Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-25038310-20160529172721/@comment-25038310-20160711142512

Sebastien, Richard and the Brass Knight had briefly halted, leaning on on top of the railing of the guard tower that offered a good view on the city's surroundings - the smooth green plains ending in a blurred expanse in the distance, the rest of the high wall extending out miles   north of them, on which the same small occasional tower stood like the one they were currently on. Inward, they were to see the outer and inner ring of the city - of which the former held the majestic castle Leofrick and the Saints' archives, a building more reminiscent of a palace other than a glorified library which held records of tales and knowledge ages past.

Sebastien beckoned the others with a wave of his hand, as he pointed at a small town which stood out like a black sore on green skin.

"T'is the town of Clinker that lies there," Richard said as Sebastien pointed the town out which was at the very foot of the High Wall. "Abandoned since ages past, if I'm not mistaken. For what reasons I shan't recall."

"A town? The buildings are black, as if a charred corpse. The tiles atop the homes black as well- what town would that be?" Sebastien asked the spurned knight, clearly more knowledgable, for whatever reasons, about the city.

"Are you curious? Perhaps a visit would be well in order." Richard suggested as he placed his boot on the railing, gazing at the surroundings.

"No-- we must continue and find the Saint, slay him, and return to the others, if they not be dead already." Sebastien told Richard. "Only a matter of time before-.."

http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=z43ZcdJ74AE

Sebastien was interrupted by the sound of drums and sinister chants hailing from the gloom on top of the High Wall, which had suddenly appeared the moment the group had taken their eyes from it.

As Sebastien turned to his left and searched for the source, he saw a large group marching towards the tower on top of which they were. These figures neared 6 to 7 feet tall, were draped in long black cloth, although some were half-naked, armed with wips or candlesticks. They chanted simultaneously in a religious matter, very reminiscent of a procesion - the figures in black mauled those lacking robes with their fists or injured their flesh with constant whips. enches from the back of the horde screamed, but it was difficult to make out if they were screams of pain and torture or a sick sadistic desire for more hideous and repulsive torment, strengthened that a giggle or a moan was heard almost right after.

Echoes of laughter or chuckling could be heard often, but the chanting of the strange verses in another language were the most prominent, and the ones that left a sickly expression on the spurned knight's face.

The blue-clad knight felt shivers running down his spine as he drew his greatsword. The group had the high ground, and it seemed the caravan of deacons did not have an immediate way of attacking- although they had yet to make their intentions clear to them.

They suddenly halted - the repulsive orgy of madness and self-harm stopped, the symphony and maddening song turned to an eery silence, as the clergymen took ahold of their hoods and pulled them down.

Their heads were horribly bloated and charred, and their empty sockets, although lacking eyes, looked at the Undead on top of the tower. They far outnumbered the group, about two dozen, if not more were hidden in the gloom that had masked their presence before.

"The caravan of the Saint." Richard said as he drew his longsword and shield, which seemed to be hewn from a boulder into a smooth and excellent tool of defense. A sense of dread descended upon the group. "And His cohorts and aegi."

The clergymen made way for a Company of Knights to cross through, who were clad in grey cloaks and black knightly armor with dark blue ornaments in a distorted but swirly motif across the torso and helm. Their fiery gaze could be seen through the horizontal slits in their helmets above their visors. Their weapons consisted of white blades that stood out in the singular color of the crowd - broadswords, straightswords and longswords alike they wielded - some using paired, a style unusual for warriors of their ilk, and others carried a shield in their offhand.

They were amalgamations of watchfulness and loyalty, red eyes piercing the very gloom surrounding them - Aegi of the caravan of the Dismal Saint atop the High Wall surrounding their Lords' Abode.

They simultaneously, as if with a shared mind, turned to the Undead atop the tower and merely watched them, unsurprised and not easily intimidated.

A cold air took ahold of the place; as the Dismal Saint's presence was known.

An embodiment of The Holy Yoke, a staunch follower of the High Priestess arrived.

A staunch figure, standing no less than three metres tall seemed to course through, as if carried by the damp air and the cold wind. His dark blue robes dragged behind his imposing and humongous body with its enlarged and elongated limbs clutching an ebony spear in the left hand and a silver catalyst, reminiscent of the branch of a white berk, in his right hand.

The Saint's face was hidden from sight by a sinister mask which resembled a pigeon's head, coated in brass and gold. His arms were as pale as the moons that shone at night, and his fingers resembled the talons of a vulture - long nails capable of ripping apart foes with His bare hands.

His torso had horrible contortions and the lower part of his robes were stained in brown muck which disgusted Sebastian due to the apalling stench, which he could smell even from afar, causing his mouth to become watery, feeling as if he could throw up at any moment.

The Saint, and his subjects halted as they stared at the group. Black dots in a soup of grey - Richard thought of it as a predator sizing up his prey and Sebastian, disheartened, was certain their loss was imminent. They were waiting for something, but what was unknown. Sebastian chuckled, seemingly beaten before the fight had even started.

____

Thrown around the cistern were the corpses of former members of the Shadowy fellowship of bandits and burglars - the stones were coated in a layer of blood and guts, and the place reeked of excrements and rotting intestines. The air was unusually stuffed, and a one sided battle had presumable been fought.

In the distance a two metre tall figure stood menacingly in the water with his back turned to the Undead. The figure seemed to nearly blend in to the shadows, nearly indistinguishable from the lack of light in the area. He seemed a knight, but on his back and dangling on his belt were a great many weapons - curved swords, axes, throwing knives, claymores, warhammers and daggers being only a few, clearly capable of wielding them all. A large black plume sprung from his helmet, and his weapons all bore the same crimson hue along his blades, indicating they were enchanted.

The figure held two corpses in both his hands, and had been dragging them towards the place hence he came before noticing the Undead. Pikes, peculiarly, pointed outward instead of inward adorned their bodies. Upon the Doyen spotting them, he dropped them and headed deeper into the sewers.

The corpses slowly made their way to the group from a distance, being carried by the gentle stream.

Josephine drew her spear as she looked on from a distance, not sure what to think. She was obviously weary, and did not made any attempt to attack yet. Something was clearly off.

However, Aerzed did not follow her example.

"What are you doing, you fools? The Doyen mocks us with his apathy towards me!" The redguard yelled as he darted across the cistern, heading straight for the Doyen who was out of sight, having turned the corner.

(Sorry for the wait. I will send ReD further instructions. He'll take it from here for the time being.

That youtube link? Its a clip from the seventh seal, awesome movie. Watch it and listen.)