Post by ascendancy on May 28, 2009 21:01:37 GMT -5
I've got 65 Pages so far! ;D This is page one:
It was dark. Very dark. Lucille held her axe tightly. Very tightly. The group was near. Near what they want, and, as always, they would consequently encounter opposition. The air smelled of magic, and a chant was causing the shadows to grow and engulf everything within the room. “Does this seem familiar?” Robert asked. He had finally put away his bow and arrow, they would do no good here, and in its place was his shortsword. The tunnel they were in was getting smaller, and was now limited to two pathways; the one they were following and the one following them. At the head of this incredibly serious, incredibly determined group stood Lucille, a tall woman, tan, with dark brown hair, skin-tight leather armor, and a massive enchanted battleaxe .She is one of the few women who fight, and thus feels like she constantly has to prove her worth, even to those who already know that she is stronger than them; rumor has it that she tried to poison one of the white knights for hitting on her and calling her a prostitute.
What! A blast of heat! Lucille’s enchanted great axe, Dimitri, shielded her from the fireball blast. Four more shadows entered the room. Lucille charged, blindly swinging Dimitri. She felt resistance. Three shadows left. The others in her group stayed back, so as not to get in the way. Two left. Another fireball. Again, her axe came to the rescue. One left and the shadow was running away. Lucille turned to chase it but saw Robert’s shortsword sticking out its back.
The shadows melted away, leaving a poorly lit room with four torches; one on each wall. Only a little farther now. Matherson led the group, while Robert and Lucille stayed behind to mock their former adversaries, as always. (“Play dead. Gooood corpsey, good boy. Why are you hitting yourself? Why are you hitting yourself?) The only one who still called himself a mage was Joe. He had no last name, and carried no sword. But he didn’t mind. He says he prefers to be known for his actions, often being majestic, and very poetic in nature. As the group moved onward, Joe mumbled to himself incessantly about the night sky, occasionally taking the paper in his hand and scribbling something on it. They came to a much larger, circular room. This one was well lit with torches across the wall(s). Then they saw it. About twenty or thirty men, robed head to tow in black, waiting for them.
“Stand back!” Joe stepped forward. He began a poem about a rose and blood, but three sentences in, an arrow landed in the wall two feet away. “Fine, if you want it that way” he muttered. “… Then let’s play.” With one hand, he took out his book, flipped to the bookmarked page, and pressed his thumb on it. As his power flowed into the book, to turn into the spell on that page, the letters started glowing, and slowly, his other hand reached into his pouch and returned with a rose. He squeezed the rose, opening up his bloody hand. The blood flew into the air, and suddenly the room was filled with a field of blood-red rose petals. As they touched Joe’s adversaries, they turned to blood and spread across entire limbs, turning what ever they touched into blood. After the wailing died down, the group fully entered into a room covered in a mass of blood, missing body parts, and corpses. They continued onward, killing the few that remain, until they found the next room …
It was dark. Very dark. Lucille held her axe tightly. Very tightly. The group was near. Near what they want, and, as always, they would consequently encounter opposition. The air smelled of magic, and a chant was causing the shadows to grow and engulf everything within the room. “Does this seem familiar?” Robert asked. He had finally put away his bow and arrow, they would do no good here, and in its place was his shortsword. The tunnel they were in was getting smaller, and was now limited to two pathways; the one they were following and the one following them. At the head of this incredibly serious, incredibly determined group stood Lucille, a tall woman, tan, with dark brown hair, skin-tight leather armor, and a massive enchanted battleaxe .She is one of the few women who fight, and thus feels like she constantly has to prove her worth, even to those who already know that she is stronger than them; rumor has it that she tried to poison one of the white knights for hitting on her and calling her a prostitute.
What! A blast of heat! Lucille’s enchanted great axe, Dimitri, shielded her from the fireball blast. Four more shadows entered the room. Lucille charged, blindly swinging Dimitri. She felt resistance. Three shadows left. The others in her group stayed back, so as not to get in the way. Two left. Another fireball. Again, her axe came to the rescue. One left and the shadow was running away. Lucille turned to chase it but saw Robert’s shortsword sticking out its back.
The shadows melted away, leaving a poorly lit room with four torches; one on each wall. Only a little farther now. Matherson led the group, while Robert and Lucille stayed behind to mock their former adversaries, as always. (“Play dead. Gooood corpsey, good boy. Why are you hitting yourself? Why are you hitting yourself?) The only one who still called himself a mage was Joe. He had no last name, and carried no sword. But he didn’t mind. He says he prefers to be known for his actions, often being majestic, and very poetic in nature. As the group moved onward, Joe mumbled to himself incessantly about the night sky, occasionally taking the paper in his hand and scribbling something on it. They came to a much larger, circular room. This one was well lit with torches across the wall(s). Then they saw it. About twenty or thirty men, robed head to tow in black, waiting for them.
“Stand back!” Joe stepped forward. He began a poem about a rose and blood, but three sentences in, an arrow landed in the wall two feet away. “Fine, if you want it that way” he muttered. “… Then let’s play.” With one hand, he took out his book, flipped to the bookmarked page, and pressed his thumb on it. As his power flowed into the book, to turn into the spell on that page, the letters started glowing, and slowly, his other hand reached into his pouch and returned with a rose. He squeezed the rose, opening up his bloody hand. The blood flew into the air, and suddenly the room was filled with a field of blood-red rose petals. As they touched Joe’s adversaries, they turned to blood and spread across entire limbs, turning what ever they touched into blood. After the wailing died down, the group fully entered into a room covered in a mass of blood, missing body parts, and corpses. They continued onward, killing the few that remain, until they found the next room …