I'm interested, looking forward to some things being elucidated.
Mammon Member
The Chief Mourner
- Last Seen: 4 yrs ago
- Old Guild Username: Mammon
- Joined: 11 yrs ago
- Posts: 75 (0.02 / day)
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Username history
- Mammon 11 yrs ago
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Bio
A life half-lived.
Discord Mammon#6954
Discord Mammon#6954
Most Recent Posts
"As you can see, my master would like to speak more privately with you. If you would be so kind as to indulge him and follow me to the keep proper; you will be given the audience you were sent here for! Do not forget that you are guests in this place, should you choose to enter. In case you did not hear earlier, I am Elegance. Keeper of the keep and Magician's servant. It's one of my many obligations to be certain that no uncouth sorts linger in my master's home!"
Zino Bertran sighed heavily, wrapping his arm protectively around the older woman. His gloved fingers tightened around her shoulder as the Magician and his assistant spoke. ‘What could he need to say inside that he couldn’t say here? And this Elegance--as she calls herself--she’s certainly not a gracious host.’ His lip tightened into a thin line as he wondered how many of the others has understood that as a threat. The agents grey eyes stared meaningfully at Ascot, waiting for him to pipe up.
“The Ghost Girl and Three sent us here. We’ve already died once before… If this were a trap, well…” He gave a dry, cynical laugh. “It’s a waste of their time and effort. If they trust him, then I trust him.” Mr. Bertran slipped his hand into his pocket, fingering the handle of his firearm. He was disgusted--fed up entirely with being led around, with constantly being delayed, with being told contradictory and confusing information.
He pushed his way to the front of the group, keeping his arm around Stormy, then dipped his head to the Magician. “Thank you for your hospitality. Perhaps you should teach your protege not to make veiled threats to your house guests…” Zino narrowed his eyes at Elegance, “Unless they mean to cause trouble.” By then, however, he has already disappeared. They hadn’t come this far to be disrespected and threatened, especially not by an underling. He made his way past her, paused, and then continued inside.
‘I hope they decide to follow me, heh… Some display of courage, Zino. Real smart.’ The young man looked around the interior of the tower. A large central atrium stretched upward impossibly high, flanked by long hallways dotted with doors. At their intersect sat a lone chair. He assumed this was where the Magician would speak with them. The warm flames of the torches reflected from the polished marble, casting long shadows behind the pair. He thought of Koda and gave Stormy a reassuring squeeze. “Should you sit down? There’s a chair.”
Zino Bertran sighed heavily, wrapping his arm protectively around the older woman. His gloved fingers tightened around her shoulder as the Magician and his assistant spoke. ‘What could he need to say inside that he couldn’t say here? And this Elegance--as she calls herself--she’s certainly not a gracious host.’ His lip tightened into a thin line as he wondered how many of the others has understood that as a threat. The agents grey eyes stared meaningfully at Ascot, waiting for him to pipe up.
“The Ghost Girl and Three sent us here. We’ve already died once before… If this were a trap, well…” He gave a dry, cynical laugh. “It’s a waste of their time and effort. If they trust him, then I trust him.” Mr. Bertran slipped his hand into his pocket, fingering the handle of his firearm. He was disgusted--fed up entirely with being led around, with constantly being delayed, with being told contradictory and confusing information.
He pushed his way to the front of the group, keeping his arm around Stormy, then dipped his head to the Magician. “Thank you for your hospitality. Perhaps you should teach your protege not to make veiled threats to your house guests…” Zino narrowed his eyes at Elegance, “Unless they mean to cause trouble.” By then, however, he has already disappeared. They hadn’t come this far to be disrespected and threatened, especially not by an underling. He made his way past her, paused, and then continued inside.
‘I hope they decide to follow me, heh… Some display of courage, Zino. Real smart.’ The young man looked around the interior of the tower. A large central atrium stretched upward impossibly high, flanked by long hallways dotted with doors. At their intersect sat a lone chair. He assumed this was where the Magician would speak with them. The warm flames of the torches reflected from the polished marble, casting long shadows behind the pair. He thought of Koda and gave Stormy a reassuring squeeze. “Should you sit down? There’s a chair.”
Good to see you around again.
Kiara held up the eye of the needle to the light, trying to rethread clear string. The metal was bent in a crescent shape, perfect for stitching together thin, delicate flesh. She finally slipped the transparent line through the hole after several failed attempts. The mortician tied a small knot in the end which prevented the thread from escaping again from the needle. Fluellen huffed quietly.
The corpse belonged to a man who had committed suicide. A vibrant red and purple collar of bruising encircled his neck; the skin was broken and the noose had left behind an angry lace of rope burn. Smothering had caused the blood vessels in his face to rupture, leaving a watercolor of purple and grey pools of blood beneath his skin. His eyes bulged slightly from their sockets--wide with fear and death. Kiara frowned and poked out her lower lip gently in a pout. “This is the third suicide this week…” She spoke aloud to no one in particular.
The mortician carefully held down the lid of his eye. She hooked the curve of the needle through the delicate skin, using an inverted stitch to hide the clear thread beneath the flesh of his eyelid. She continued working, sewing shut the other eye. “There,” Kiara said, a hint of relief in her voice. Even after nearly a year of work as an undertaker, she still found the milky, vacuous gaze of the dead deeply unnerving.
She was paid well for her work, and even more to keep quiet about it. The cadavers that came from Blackthorne Medical and Munitions were often atypical. They had evidence of strange and sadistic experimentation--bruises from restraints, cranial staples left behind from lobotomies, ports embedded in the chest for injections straight to the heart. Other experienced quarantine specialists would handle the cremation of more confidential specimens, but the hot smell filled the furnace yard, and the towers from the crematorium belched black smoke into the cloudy sky.
She frowned. Had that corpse drawer been open before? Probably. Nobody worked at a morgue who spooked too easy at things like that. The atmosphere and the work did strange things to the mind on long shifts, and you learned a simple truth - despite every horror movie and skin-crawling instinct, the bodies were just bodies. They didn’t get up again. She reached out to push the drawer shut, but it was stuck on something, and after a moment she gave up with a sigh. I’ll just finish up here and leave a note upstairs.
This corpse was different than Kiara Fluellen had witnessed before. Her co-workers were currently predisposed, and she had been left alone in the mortuary to handle the few bodies deemed appropriate for embalming. His time of death had been recorded as less than twenty-four hours ago, but already the body showed immense signs of decay: blackened, necrotic flesh had gnawed away across most of his torso; lesions on his back were rotten down to the bone, leaving yellow vertebrae peeking through the rancid meat of his back; sepsis had taken over most of his body, making his blood thick and black with rot.
“This is… Horrible. What could have happened to him?” She traced her gloved finger over the Y-shaped autopsy incision. After glancing around to make sure the mortuary was empty, she reached for a scalpel and began to re-open the corpse. “I-I’m not doing anything wrong,” Kiara reassured herself, “It’s important t-to preserve the organs.” Cutting into his cadaver released a horrifying smell--it was sickly and sweet, like bananas that had been fermented in a septic tank. “Oh, God!” She exclaimed, recoiling from the stench.
After recomposing herself, she began to remove and empty the large intestine into a bucket. The long, overlapping undulations of the colon and blackened blood had hidden strange, fleshy, anatomical abnormalities. “Wh-what… What is this? These can’t be human!” She pulled one out to examine it, carefully bisecting the unfamiliar organ. Inside was a substance that looked similar to a sticky, toxic molasses. The material bubbled and steamed upon exposure to the air. Fluellen gasped in shock, dropping the fleshy bag back into the abdominal cavity. The brown liquid slowly spilled into the body, dissolving the endoderm of his organs away like muriatic acid. “Oh God…”
”You want to be careful there. Some of these kids can be a little feisty afterhours.”
Kiara actually leaped at the voice, crashing hard against the wall of drawers behind her, as the corpse bubbled and steamed on the table. There was no one there.
But she’d heard the voice, clear and cruel, a little amused - not human - and her heart was already triphammering so loud she could barely hear what was happening to the corpse on the table, the way it was boiling and melting, an unthinkable sludge flowing over the sides of the trolley. Even in silence she wouldn’t have noticed. All her attention was on where the voice had seemed to come from. The stuck drawer.
A minute passed.
Her back ached where she’d hit the drawers. There would be bruising.
You’re losing it, Heart still pounding, her breath an undignified series of gasps, she pulled herself to her feet - the drawer she was using for balance jumped open with a clatter - she screamed, propelling herself into the middle of the room, every muscle and nerve screaming with her.
An empty drawer, which is why it had been unlocked to slip in the first place. She shook her head violently, almost reaching up to rearrange her hair before remembering at the last second the state of her hands. She spent another minute doing deep breaths, watching the empty drawer, letting herself calm. There were jokes about this, the late night crack. She hadn’t ever thought she’d be one of those, but...the weird bodies, the awful secrets she carried around...well, maybe it was no surprise.
Kiara turned back just in time to see eight impossibly long things slip out of the stuck drawer to grip their surroundings. Fingers. Spider legs. The scream was back, strangled in her throat
the image of her fear like a noose around her neck, like the dead man, she would be dead soon
and this time her twitching muscles gave up rather than catapult her into a worse situation. Kiara slid slowly to the floor as the finger-things flexed and pushed and the drawer slid slowly open. What crawled out was...her eyes wouldn’t see. Everything swam and she had only impressions of impossible size and dexterity, something that could never have fit in the same space as a human body. Something that bent in ways and with noises it scraped away at her sanity to hear, until it had pulled itself all the way free and loomed over her, hunched over despite the high ceiling. Smiling.
That smile was like a crack into Hell. Something seemed to move in it - or was that her blurring vision, growing dark around the edges? The monster was holding something as it moved towards her. Stepped, shuffled, skittered. There was a high-pitched gibbering noise in her ears that she realized suddenly was coming from her throat.
”Oh, don’t you worry, kid. I don’t rile. Not here. Not for you. But, you know, I am here. And I am here for you.”
Something was wrong with the corpses in the background, the one that was half a flow of sludge and the mangled red thing - don’t look can’t look - that had been sharing its space with Smile. There was motion. Kiara would have thrown up, but she could barely keep her throat open enough to breathe. Smile was bending down further, its expression ruining her thoughts like a boisterous child running through spiderwebs. The fingers of one hand splayed hideously across the floor, then began to creep towards her. The other hand and its dripping burden levitated slowly towards her.
”It’s okay, kid. You’re not gonna die. Or, well...mm, you’re the professional. I’ll let you be the judge.” It giggled and the strength went out of her, muscles trying to gather themselves to flee, to do anything, simply collapsing at the sound. ”Normally I’d tell you a little about how special you are and leave you alone, but - things are changing, kid. Exciting times. So you’re even more special, because you’re going to help me with something. Or save yourself, if you prefer.”
Its fingers kept creeping. Its hand floated forward. The dark at the edges of her vision was spreading, swarming. The corpses were…
”New Steel Memorial Hospital. There’s a patient there, but not for long. They’re gonna find her, kid, and then they’re gonna find you and when that happens...well, you might not want to let it. I think you know how that ends.”
The red thing in the drawer. The bodies from Blackthorne. Smile grinned.
“You’ll have just enough time, after the adjustment. I’m making sure of that, kid. Don’t say I never did nothing for ya. You’ll still have to do a little legwork, of course, but you’re up to it, or you will be.”
Her eyes shifted slowly, unwilling, across the mind-murdering expanse of the thing’s body, towards the hand that was too, too close. Towards what it carried.
She couldn’t tell if the face had been male or female. It was coated in blood and worse, denying her even ethnicity. It was dripping and hanging loose from Smile’s fingers.
”You knew it’d come to this sooner or later, didn’t you? It’s time, kid. It’s time to face your fears."
The hanging tatters twisted in Smile’s grip, and stretched for her, and its hand rushed forward and slammed the gruesome mask over her own face - it was digging - she was screaming and she heard a door upstairs, her colleagues finally come to investigate. Smile rose to its full height. The corpses behind it - what was left of the one - were flopping onto the floor, towards the exit.
”We’ll clear the way for you, kid. You just make sure to clean up down here, okay? It’s what you’re good at.”
Its voice was impossibly far away. Everything was far away, she was hanging to the world by a thread - and then she slipped free, and the darkness took her at last. Recognizing her now, perhaps, as one of its own.
In collaboration with @Viatos
The corpse belonged to a man who had committed suicide. A vibrant red and purple collar of bruising encircled his neck; the skin was broken and the noose had left behind an angry lace of rope burn. Smothering had caused the blood vessels in his face to rupture, leaving a watercolor of purple and grey pools of blood beneath his skin. His eyes bulged slightly from their sockets--wide with fear and death. Kiara frowned and poked out her lower lip gently in a pout. “This is the third suicide this week…” She spoke aloud to no one in particular.
The mortician carefully held down the lid of his eye. She hooked the curve of the needle through the delicate skin, using an inverted stitch to hide the clear thread beneath the flesh of his eyelid. She continued working, sewing shut the other eye. “There,” Kiara said, a hint of relief in her voice. Even after nearly a year of work as an undertaker, she still found the milky, vacuous gaze of the dead deeply unnerving.
She was paid well for her work, and even more to keep quiet about it. The cadavers that came from Blackthorne Medical and Munitions were often atypical. They had evidence of strange and sadistic experimentation--bruises from restraints, cranial staples left behind from lobotomies, ports embedded in the chest for injections straight to the heart. Other experienced quarantine specialists would handle the cremation of more confidential specimens, but the hot smell filled the furnace yard, and the towers from the crematorium belched black smoke into the cloudy sky.
She frowned. Had that corpse drawer been open before? Probably. Nobody worked at a morgue who spooked too easy at things like that. The atmosphere and the work did strange things to the mind on long shifts, and you learned a simple truth - despite every horror movie and skin-crawling instinct, the bodies were just bodies. They didn’t get up again. She reached out to push the drawer shut, but it was stuck on something, and after a moment she gave up with a sigh. I’ll just finish up here and leave a note upstairs.
This corpse was different than Kiara Fluellen had witnessed before. Her co-workers were currently predisposed, and she had been left alone in the mortuary to handle the few bodies deemed appropriate for embalming. His time of death had been recorded as less than twenty-four hours ago, but already the body showed immense signs of decay: blackened, necrotic flesh had gnawed away across most of his torso; lesions on his back were rotten down to the bone, leaving yellow vertebrae peeking through the rancid meat of his back; sepsis had taken over most of his body, making his blood thick and black with rot.
“This is… Horrible. What could have happened to him?” She traced her gloved finger over the Y-shaped autopsy incision. After glancing around to make sure the mortuary was empty, she reached for a scalpel and began to re-open the corpse. “I-I’m not doing anything wrong,” Kiara reassured herself, “It’s important t-to preserve the organs.” Cutting into his cadaver released a horrifying smell--it was sickly and sweet, like bananas that had been fermented in a septic tank. “Oh, God!” She exclaimed, recoiling from the stench.
After recomposing herself, she began to remove and empty the large intestine into a bucket. The long, overlapping undulations of the colon and blackened blood had hidden strange, fleshy, anatomical abnormalities. “Wh-what… What is this? These can’t be human!” She pulled one out to examine it, carefully bisecting the unfamiliar organ. Inside was a substance that looked similar to a sticky, toxic molasses. The material bubbled and steamed upon exposure to the air. Fluellen gasped in shock, dropping the fleshy bag back into the abdominal cavity. The brown liquid slowly spilled into the body, dissolving the endoderm of his organs away like muriatic acid. “Oh God…”
”You want to be careful there. Some of these kids can be a little feisty afterhours.”
Kiara actually leaped at the voice, crashing hard against the wall of drawers behind her, as the corpse bubbled and steamed on the table. There was no one there.
But she’d heard the voice, clear and cruel, a little amused - not human - and her heart was already triphammering so loud she could barely hear what was happening to the corpse on the table, the way it was boiling and melting, an unthinkable sludge flowing over the sides of the trolley. Even in silence she wouldn’t have noticed. All her attention was on where the voice had seemed to come from. The stuck drawer.
A minute passed.
Her back ached where she’d hit the drawers. There would be bruising.
You’re losing it, Heart still pounding, her breath an undignified series of gasps, she pulled herself to her feet - the drawer she was using for balance jumped open with a clatter - she screamed, propelling herself into the middle of the room, every muscle and nerve screaming with her.
An empty drawer, which is why it had been unlocked to slip in the first place. She shook her head violently, almost reaching up to rearrange her hair before remembering at the last second the state of her hands. She spent another minute doing deep breaths, watching the empty drawer, letting herself calm. There were jokes about this, the late night crack. She hadn’t ever thought she’d be one of those, but...the weird bodies, the awful secrets she carried around...well, maybe it was no surprise.
Kiara turned back just in time to see eight impossibly long things slip out of the stuck drawer to grip their surroundings. Fingers. Spider legs. The scream was back, strangled in her throat
the image of her fear like a noose around her neck, like the dead man, she would be dead soon
and this time her twitching muscles gave up rather than catapult her into a worse situation. Kiara slid slowly to the floor as the finger-things flexed and pushed and the drawer slid slowly open. What crawled out was...her eyes wouldn’t see. Everything swam and she had only impressions of impossible size and dexterity, something that could never have fit in the same space as a human body. Something that bent in ways and with noises it scraped away at her sanity to hear, until it had pulled itself all the way free and loomed over her, hunched over despite the high ceiling. Smiling.
That smile was like a crack into Hell. Something seemed to move in it - or was that her blurring vision, growing dark around the edges? The monster was holding something as it moved towards her. Stepped, shuffled, skittered. There was a high-pitched gibbering noise in her ears that she realized suddenly was coming from her throat.
”Oh, don’t you worry, kid. I don’t rile. Not here. Not for you. But, you know, I am here. And I am here for you.”
Something was wrong with the corpses in the background, the one that was half a flow of sludge and the mangled red thing - don’t look can’t look - that had been sharing its space with Smile. There was motion. Kiara would have thrown up, but she could barely keep her throat open enough to breathe. Smile was bending down further, its expression ruining her thoughts like a boisterous child running through spiderwebs. The fingers of one hand splayed hideously across the floor, then began to creep towards her. The other hand and its dripping burden levitated slowly towards her.
”It’s okay, kid. You’re not gonna die. Or, well...mm, you’re the professional. I’ll let you be the judge.” It giggled and the strength went out of her, muscles trying to gather themselves to flee, to do anything, simply collapsing at the sound. ”Normally I’d tell you a little about how special you are and leave you alone, but - things are changing, kid. Exciting times. So you’re even more special, because you’re going to help me with something. Or save yourself, if you prefer.”
Its fingers kept creeping. Its hand floated forward. The dark at the edges of her vision was spreading, swarming. The corpses were…
”New Steel Memorial Hospital. There’s a patient there, but not for long. They’re gonna find her, kid, and then they’re gonna find you and when that happens...well, you might not want to let it. I think you know how that ends.”
The red thing in the drawer. The bodies from Blackthorne. Smile grinned.
“You’ll have just enough time, after the adjustment. I’m making sure of that, kid. Don’t say I never did nothing for ya. You’ll still have to do a little legwork, of course, but you’re up to it, or you will be.”
Her eyes shifted slowly, unwilling, across the mind-murdering expanse of the thing’s body, towards the hand that was too, too close. Towards what it carried.
She couldn’t tell if the face had been male or female. It was coated in blood and worse, denying her even ethnicity. It was dripping and hanging loose from Smile’s fingers.
”You knew it’d come to this sooner or later, didn’t you? It’s time, kid. It’s time to face your fears."
The hanging tatters twisted in Smile’s grip, and stretched for her, and its hand rushed forward and slammed the gruesome mask over her own face - it was digging - she was screaming and she heard a door upstairs, her colleagues finally come to investigate. Smile rose to its full height. The corpses behind it - what was left of the one - were flopping onto the floor, towards the exit.
”We’ll clear the way for you, kid. You just make sure to clean up down here, okay? It’s what you’re good at.”
Its voice was impossibly far away. Everything was far away, she was hanging to the world by a thread - and then she slipped free, and the darkness took her at last. Recognizing her now, perhaps, as one of its own.
In collaboration with @Viatos
A work in progress.
Tentatively completed.
Zino Bertran exhaled slowly, deliberately. He rolled back to the heels of his feet and put his head in his hands. Now that the moment of danger was gone, the adrenaline left him. He left cold and distant; emotions bubbled in the back of his mind, threatening to break through. Instead, he just felt tired. The agent let the tension he in his shoulders out, unaware he had been carrying it. Zino’s head pounded. ‘Damn, I wish I had a cigarette…’
His brows furrowed. As he sat back, something brushed his hand. Mr. Bertan picked up his gun and slid it into the holster. He lingered longer on the mask and the security I.D. Silently, his mouth formed words but dared not utter them out loud. ‘Bureau of Extramundane Research and Mitigation.’ He picked up the slim card and looked at it.
It was plastic, encased in clear laminate and attached to a retractable string and clip. ‘Department of Homeland Security’ and ‘Central Intelligence Agency’ was printed in large letters across the top followed by ‘B.E.R.M’ in smaller text. Zino rubbed the I.D. between his thumb and forefinger. His own face stared back at him--young and smiling. He hardly looked like the same person. His finger traced over the name: Zino G. Bertran. The agent looked up to the spot where Koda had once stood. 'Could I have done that? Could I have killed him?'
Her lips moved, but he couldn't hear her speak. It was as if all of the sound and saturation had been sucked away. A young woman looked up at him with round, pleading eyes. She was bound to a table with leather straps securing her arms, legs, and head. Something in him softened, and he gave a sincere and reassuring smile. His hand touched her forearm. She smiled back.
Zino nodded, answering his own question.
'Remains remanded for testing.'
He clipped the identification badge to his shirt and tucked the mask away. His lips were drawn in a tight line, looking tired and grim. Bertran could hear her crying echo in his head. "Miss Stormy Jean," he leaned forward again and cupped her cheek, "You're probably going into shock. Listen, I--..." Zino stopped himself, frowning. She looked so vulnerable: tears pooled in her laugh-lines and streaked down her face; she had turned away from him, away from others; blood soaked her clothes and hair. Only her even breath gave him some hope for Stormy.
Her body had showed no signs of change. It had taken them weeks to find her remains, but they were pristine--warm, even. He looked over the notes from her autopsy, but there was no clear cause of death. They had succeeded, but at the cost of her life. Perhaps the strain of the journey was too great on her body, perhaps her unguided mind had simply snapped under whatever lay on the other side. He put his head on his desk and wept. Eventually, one of them would come back alive.
Mr. Bertran lifted Stormy off the ground. Her head rested against his shoulder, and his arms supported her under her back and knees. His face hardened as he turned to the rest of the group. Silvery eyes flicked over them, one by one. "Lives are at stake. Our lives, their lives... We can't waste any more time." He adjusted the woman in his arms but could not bring himself to ask for help. "We have to get to the Magician."
His brows furrowed. As he sat back, something brushed his hand. Mr. Bertan picked up his gun and slid it into the holster. He lingered longer on the mask and the security I.D. Silently, his mouth formed words but dared not utter them out loud. ‘Bureau of Extramundane Research and Mitigation.’ He picked up the slim card and looked at it.
It was plastic, encased in clear laminate and attached to a retractable string and clip. ‘Department of Homeland Security’ and ‘Central Intelligence Agency’ was printed in large letters across the top followed by ‘B.E.R.M’ in smaller text. Zino rubbed the I.D. between his thumb and forefinger. His own face stared back at him--young and smiling. He hardly looked like the same person. His finger traced over the name: Zino G. Bertran. The agent looked up to the spot where Koda had once stood. 'Could I have done that? Could I have killed him?'
Her lips moved, but he couldn't hear her speak. It was as if all of the sound and saturation had been sucked away. A young woman looked up at him with round, pleading eyes. She was bound to a table with leather straps securing her arms, legs, and head. Something in him softened, and he gave a sincere and reassuring smile. His hand touched her forearm. She smiled back.
Zino nodded, answering his own question.
'Remains remanded for testing.'
He clipped the identification badge to his shirt and tucked the mask away. His lips were drawn in a tight line, looking tired and grim. Bertran could hear her crying echo in his head. "Miss Stormy Jean," he leaned forward again and cupped her cheek, "You're probably going into shock. Listen, I--..." Zino stopped himself, frowning. She looked so vulnerable: tears pooled in her laugh-lines and streaked down her face; she had turned away from him, away from others; blood soaked her clothes and hair. Only her even breath gave him some hope for Stormy.
Her body had showed no signs of change. It had taken them weeks to find her remains, but they were pristine--warm, even. He looked over the notes from her autopsy, but there was no clear cause of death. They had succeeded, but at the cost of her life. Perhaps the strain of the journey was too great on her body, perhaps her unguided mind had simply snapped under whatever lay on the other side. He put his head on his desk and wept. Eventually, one of them would come back alive.
Mr. Bertran lifted Stormy off the ground. Her head rested against his shoulder, and his arms supported her under her back and knees. His face hardened as he turned to the rest of the group. Silvery eyes flicked over them, one by one. "Lives are at stake. Our lives, their lives... We can't waste any more time." He adjusted the woman in his arms but could not bring himself to ask for help. "We have to get to the Magician."
In
Against the Fangs of God (Mecha / Necromancy Interest Check)
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7 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Interest Checks
I'm in.
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