3rd Searing 4622
Salen spent the night until dawn dreaming. It was a pleasant dream, although it wasn't the usual dreaming but an homage to Remnomancy, a powerful magic associated with dreams, thoughts and illusions. However, he had explored his own mind so many times and watched how it had evolved into what was a shifting hall of mirrors; each memory shifted as Salen's mind evolved with newer memories, including of the experience he had with those two gnomes. They were strange creatures to him, but he wasn't the type to break a promise. Although, there are some promises that he had to break for his own gain.
Finding a chariot for the three of them.
Salen had awoken from his dreamlike state to the morning. He found himself next to the man that he had bedded that night for a quiet night of sleep. The night had earned him a slight soreness from the debaucherous pleasures he had gained. It wasn't his fault he was so lustful, the blight had either cursed or blessed him to be like that. He turned to the man beside him who appeared to be in a sleeping state, still blissful after an precious night of sex.
It was time to take what was rightfully his.
The chariot.
Salen channeled his ether and casted Devise, manipulating the light photons to create Umbraplasm; he then compressed the gravitational darkness into a Compass: a conduit for the dark energy that he had made. As soon as he was ready, he weaved the Umbraplasm from the Compass into sheets of dark silk-like fabric as he climbed onto the man in front of him, laughing "Good morning, handsome... I'm sorry to announce it's your last day alive..." He proceeded to gag the male with the fabric made from the Umbraplasm, before drawing more the sheets around the male, mummifying him in pure darkness. He struggled and screamed as much as he could, but the desperate cries were muffled.
He took the keys to his chariot, but as he left the door to the old hideout he found himself in, he grabbed a canister of wurmblood and doused the man in it. The man screamed even more desperately but noone would hear him, noone would see him. It was as if noone cared.
Natural selection.
"Goodbye..." He took his lighter, burnt a piece of paper and threw it on top of the doused man. The cries of agony wailing from him came as he left the building and jumped on the four-tiered chariot he had gotten himself, before realising that it had no wurmblood.
"Fuck!" He slammed and kicked at the chariot "Why does SHIT always have FUCKING happen!" He shouted expletives with a low grumble and an aggressive tone, head in his hands as if he had fucked up.
Come on it was only a small error.
He looked at the building; it was burning down and would leave a huge signal from miles ahead. He jumped off the chariot continuing to walk a mile forward as he clutched his waterskin in his hand as he took a seperate drink of it. Empty. He sighed and rolled his eyes, trekking further into the desert as he could. He was close by to what seemed like a makeshift camp in the badlands, although dangerous to camp out in open territory at this time.
Corruption storms were quite common in Daravin, meaning that there would be a chance that the patrons here are blown away, smashed into magithermal pieces and rusted in this land of decay "Knock knock." He shouted as he appeared to be rugged and exhausted from all the trekking he had done in the badlands. It was hard work, trying to navigate such desolate land, only to be torn "I think some quaint hospitality is needed here, whoever you people are. Hermits, travellers, I don't care." He said as he tilted his head "I promised two pretty gnome ladies a favor, it'll be grateful if you could help me get back on my feet, so I can find them. I'm sure they can't be far..." He said, looking around wondering if they've gone in their tents.
Salen spent the night until dawn dreaming. It was a pleasant dream, although it wasn't the usual dreaming but an homage to Remnomancy, a powerful magic associated with dreams, thoughts and illusions. However, he had explored his own mind so many times and watched how it had evolved into what was a shifting hall of mirrors; each memory shifted as Salen's mind evolved with newer memories, including of the experience he had with those two gnomes. They were strange creatures to him, but he wasn't the type to break a promise. Although, there are some promises that he had to break for his own gain.
Finding a chariot for the three of them.
Salen had awoken from his dreamlike state to the morning. He found himself next to the man that he had bedded that night for a quiet night of sleep. The night had earned him a slight soreness from the debaucherous pleasures he had gained. It wasn't his fault he was so lustful, the blight had either cursed or blessed him to be like that. He turned to the man beside him who appeared to be in a sleeping state, still blissful after an precious night of sex.
It was time to take what was rightfully his.
The chariot.
Salen channeled his ether and casted Devise, manipulating the light photons to create Umbraplasm; he then compressed the gravitational darkness into a Compass: a conduit for the dark energy that he had made. As soon as he was ready, he weaved the Umbraplasm from the Compass into sheets of dark silk-like fabric as he climbed onto the man in front of him, laughing "Good morning, handsome... I'm sorry to announce it's your last day alive..." He proceeded to gag the male with the fabric made from the Umbraplasm, before drawing more the sheets around the male, mummifying him in pure darkness. He struggled and screamed as much as he could, but the desperate cries were muffled.
He took the keys to his chariot, but as he left the door to the old hideout he found himself in, he grabbed a canister of wurmblood and doused the man in it. The man screamed even more desperately but noone would hear him, noone would see him. It was as if noone cared.
Natural selection.
"Goodbye..." He took his lighter, burnt a piece of paper and threw it on top of the doused man. The cries of agony wailing from him came as he left the building and jumped on the four-tiered chariot he had gotten himself, before realising that it had no wurmblood.
"Fuck!" He slammed and kicked at the chariot "Why does SHIT always have FUCKING happen!" He shouted expletives with a low grumble and an aggressive tone, head in his hands as if he had fucked up.
Come on it was only a small error.
He looked at the building; it was burning down and would leave a huge signal from miles ahead. He jumped off the chariot continuing to walk a mile forward as he clutched his waterskin in his hand as he took a seperate drink of it. Empty. He sighed and rolled his eyes, trekking further into the desert as he could. He was close by to what seemed like a makeshift camp in the badlands, although dangerous to camp out in open territory at this time.
Corruption storms were quite common in Daravin, meaning that there would be a chance that the patrons here are blown away, smashed into magithermal pieces and rusted in this land of decay "Knock knock." He shouted as he appeared to be rugged and exhausted from all the trekking he had done in the badlands. It was hard work, trying to navigate such desolate land, only to be torn "I think some quaint hospitality is needed here, whoever you people are. Hermits, travellers, I don't care." He said as he tilted his head "I promised two pretty gnome ladies a favor, it'll be grateful if you could help me get back on my feet, so I can find them. I'm sure they can't be far..." He said, looking around wondering if they've gone in their tents.