((Part of a little story bit from another character's perspective that I wrote last week in the case of being unable to update due to lazy or tired.))
Prologue: Desolation.
The dry, wind howled across the blackened wasteland. The scent of smoke and burnt meat drifting in its wake. The ruins of a once proud city squat haphazardly on a desolate hill. The charred corpses of men and machine lay tossed about as if they were toys, broken and discarded by a vengeful child.
If anyone was listening, they would hear the sound of a spade hitting the rocky soil, the occasional grunt from exertion, a heavy panting, and occasional interludes of sobbing against the howling of the winds,
If anyone chose to investigate this, they would find a young boy, nearing their teens, clothes and skin blackened by the ashes of men and their creations. Crying silently and as he digs a shallow grave, the corpse of a wizened old man laying beside the hole. In death the left half of the old man’s head appears to have been crystalized. If an observer chose to examine the crystal, they would have noticed that it glowed slightly blue and appeared to have a blackish fog floating within it. From the way them old man’s body is contorted, one can tell that he died slowly and painfully.
The boy finishes digging and puts down his shovel. Tears streaming down his cheeks, he quietly sobs. “Master Nelvun..”
The boy kneeled next to the corpse before he whispering. “Their temples will be stained crimson Master.”
He then pushed the corpse into the narrow trench he dug, closing its eye. “I’ll resurrect you when I can..”
“Good bye Master.” The boy whispered as he stood.
The boy bent over to grab the shovel before righting himself. He walked to the pile of rocky soil slowly began burying the old withered corpse.
Author
Topic: Miasmatic. (Plot!) (Read 24046 times)