NickTheButcher720

The Lament of Isac Saryl Isac walked, his heavy armor rattled with each step. His hinged armor allowed for a full range of motion at his shoulders, neck, and ankles if need be, and if he changed his form he would not be constricted there. But there had been no war here for many many years. Sharp, gnarly runic script was etched into his collar, chestpiece, and spaulders. The steel was black as soot underneath its silvery topical layer, but the markings were shiny like an old scar. As he made his way across the barren courtyard, past clutches of stone and spires of blackened wood, he lifted an eye to the sky and tried not to breathe. Abov

The Lament of Isac Saryl Isac walked, his heavy armor rattled with each step. His hinged armor allowed for a full range of motion at his shoulders, neck, and ankles if need be, and if he changed his form he would not be constricted there. But there had been no war here for many many years. Sharp, gnarly runic script was etched into his collar, chestpiece, and spaulders. The steel was black as soot underneath its silvery topical layer, but the markings were shiny like an old scar. As he made his way across the barren courtyard, past clutches of stone and spires of blackened wood, he lifted an eye to the sky and tried not to breathe. Abov

       Sir Riris Durtth and his wife, Lady Stanza, strode together arm in arm, up the small incline that lead up to fortified walls of sharpened timbers; The gates of the Wydbay family manor - the village keep.       The day was close to it's end and the sun was red in the sky, retreating into a purple horizon.       Both Riris and Stanza wore bear fur cloaks, but Riris's was over a braided leather doublet and Stanza's over a delicate, dark blue dress with lace sleeves. Sir Riris's high cuffed leather boots were the regular style among both the men and woman of Woobday. It was considered only proper that women should wear a slight a heel

       A gathering was taking place in the forest of Woodbay.       In the morning, a slow rain fell; Each drop could be heard slapping muddily onto loamy dirt, off the thick, waxy leaves of the forest. Guardsmen, loyal to their lord-keeper until to end, the stood at attention in a perimeter around the grounds, holding their torches in one hand and hatchets in the other.       The men were covered in layers of leathers, sparse bits of rusty mail and headgear, some stitched from fur, some hammered from steel, but all tried and worn. Bindings of waxed rope severed as bracers and shinguards. The coastal woodland climate was no place for fanc

       A man stood alone, facing to the southeast, towards Highcastle. His ancient skin was pale and bruised. His ragged robes were once a regal and splendid lion's-blood red, but they were now as tattered and faded as the man who wore them. Upon his arced shoulders sat, unmoving, an ironbound collar, sealing off his mouth and bolting his head in position.       Across the seal, over the place where the mouth would be, runes from forgotten tomes, centuries old, were sprawled. Thought unbreakable, theses primordial bindings struggled against the warlocks own arcane energies. A foul, poisonous essence spilled forth like smoke from the seeps o