Silence is Deafening.

[someome 2053]

(This is a flashback PoV post. I've just decided to arse up and write more. Enjoy!)

 

A excerpt from a log found among boat wreckage after the trip to Atlas.

 

     "Can this even be considered snow?" He's tired and slowly making his way through the snow, or whatever, brought on by the cold of the thahnium of Mordskov, for probably the third time in the weeks since Tahn started to fall. Falling to typhoon and terror, mists of creatures that could make those of the void seem delightful to kiss. Why the other drui aren't out befuddles him, but he also understands at the same time.

     The Silence is unimaginable. So little life remains here, the Hum is odd, sometimes non existent. You stay in forests and Groves, nether, even a damn savanna has more noise to its life than this. After years of being submerged in a sea of noise, the consistent noise of nature and such, to be in a land with almost none was...Taxing.

 

     Surprisingly, despite the destruction of the lands, the larger trees just froze in place. Navigating hasn't been hard. A chuckle as he passed through Indras Grove. Some flowers of her about endless field managed to live, so he pockets some seeds from them. It isn't what he's looking for but it's a nice present for someones who has been endlessly patient with his ways. Still hasn't given the damned wyverns fang to Owl he suddenly recalls, snarling beneath his mask and tightening it. Suns not very visible, but he's maybe another thirty elven minutes to find what he's looking for and get out.

 

      None unique, but he does manage on a pack of deer and such, nothing magical but none the less, he leads them towards the docks. Light treatments of the voidling blood madden them, but his commune is thankfully enough to keep them alright til the thahnium burns out of their system. Not that it helped.

 

     He isn't sure how to consider what these things seem to be using as arms, as well, arms, but he barely ducks as they lash out and ****** up the deer. Four Mordskovian beasts, the ones getting called huggers, salivating and hungry. Maybe not even, maybe it is their "fun". He's no want or intention to finding out, he just bolts to the right, fumbling at a shield strap on his chest and pulling it onto his arm swiftly. Aspects rest their spirits in the Forest, but he's not about to risk himself for a small pack of deer. One however, seems intent on following him. Brandishing long, almost erroneously jointed limbs to pull itself faster than a dwarfs legs could possibly run, he tries ducking into the frozen trees. There's nothing to commune, nary a branch or root, doubts the thahnium would even permit it properly. Suddenly red in his vision, and pain of the scalp.

 

 

      Gods damn it, he'd curse loudly if he didn't think the others would follow it, as the spawn of the mists latched onto one tree and goes in once more for the dwarfs head, catching shield this time, flinging the dwed onto his arse. Whatever noise from its throat, must be a laugh, could be a normal drunkard choking, but is enough to give him time to scramble and catch eyesight of the docks, slamming his shield onto snow and riding the hill down until he catches a rock, sending him tumbling down until he was on the stairs leading between the docks and the carts...with the carts being approached by more of the beasts.

 

 

     He spies many trying to fight their way away, even a lich seems to be saving people. A indication of how sideways the situation is. He sees corpses, not the concern, and pulls an hand-axe from the small of his back as the beings lunge forward at a group of men. Not much chance of killing them like this, but no one can fight in the future if they're dead. A familiar mage to his right, pinned between a gaping maw and a cart, gets a new friend in its knee as the hand-axe finds its path there. The mage has a brain and takes the opportunity to run as the gangling, disfigured beast reels back in almost childish pain, the others, are less undeterred as another dweds leg is latched down on by engorged teeth. Thankfully, you can live without a leg, as he grabbed the fellow stout and pulled, causing the leg to rip off from the knee down but letting the group remaining to escape onto the docks.

 

 

      Someones yelling as people raise anchor and get the boat going, back to the Temple it seems. He's working on keeping this legless fellow from bleeding out as people sigh in relief. Already happily relaxed  now that they're at sea to the Monks Sanctuary, but he isn't. Not yet he isn't.

 

After all. The air is still getting colder.

[Chorale__ 2147]

Moved to The Great Library. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.

 

If you feel this is a mistake, please contact myself or any FM and we'll restore it.