Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-25038310-20160209213345/@comment-7203512-20160221094403

Aelwin woke up in a grave, visions of rotten flesh flashing before him as he tried to break out in panic. He tried to scream to no avail, coughing up a mouthful of blood. Making his way out through the dirt, the terrified youngster found himself in an unknown place. He witnessed a bloodcurdling sight: his skin was black and dead, gangrenes on his fingertips ached as they used to before. He found it hard to breathe yet again, feeling just like he did when the group of adventurers he holed up with left him for dead by a tree, despite him pleading for a mercy killing. He felt the very same pain throughout his body, as if a hundred razor-sharp knives stabbed him.

He coughed up some blood on the dirt before noticing the orb of fire from a distance. Drawing his rusty blade, his hands shaking in fear, he prayed for salvation yet hoped for the worst, and made several fragile steps towards the Undead.