Shade

Pruin - The Fantasy Land.

With an extension of his deeply inked arm, Cario grabbed the wooden staff that descended upon him, catching it with the hand that was occupied by the Black Seed. Squeezing hard he felt the seed press against the wood, he gazed into the monks eyes as horror struck him, the staff began to decay age and crack in his grasp. Twisting his hips and ducking down Cario flung the withering staff, along with the helpless monk at the end of it, across the stone floor with unreal strength.

Taking his attention from the mortal man, he turned to see a flaming rage growing in the spell casters hands. A young man approached from the door, a shining in Cario's third eye revealed his holy presences of light. It was now himself against these five, he thought himself strong enough to escape this feud victorious, but risk was not necessary. The Orc was now on his large feet, the God worshipping monk too. Female archer with an arrow notched, spell caster preparing a fiery onslaught. Then the blonde young man. Perhaps it was best to take this fight to a realm he knew.

Calmly Cario allowed the Black Seed to roll to the floor, it emitted a grey smoke, occasional twitching and rolling over as if possessed. With a brisk rise and fall of his still armoured leg, he crunched his boot down onto it. In an explosion of darkness his leg was encapsulated by an inky mass of black, rising up his body and over his burnt tattooed body with demonic speed. Suddenly it was in every crevice of his body, crawling down his throat and creeping past his eyes.

In a deep voice, without his lips uttering a syllable, Cario spoke in an abyssal, deep voice.

Shall we take this fight else where?

Cario screamed with horrific volume and pitch and rose from the ground, hovering above the stone with all his extremities pointed and stretched wide. As his screaming continued the ink began to fly from his body and stick to the others, as it struck their bodies they were enveloped in a dark mist, a shell of grey.

Suddenly it ended, and they were all as they had been. There they stood now, in a graveyard of midnight, of endless tombstones and stone blocks, named and unnamed. The sky was a deep purple dotted with black stars and streaking red veins, ten moons hung in the canvas, reds, oranges and blues.

This was a realm of death, and Cario felt at home.

Pruin - The Fantasy Land.

No apologies, we must not have the idea that instant response is the best of its kind, for it is not. I will be writing a large post today, to cover all that is going on.

Pruin - The Fantasy Land.

@BeautifulSnow

With his crackling tone that made even him cringe slightly, Wain spoke through his black teeth behind his hood. "Sorry to interrupt your...whatever this is, could you point me to the local hospital?" He gestured around him, unsure of where to go and who to talk to, this female seemed suitable to ask. She was young for a mother of so many, only a wench could bear some many children, with her youth he could see why that would happen.

Were he 500 years younger he would have ruffled the child's hair heartily and given her an ambiguous wink, but instead he stood there, stooped and old, awaiting an answer.

Pruin - The Fantasy Land.

@BeautifulSnow

The children hid, behind barrels and in the dark shadows that the sun was making. The noon breeze was chilled but not cold, carrying with it the fresh salt spray of the sea. Snow counted, quietly to herself at first, exclaiming loudly towards the end to give any ill faring participants a rushed hiding place.

Opening her eyes she had to blink a few time, a dark figure stood in front of her, hooded and cloaked. The sun was blocked out, and all seemed a bit dreary and down. It seemed the bird song and playful music of the trade market was lost in the long garments this person wore. This was Wain, the undead elf, but Snow knew not of this.

Pruin - The Fantasy Land.

Trust in me, the lesson will be learned.

heysohiwhatsup

Greetings and welcome to you, oh excitable one :)

Greetings

Greetings, the correct and formal means of first communication. I hope you find your place in our little RP world.

* making a come back.

I hope your feet remaining steadily on flat ground :)

Pruin - The Fantasy Land.

He who doubts him shall be shown, he who fears shall wear a harrowed crown.

Pruin - The Fantasy Land.

Cario's bloody lips opened to speak, just as the spell caster sent a burning heat his way. His head flew back and his arms were thrown wide as he screamed in shock, his neck twisting back as his spine tingled, steam and the smell of burnt flesh began to seep out from between his scales. In his shock his sword clattered to the ground, sparks flying as it pinged off the rocky surface to his feet. Composing himself he snapped his neck back and opened his eyes with a wider grin than before, the cut on his jaw was pulled wider.

His eyes were red and blood dripped from them too now, red tears streaking his face. Black and crimson hung around his neck in a necklace of burnt skin, still he grinned brightly. Looking at his hand, he laughed and shook it as one does when they burn their hand, then he presented to the druid and the others mockingly.

"Ouch."

Dropping his hand to his side once more, he bent down to pick up his sword, taking the still hot hilt in his singed fingers he gripped it tightly. As he straightened up he took something from his pocket and held it in his free hand. He patted himself down, flicking a crisped flake of skin from his shoulder. It seemed he was uncomfortable, so he stretched back and unbuckled his chest armour, letting it drop to the floor in a clattering crescendo.

Perhaps now they would see. His slender but none the less strong body was burnt, every inch of it below the neck. Charred like over cooked meat, strips of skin peeling at the edges and fleshy blots here and there. Though it was not that that defined him, it was his tattoos. From his chest to his wrists and hips he was decorated in ancient and intricate demonic symbols. For any with knowledge of the Gods, they would see one symbol repeated throughout - Nerull, The Foe Reaper, The Dark Blade, The God of Death.

With a whip of his hand Cario threw forth a twisting dark bolt of energy at the now warded druid, the source of this power coming from the Black Seed that was clenched in his fist. His bodies burning flesh began to blacken further, his blood loosing its colour and his tattoos glowed a deep red.

"I AM THE SERVANT OF MY DARK LORD!"

Nerull was the God that God's feared, the curse that plagued every nation. To a druid he was the personified enemy of life itself, to a monk he was something to fear intensely. Cario was indeed a blade smith, but he did not sell his goods without hidden purpose. Every blade he made was made to kill, embedded with Nerull's essence, it would take a strong mind to withstand his influence once they held the weapon in hand.

Every death at the hands of such weapons was a spirit forced to serve the Death God, Cario was a slave driver of sorts, a servant that Nerull had granted powers beyond those of a mortal drow.