Damnation

[Aphetoros]

D A M N A T I O N

Spoiler:

It was dark, as always in the cursed forests of Duskwood, and the gloom wandered through the trees like a child missing the guidance of a parent, a child that would stumble aimlessly between the occasional shafts of moonlight that dappled on the undergrowth below before collapsing in an exhausted and terrified heap. Several of the animals snarled at the noxious and virulent miasma, slinking away into further darkness to run with their feral kinsmen. The obscurity of the nighttime was much appreciated by the elf, who's skin was beginning to mottle with rot. He'd been good about weaving away the scars of undeath, though his flesh was a ghastly gray pallor, and his eyes frothed a haze of emerald, though tinged with amber reminiscent of the Forsaken. The words would escape his lips softly, echoing throughout the empty town of Raven Hill, while he'd step through the plague he'd conjured, quickly the lethal ebony smoke becoming evanescent. "I suppose it is time." Every ghoul he'd risen that remained with power shambled along behind him, the great number of the Damned creatures clearly inhibiting him enough that he had to use his scythe as a cane.

He let out a long breath, the only sound in the silence of the forest apart from the occasional hoot or screech of an owl. With one hand he removed a chain of adamantium from around his neck, a black jewel affixed to the end, and dropped it on the ground, causing dust to billow as if a breath exhaled in the dead of winter. It took a long while to settle, and the necromancer glowered at the granules, though in truth he was staring through them. At first he wondered if now was the best time to take an account of his life, but he dismissed the thought; as an undead, he had all the time in the world. Or so he thought.

He reached out his scythe, the sharp tip carving an elaborate runic circle around the broach. The man let out a shuddering sigh, stepping within a tiny sphere within the pentagram-esque shape. "This is the right decision." He assured himself, quelling his slight nervousness.
'What other choice do you have?' The voice slipped through his ears yet again, and he grimaced at catching himself talking to himself again.

The scythe was raised, a low chant growing gradually louder while the circle would begin to rise with the energy of death, the man's undead thralls lining up like cows to the slaughter, twisted violet ripping them to lifelessness once more as the souls animating them fed into the circle, and as each corpse fell, the ring would glow brighter, until a rather large rock slammed into him from behind, causing him to stumble. The winding rings of verdure flickered like the lights of a house after being struck by a bolt of unholy lightning before a pillar of necromantic energy erupted through the Duskwood sky, lightning up much of Raven Hill. Astus cursed loudly, turning to face his assailant with a virulent snarl plastered onto his decaying face. Behind him there was a quivering human, a boy no less! His entire body shook in terror of the deathly image before him. “St-stop, ev-evil w-warlock!” At the stutterings of the child, who held another rock in his hands, clearly poised to throw, Astus began to silently shake, his chest unnecessarily rising and falling before like the flick of a switch he threw back his head in reviling laughter.

The child had long since dropped his crude weapon, “M-my daddy’s gonna come get you. H-he’ll save m-me right now.” At this Astus’s cackling came to a grinding halt. He twisted his head inquisitively to the right at the kid, who held onto his hope despite the necromancer and his horde of mindless ones lined up nearby. Perhaps he didn’t see them in the gloom.

Unspeakable evil.

The shambling corpses began to slide across the ground towards the boy...

“You will soon learn that there are no heroes.”

A line of crimson begins to run down the cobblestones…

* * *

"There is a... certain necromancer in a certain nearby wilderness. Now, hear me out. This certain necromancer in this certain nearby wilderness has a certain goal in mind: a certain goal that will end all that you hold dear. This is not a fight for the faint of heart, but should it lure you: fifty gold.
At least, if you remain alive to claim it." -- Ezra Duskwither

The Four Part Conclusion to Astus Duskwither.

Progression:

Part I: Sallow Swamp

Part II.

Part III.

Part IV.

---

Spoiler:

Part One: The Sallow Swamp.

A few empty shacks in an empty swamp, rotting wood and peeling paint. Snakes dip in and out of the fetid water, and garbage bobs up and down like souls lost in an abyssal sea of sadness. Of course there was sadness in these waters, the Swamp of Sorrows. But this was long ago; then it was abandoned, but now the signs of civilization have been washed away, or pulled into the marshy earth by the hungry vines and roots of the marshland trees. Here, where a small group of families once lived, there is true anguish, and some say that if one falls asleep at this ancient site, next to a single post marking where a fence once stood, they will dream of the orcs rushing past, taking the lives of the innocent and unsuspecting. It is here that the first reagent for the ritual lies. It is not easy to see, and must be created using what you find there. A cobra lives here, named after the first to die from its venomous fangs. A name is a name, whether remembered or forgotten. Next, the poison must be infused with arcane magic, and the vial blessed by light. Lastly, there is a creature wandering the woods nearby, a soul of the vengeful persuasion. A restless dead, its skull must be carved from its head and brought to me. I shall prepare the rest. After this is complete, I can give you the next task.


June 4th, 2011 -- 4:00 PST. (Subject to change if deemed necessary!)

SLOTS:

1. --

2. --

3. --

4. --

5. --

6. --

7. --

8. --

9. --

10. --

*If someone doesn't show up, the spot will be offered first come first serve the day of. Post here to join, format being your name followed by class, and a preferred time-slot (if any!)

---

Reserved

---

Reserved

---

Reserved.

[Reese]

With the Jail event and the Catacombs event, the time doesn't seem opportune.

[Aphetoros]

Like I said, it's subject to change... I just wanted some time at least put down. Do you perhaps have a suggestion for a time?

[muhaha8]

/nod.

I approve of this thread.

Move it back to, say, June 6? That leaves you a little more time between.

[Aphetoros]

I'll change it according to that. If there are issues just let me know.