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The_Broken_God

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About The_Broken_God

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    "The Struggler"

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    RollForWitches
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    The Interstice
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  1. The_Broken_God

    A Statement Of Impurity

    a dead mage rolls in his grave, shitting himself in the planes beyond. what a travesty.
  2. The_Broken_God

    The Secrets of Carbarum

    sounds like that awful thing i made needs to be removed 🙂. I need to repent for my sins.
  3. The_Broken_God

    when you don't play lotc

    yuh....
  4. The_Broken_God

    Adrian Magic Licenses and Policies

    "Brighter future?" Asks an alchemist, "A brighter future is if the mages in Belvitz keep to themselves and do no spellslinging in public. Man power and grit is better than spells and sorcery. Change my mind." "Who the hell do I contact to inspect a familiar anyway? I've one in my service."
  5. The_Broken_God

    Chasing Ashes

    "All in a day's work." Says a Corvin Masked man, fixing his coat.
  6. The_Broken_God

    Shades of Arun'Asna [Rewrite]

    Masking is unnecessary since the holy mage shpiell isnt a thing anymore, in the sense that they can't go around checking someone
  7. The_Broken_God

    [Bounty] Raide of Ashford

    "He didn't butcher anyone in Ulmsbottom, I'm also ******* confused."
  8. The_Broken_God

    Salt in the Sea - Tokoko Refugee Camp

    Oki Ishikawa shivers
  9. The_Broken_God

    screaming australian tries to write more lore

    uh yes
  10. dear epic gamers,

     

    why are you epic gamers confusing boruto for me

     

    signed, 

    a fellow gamer

    1. ScreamingDingo

      ScreamingDingo

      you both write convoluted emotes

       

      :^}

    2. The_Broken_God
    3. Heero

      Heero

      the bare minimum et is right. you guys also had the same one punch man avatar for a while

  11. The_Broken_God

    Pathmaker: Act III, Errant

    “The stars themselves are like a siren; their beauty is astounding, but they can consume and trap. Woe be those who traverse the stars.” - Throne He came to consciousness again, stirred by the sound of crackling fire. Klaus shifted from side to side, panicked at first; though he eventually calmed himself, realizing that he was untouched. The things he fought were no longer, and none of their friends decided to drop on while he was defenseless. He looked down before rising to his feet, the coppery scent of blood complimented by the dried blood which clung to his attire. The best course of action was to wash it off, though not here -- not in this decrepit place. The man killed the fire, and took the bloodied axe. At the very least, it should be returned to its rightful place. Klaus did what he could to wipe the dried blood from the axe, even eating it away with a diluted acid. He fished his ammunition from the fiends he slew, slipping them into his loading quiver as he ventured the crypt. His footsteps echoed through those empty halls, and now -- when there was little threat -- he could take in their beauty. Since he was a child, he was always fascinated with such things; to him, buildings and designs let one look into its creator’s mind, and see what they thought while they were making such a place. From what the alchemist could tell, this old chapel was a place of worship for past heroes, ones who fought in an old war against forces beyond time and sanity; the demons, the horrors, creatures of the night, and so on. The battle must have been long and hard, as the crypt of this damnable place was filled with the dead, generations upon generations of soldiers and holymen. On his trek, he found a small corridor, which lead to an inner sanctum with the same as the axe and previous chamber running along the ceiling, and pausing over a mossy and crumbling fountain that still ran with some sort of strange water; its statuette depicting a maiden with a glimmering sword whose handle resembled the sun, and a shield marked by a crescent moon. Below the fountainhead, were writings, to which Klaus could understand as: “A burning light to ward darkness; a pale moon to cure the remains.” A man of superstition, the Alchemist saw this as a sign, an offering to take what was left behind, given the situation. First, however, Klaus removed his glove to check the water, his real hand, covered in bandages -- covering both wounds and monstrosity. The hand and glove settle in the water, swaying in the water. He noticed that it seemed to dissolve the blood on his glove and sleeve, and he even felt a warm feeling as he touched the water; something about it was magical, though unlike any form of magic he knew. Klaus took a few bottles, though he did not use the water on his own clothes, for fear that it would somehow lose its effects. Once he finished taking his scoops of ‘Holy Water’ and settled on his glove, the man walked back to the crypt, specifically the coffin which he took the axe from. It was time to return it to its rightful home. He felt wrong holding the axe now, while he was fighting for his life the thought escaped him; adrenaline and the will to survive -- a palpable sense. Now, it deserved to be with its rightful companion, the man that wielded this axe in that horrible war. The man only muttered a single thanks before setting it back in the tomb, and closing the coffin shut. Pausing with a sigh, Klaus stared at the ornate etchings on the coffin, lost in thought. He could only think of home, or rather the plane he came from. He started to think of the things and people close to him, which only reinforced his will to return home. A magic is holding me here, he thought, and bounced between what that dying fiend told him. Courts, counts, beasts; the thing was demonic, so perhaps there is a demon court? Demon Counts don’t sound right, the very word of it. That gargoyle on the portal also resembled a vampyr, perhaps there are bloodsuckers here as well. What about the beasts? Those howls were probably them, perhaps they’re like wolves. What other damnable horrors lurk here? He could have pondered for hours and hours if it were not for the poor situation he was in. He needed to explore, forage -- survive until Klaus could get to the bottom of how he was stuck here, and how to get out. He could always use his failsafe, but there was a fear in the back of his mind that it would not work by the same magic. I will have to return home, for them, for her, for it. If I must claw my way out of this hellhole, so be it. The man began to walk up up the stairway to the chapel’s choir. He could see the light of day, and hear the faint sound of trickling - it was raining, though not very hard. The man first made an effort to look around before he fully committed to heading outside, peering outside broken windows and overgrown roots -- the coast, save for a thin fog, was clear. All that he could see was a dense treeline. As he exited, he took a long piece of wood, and carved a sharp point on the top; a makeshift staff and spear. When he exited the portal, he could feel the light trickle of rain on his bloodied attire, while not fully helping -- it did some effort in softening the dried blood. He walked onwards, into the dense treeline. The man searched for tracks, and did what he could to follow the smaller prints. <+> His tracking paid off, allowing him to find water, to which he collected as well as used to get rid of more blood. During this, only a slow shift of the gaze allowed him to spot some game; a moose. The fellow avoided eye contact with it, loading his slurbow, though the moose heard the whirs and shift of the weapon; it got startled, and prepared a charge. He decided to ditch his attempt, and grabbed his makeshift spear. The animal charged, and he retaliated by spearing it through; and while the thrashing and throes made it difficult, the moose eventually succumbed. Klaus made quick work, taking what he could from the beast, even using antlers and sinew to make a better point for his spear, which already suffered the weight of his actions. He went about gathering flint and firewood, placing all he could in his pack. A few hours passed, from what he could tell with his watch, and he trekked through the forest, doing what he could to stay low and hidden- as well as to get game; the last thing he wanted was to bump into the wrong thing. On the downtime during the exploration, he was able to write more in his tome, calling this place “Sullen”. The fauna and flora were relatively similar, even finding some of the alchemical herbs he had home, and then some. They were taken of course, to be examined for later; and the fauna itself was also similar, save for spotting some animals he had seldom seen, platypus in their burrows across a lake; beavers making their dams. The life here was beautiful, the nature hardly touched and allowed to flourish, evident by strange hunched animals with boarish features. Their scent was relatively strong, and their stature allowed them to climb up the dense woods and get some sort of moss, which he had previously acquired during the venture. They were smart, for an animal at least; and they seemed relatively passive, at least unprovoked. The creatures did not pay too much mind to Klaus, save for a snort and gesture of their bone equipment. By looking at these ‘Scrofa’, he could tell they were omnivores, and if they wanted to -- could easily overpower him with their strength. Leaving some of the meat he gained from the moose, he made his intentions known; and perhaps they realized he was harmless. With a few sniffs of his person, perhaps to memorize his scent -- they didn’t mind the planehopper, and even let him stay and hunt with them, though he needed to leave the Scrofa, to continue his errant. This was met with a few kind hearted -- or what he assumed was kindhearted -- snorts and grunts, and they let him go without much thought. Rain grew heavier, and the fog grew thicker, though the alchemist kept on. He neglected to his any of his own equipment for light, fearing he could be picked off by one of those fiends he faced, or some other treacherous fiend, though as it grew darker and foggier, he spotted small lights; the source being luminescent bugs and flora -- how curious. His trek came to a slow hat as he heard howling, he became frantic; Klaus could hear the blood thumping in his ears as his head swiveled and his mind screamed for him to find a place for cover. The man moved towards a canopy, and crept into the shadows, loading his slurbow. He tried to slow down his labored breath and racing heart, especially when he saw the source of the howl. It was massive, easily the size of a fully grown orc; with ripping muscles from its claw bearing arms to the powerful digitrade hind legs. The fur covered thing, turned its lupine head towards Klaus, dull black eyes with a gleam looking in his direction. He gripped the weapon tight, it seemed the creature had yet to see him, as it would have howled or pounced - though it drew closer, and his grip tightened from his hiding place. It was only after a growl and snarl from its fellow wretch did the lycan lumber elsewhere; his scent obscured by the game he caught and Scrofa he was with. Even when the coast was clear -- and the stomping sounds became more and more distant, the alchemist did not leave his spot until he was absolutely certain they were far away, wasting time with his paranoid tendencies. He shifted from out his hiding hole, and judging by the once distant sound of the beasts, they were heading towards the chapel’s direction, he’d have to camp out if anything, or try to get out of this forest. The rain only got heavier, and the fog grew thicker; he could hardly see a few feet infront of him, only aided by the glowing bugs and plants, though even their light grew distant. Grief and worry struck his stomach and mind; he felt the urge to vomit, more so as he heard howls and snarls all around him -- surrounded by a nest of fiends. Holding it together as best as he could, Klaus slowly maneuvered within the fog, always on the defensive. While his scent was obscured, he feared other things could give away that he was prime meat. The alchemist cringed at the very thought of a beast’s claws around his neck, and wicked teeth tearing into his person -- turning his life to a sputtering end. He would not let that be his end, and continued. As he paced and did what he could to avoid any nearby beast, hoots and shadows began to drive fear into him; the very sound of the forest seemed to turn into a beast of its own, furious and thirsty for his flesh. Thankfully, he wasn’t very jumpy, or he’d have fired the lead ball in his slurbow. Though, when Klaus heard a snarl and caught a glint of claws nearby, he could only hide behind mossy rock and shrubbery. There was a smacking sound, and the sound of something being torn asunder, with cracks to follow. What was a dying, blood curdling squeal got drowned out by the roars and snarls of a lycan, as well as the sound of the thing being torn asunder and eaten, perhaps by a pack. The sounds were followed by struggles, the were-things were perhaps arguing with one another, likely a dispute on someone taking too much of the body. He waited and waited, worried that his very footsteps would disturb the beasts, and bring their attention towards him. Time seemed to have stop, and relaxing himself became more and more difficult; the very notion of lowering his breathing and slowing his heart started to sound like lifting a wagon. What seemed like an eternity passed on, and the ‘wolves’ proceeded to scatter off, though somewhat together. They were pact creatures, afterall -- or at least the lupine lycans were. Relieved, Klaus traversed through the thick fog in his usual stealthy manner; the weather showed no sign of giving up, evident by the harsh downpour. He began to trudge through the newly made mud, slowing his pursuit to get out of the forest, or at the very least find some place where he could hide out. The howls only continued, and grew frequent as the night progressed. Taking out his watch was too risky, as it’d put his guard down; he could only hope that the night would come to an end sooner or later. Being under that pale, amber moon is becoming more and more like a living nightmare… more so than that place. <+> He managed, after what seemed like an endless travel to him, to see the treeline begin to thin, and the fog -- while still present -- began to let up. There was a good deal of shrubbery around him, as well as rocky formations; he could see a cliff face not too far from where he was. Klaus decided to take a breather, evidently worn through the whole debacle. He took to a stone formation, and clung under its shade, while he could still hear the howls, the alchemist figured he was safe, though he was certainly on guard. Though, his sense of security was perhaps his mistake. A thumping sound was nearby, followed by a booming roar. Klaus tensed, and pressed his back deeper into the formation. Powerful legs hit the ground, and claws dug into the soil. It was right behind him, from that damnable sound. The man gulped, he lost his cool and began to scamper out of his hole, only to see a beast covered in its own blood. Its fur matted red, caused by holes in its body, with bolts and and heavy tears. A leg was shredded, a spiked ball wrapped around. The beast whirled about, and roared at a trio of approaching figures; covered in coats and mantles - faced obscured by mantles, facewraps, and hats. They brandished weapons of their own, and had slurbows -- akin to his own -- latched on their person. They darted about the beast, and nimbly evaded claw-strikes from the wounded thing; a show of skill. One of the hunters managed to get in close enough to jab their spear into the beast’s side, twisting it as an ally came by to slam a flail onto its head; though the lycan was fast. It swept its claws out in an arc to intercept the ball and chain, and forced the spearwielding hunter to duck back, else his health would have been compromised. The third hunter was in the process of taking nad loading his crossbow device; the other two continuing their dance. It was a mix of fear and fascination that stopped Klaus from helping them -- these men were skillled enough, and by interfering, he could have possibly hindered them. The beast lumbered towards the flail wielding hunter as they began to whirl the weapon, twisting to the side to minimize damage from a claw swipe, grazing his coat with its stained claws. Had the fellow not dodged as fast as they did, the torn cloth would have far more viscera; the notion brushed aside by a powerful swing to the elbow. Klaus cringed as he heard a sickening crack and slack of the limb, snarling and howling - the monster retreated back, only to be assaulted by the once spear wielding hunter, jumping on its back to drive a dagger deep into the fear; a nuisance, one that caused the beast to thrash and try to grab the hunter -- yet, it was cut short. A bolt flew from the third hunter, and lodged into its skull as the other hunters jumped back, the wolf jerking its body as it fell over, a twitching mess that eventually stilled. “What a catch.” The spearwielder called to his friends, pulling his weapon from the cadaver. “Aye,” The flail wielder responded to his gruff accomplice, setting the weapon on its holster. “Had a lot more bite than its friends, wouldn’t you say?” His head turned to the crossbow hunter, to which said hunter tilted their head. “Mm. Thankfully the others dispersed.” The voice was that of a woman’s, probably a young adult. She slung her crossbow as she walked over to reclaim her bolt, though paused as she heard the rustling of leaves. She looked to Klaus and tilted her head, to which the other two followed. All the man could do was stand still, weapon lowered. “Well, aren’t you a strange one?” The spearwielder called, and like that, the rain began to thin, and pale moonlight snuck through the trees. <+> End of Act III, Act IV coming soon. Act I: Act II:
  12. The_Broken_God

    A Mother's Memory

    ((sorry.))
  13. The_Broken_God

    Pathmaker: Act II, Den

    He moved through the cosmos yet again; documenting the stars. His volume grew with each world, but lonesome days called for a new purpose to travel the stars. The world of Sky’s Cradle was out of the question, for the alchemist desired to see more, to work on the book while he sought to end his lonesomeness; his time on the boat surely affecting him. When his vision cleared from enacting the ritual, the planehopper saw a dark and bleak sky, overlooked by an amber crescent. He heard the howls of life, and when he looked around, the man found himself in a forest; its greenery shadowed by night and touched by the amber moon, and within this forest -- there were ruins. Remnants of ancient man: old keeps and homes -- these gravesites overgrown by nature. He didn’t get enough time to take in the morbid beauty of forest and dilapidated relics as the howls and mew of twisted life encroached. Now was the time to act, if any. Klaus’ boots shifted quietly, but at a brisk place as he advanced, finding a ruin overgrown by a massive tree, its roots clutching the cobble walls of what could have been a cathedral at some point; the large structure dotted with moss and vines -- statues and sculptors of an unknown make cracked and abused by time. This, he thought, was ample hiding. The traveler slipping under those massive wooden roots, and pushed open rotting doors, overlooked by a worn portal with the face of a screaming vampiric beast. <+> The dark insides of the old cathedral matched the beauty of its outside, an elaborate, but worn architecture with cast torchbearers, and various arcades that lead off to other areas of the ruin. He wanted to get further away from the howls outside, and meandered past one of the corridors, deeper into the nave. He looked between the isles, the pews and sculptures depicting something foul, twisted and demonic in nature; as vile as the stone beast guarding the front of the place, and overlooking them on that dias was a statue of a robed man; his eyes covered by wrappings with tears dripped down from its obscured eyes. It has its arms held out, pulling a great blade from a sheathe. It was a saint of some kind, or so Klaus thought. As he came closer, so did the howls. There was a pause, and such was followed by a sound of creaking wood. Whatever was outside was heading inside, and there were -- evident through the sounds -- multiple. He frantically looked about, afraid of what those horrors could be; different from the things of his homeworld. He was fast enough to find something past the choir, a battered gateway to the crypt. As he started moving down the stairs, he heard the shattering of that rotted wood, peeking up to see those curious shapes. The entities were varied, though humanoid in nature. The bulk of what he could assume was a hunting party, though surely not for him -- or so he assumed. The majority were hunched, pale creatures long claws and small bony protrusions, lead by three more refined figures. He heard their snarls and barks of some demonic language, and his judgement was to continue down to the crypt, stealthily moving down and occasionally looking up to find their positioning. The game of cat and mouse began as he heard their snarls come closer towards the crypt, and looking up - he could see one of those hunched beasts overlooking the stairs; that pale eyeless thing snarled and sniffed with its snout, long ebon claws clutching the stone. Klaus could feel his heart thump harder than it already was, sticking to the shadows the very bottom of the stairway provided. He moved a hand to his pouch as he slowly shifted to bypass those battered iron bars, and that was all it took to have the beast turn its head to Klaus, and open its mandibles in a hiss. Before it could try to leap at him, the alchemist hurled a small, black egg. It impacted and the creature reeled back, clutching its face and snout; black pepper, crunched glass, and pepper seeds make for a useful distraction. The sound of the beast reeling and screeching was what alerted the others. His mindset on getting away as fast as possible; he threw himself past the bars, some of the rusted metal grinding against the hems of his coat and hide padding, it was like treading through wire -- slowing him down. The other creatures came closer, and he barely caught a glimpse of them as he threw down another powder egg, along with a flash pellet. At that point, he was able to dart away from them, scampering into the once pristine crypt, having to recover as he nearly tumbled to the floor. He looked back to that darkened hall every so often, making sure he kept some distance from the hunters. They were closing in on him, even with that blinding and disorienting attack. He had to act fast, typical. The hunter spotted a few coffins and idols, the details he could barely make out in the mayhem; though at the very least -- they were intricate and told tales. The hunted threw another disorienting blast, giving him cover as he slipped into one of the open coffins, trying to calm himself down to lower his heart rate, and keeping a sword in his hand. He kept part of the coffin open, enough to see a peep and keep himself somewhat hidden. Besides him in this massive box was old and shiny plate, and a pristine handaxe; this one was a hero, he could imagine. Klaus’ attention snapped back to the opening as he heard steps approach and orders being shouted; he saw their shadowy figures pass, with an order called for one of the hunched entities to do what he assumed was to patrol the area. As the others passed, and that one vile thing was left behind, he gripped his own sword tightly, waiting with a mix of fear and anticipation. The beast sniffed around, and stood near the coffin; he tried his best to keep his heart rate down, assuming these things not only work off scent, but more of the body. He -- at the very least -- found comfort in its pacing, though such reminded him of a time when he spent his life hunting beasts, having to camp out in a crypt to slay one. Times when he was younger, and more innocent, surely. When his mind started to reminisce, it was stirred by the fiend halting its tracks, a claw resting on his coffin as it sniffed around, for far too long. That thing was getting the wrong idea, his heart thumped harder and harder, it would only be a matter of time. This would not be his resting place, statement clarified by pushing the coffin open with a creak, and slashing the blade into the beast’s throat, carving into the flesh, and before it could open its foul mouth to screech, he bound the mouth with his other hand, and pushed it close; its blood trickling on the cover. The beast thrashed and thrashed; contesting the alchemist’s strength with its demonic braw. Its claws scraping the stone coffin and nicking his reinforced coat; the animal clawed for its life, with its final, pitiful throe being its hand reaching out for the man’s beaked mask, only to fall limp. Huffing and panting from the resistance, he gently settled the body down, and began to creep out, and reluctantly taking the handaxe from the hero’s cask. He examined it for a moment; the steel -- while rusted -- had a fine finish, and showed embroidery of a shining sun over a crescent moon. He marveled at it for however long he could, awe dwarfed by the state of the coffin and burial site. They showed many inscriptions, many engravings of what he could assume was a time long past; they depicted a great sun that shines above that meek waning moon, armies of men marching below, spreading light around the black. From the shadows of those inscriptions, he could spot the twisted monsters; vampiric, demonic, twisted and eldritch in their respective nature. This was a chapel of heroes and martyrs, cemented by depictions of righteous men. While the site showed signs of time, the decrepit crypt was still a great beauty, even if he wanted to leave as soon as he could. He figured it was still night, as he managed to pull out his dial to look briefly; the time changes from plane to plane, that he could trust. Going outside would prove a greater death sentence, how could those howls be correlated to such demonic things? What else lies in that forest? The man thought to himself, and surely the sounds of his struggle was audible by one of those foul aberrations. The only way to reasonably survive this night was here, in this beautiful, terrifying place. Even if it made him feel awful to hold that fallen hero’s weapon, it would aid him this night. Klaus slung the axe on his belt, and drew out his light-slurbow with his freehand. The one handed, barreled crossbow augmented by clockwork, aiding him in nocking the string. From there, as he moved forth, he opened the breech to side in a bolt. These horrors must be faced, one way or another. He was no longer the weakened prey, creeping through the crypt to find those foul demons. He clung to the shadows, for fear of being unable to slay them in a full blown melee. As he passed, he saw more and more of the great crypt; its many statues of warriors and armored angels, of kind hearted vestals and righteous churchmen -- the architecture, even if he briefly caught sight -- was truly marvelous, and the stone crests on ground and walls only solidified its marvel. He halted as he saw a shadow, said shadow becoming multiple; a pack of the fiends, those hunched dreggs. He had sheathed his shortsword at this time, opting to take out more of those pepper eggs. Readying his crossbow, and watching those things -- which veered their heads towards his person, stirred by his scent -- he hurled the egg, to which only two were caught and quickly recovered; the others scampered around the area, screeching and growling. The ones that lead this pack would surely be alerted and make their way, and in response; Klaus had to minimize the threat as much as possible. He started moving around, wary to evade attacks; he loosened a bolt to a beast’s upper body, causing it to crumple with a well placed shot. He drew his sword then, his free hand in a guarding position as opened various wounds in another beast; a flash of steel retaliated by claws and the aid of its allies. While on death’s door, the assailed beast managed to slam the man in the stomach, causing him to reel back and get jumped on by another of the hunched pack. He near buckled -- brought low -- his shortsword twisted in a downward grip to stab into the attacking beast’s ribcage repeatedly, a visceral display as blood and opened organs dripped to the floor with a wettened thud, the air hot with the newfound gore. While this was occuring, he was attacked from the side with a bite, one of these hunched fiends thought it was wise to attack; it bit into his guarding arm with its malformed maw, not only to be held back by the protective cloth, but the make of his prosthetic. The weight of the two brought him to his knee, though the dead thing over his back fell to the ground. He grew desperate as he heard steps rush towards the room. He hissed, intending to drive the bloodied sword into the nape of this beast’s neck, only to be thrown off by another attack from his backside from the dreggs. His sword, while slaying the beast with a final sputter, got lodged into the bone and viscera. The thing from behind pulling him in, and bearing down on his shoulder; though he was fast to react, even without that sword. He frantically tore that handaxe free from his belt in rythme with the rushed steps, and with a sideways chop, the rusted metal bore and lodged into the beast’s face, maw hanging by mere sinew as its head hung lifelessly on his shoulder, his already drenched figure now sprayed with more blood. He struggled, stamina drained from the onslaught, before his pants were caught off by the last beast, who pounced on him. With a gurgle, he hit the stone floor, wheezing as he looked up to the ugly, twisted face. He tried to move his arm in the way of various claws, only to cause shallow marks along his coat, and pained yelps from the force. It bit down, teeth clasped around the prosthetic. The two struggled, weak jabs with the knee doing little to the beast; and he could feel the teeth press the prosthetic’s covering into itself. His other hand squirmed for his old sword, trying to tug it free during this, and by sheer force of will, he tore it from the dead dregg, and slit open this beast’s belly. The thing struggled as its innards fell with a slack, lasting minutes until it finally died. His pants and grunts continued, the creature laying on top of him, now lightened its gutted self. What minutes he had to recover were used to push the body off him. Back in his youth, he was much more refined and spry, if it were not for his age and afflictions, perhaps he would not be as out of breath as before. When the remaining of the hunting party approached, they found a blood covered Klaus, the axe clung to his side, his slurbow and sword at hand. Seldom to say, they were very much afraid. He stared at them through the lenses of his mask, huffing and puffing. What fear drove them to run was beyond him; but the roles were now switched -- the hunters turned to prey. As they ran, he slowly followed behind, taking out his larger, clockwork slurbow and loading the weapon. The remaining three were far more refined and humanoid, sporting batlike features and a composite of hide and plate. One of them was in his line of fire, falling to the floor with a heap from a slurbow bolt. The man was left leaning against an archway, sweating underneath his attire. It took him a minute before he regained his composure, slowly but surely continuing his advance; to hunt his prey. At the very least, those things were moving in the same direction. He loaded another bolt as the fiends bolted past a large gateway, brushing rotted wood to the side, the sound of wood clattering the massive doors. He fired off a shot as he approached, and while their shapes became obscured, he heard a thud. Grunting, the man slung his weapon to take out the shortsword. Peeking inside, he could notice that one was on the ground with a bolt in its leg, and the remaining was in wait. Entering, he immediately slashed his sword, only to grind past hide and glide along plate. He groaned as the able demon hit him with the flat of his axe, causing him to reel back, prosthetic resting on his stomach. Gagging and beginning to recover, he lifted his head to see the axe sail towards his shoulder, to which he locked the attack with his sword, binding the weapon under its heavy head. The force caused him to buckle some more, to which he followed by pushing his foot into the side of its knee. A growl comes from the beast as it inclines, reeling back to avoid the brunt of a riposte, having a cut along its face. It sneered, gripping its axe two-handed, it watched Klaus - the two beginning a silent dance. The man circled around, to send a harsh kick to the downed creature’s head, rendering it unconscious and seeing an opportunity the thing darted towards him, and with what energy he had, Klaus slashed at the side of the axe to beat it to the side, and then jam the shortsword in a ***** of the armor, digging into the hide and sticking into its abdomen. The demon shrieked, and backhanded Klaus, grinding against his crowmask and causing him to double over. He rolled to the side to avoid a follow up attack, coughing and sputtering from the blow. His hand settled on the bloodied axe as he came to a stand, hacking sideways to dig into the demon’s swinging hand, cutting into the bone of its elbow with a roar. It grasped him with its usable hand, and pushed him into the ground, black eyes filled with hate and hunger. He gasped and gurgled, mechanical hand tight around the arm. He reached for his axe, and twisted it from the wound, to slam the backspike of the axe into the batthing’s shoulder, it toppling over. The hunter took advantage of this, tearing the spike from the foul thing, replaced by a boot to the throat. It couldn’t do much, growling as it watched Klaus pick off the downed demon with a shot from one of his slurbows. The crowmasked alchemist turned back to face the demon, pressing his boot into the thing. “Talk. What are you? What was this hunting party?” Klaus queried with a huff, his crowmask close to the foul demon. It snarled and rasped, teeth contorted into a foul grin, spitting blood at his face. “Expected you… Planewalker. We knew one would come. Even if I die here… more will come for you.” Klaus, even if he had the thought in the back of his mind, couldn’t help but swallow his coming words. He tensed up, only to stare. “You cannot escape! For we -- the courts, the counts -- we have trapped you here.” A verbal knife to his side, Klaus could only feel an ache in his stomach, and the need to vomit. “What were those howls?” He asked shakily, pushing his boot into the thing’s neck, even if it was talking, the stress was mounting and he needed something to relieve it. “The hounds. We are not alone here; there are many… MANY things here, worse than I. More savage and terrifying… if we do not have our way with you, they will.” And with a gurgle, the beast sliced its own tongue, blood spurting onto Klaus’ mask. “Tah...htah…” It managed to gurgled out, before the body turned lifeless. He took his ammunition and weapons from the downed demons; even if he was shaken by the circumstance. He looked up in this chamber, spotting massive statues that clung to the supports; showing soldiers with clenched blades, and holy beings reaching out their arms. The cracked stone welcomed those within, even the dead and distraught. Looking down at the massive crest of a floor-- depicting the same sun and moon -- he tried to perform a ritual to return, only to find a mark above his head as he finished the incantation; preventing him from returning home. Woeful. He started breathing heavy, clutching his sides as he stifled a scream. The mounted stress was getting to his head, and where he was wasn’t helping. However, before he could fully lose it, he relaxed himself; the fellow seeing his current standing. The fellow had to survive this night, at the very least. He took to getting the wood and rock from around the place; bone and demon used to fuel the fire. He huddled close to the campfire, using it to keep himself warm. He downed some food, staring into the flame. The past flooded through him, the good, the bad; he saw his better half through the flame, and those he held dear, only to be consumed by fire. After he finished eating, the alchemist slowly began to settle in, wanting nothing but sleep in this hellhole, though the mind is a cruel machination. His den was covered in shadows, and for a damaged man to be alone in such a place only breeds horrors; ones spawned of the mind. Every creak and distant sound worried him, keeping him awake. They were coming, he felt; and this feeling happened every waking minute, spurred by insecurities of the mind, growing into a beast of its own. It overlooked Klaus, and shaped his thoughts with torment; the night did not end by sleep, but by staring at the ticking clock, and his surroundings; his den. Within this place -- within his decrepit den -- he remained huddled, waiting, afraid and paranoid, kept company by the fire and his agonized mind, hoping it would not go out -- though he would not be awake to see whether or not that happened. End of Act II. Act III, Errant coming soon. Part I:
  14. The_Broken_God

    Who do you look up to?

    dont think i look up to anyone on minceraft
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