the shadow's body, akin to a conductor of a great orchestra.

"After me... Ahem... Those not of the Coven shall find no mercy in my heart!"

The figure tilts its head, blinking twice.

"Metaphorical heart, of course. You are a pile of bones."

[Heero 4092]

Moved to the Archive. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.