Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-27550231-20170522170711/@comment-28358106-20170524202317

The mottled browns and greens of the forest cathedral darken, the trunks of trees becoming towering pillars of black, the foliage withered and sharp. The pleasant loam of the forest floor moulders, becoming an open, upturned grave without end. The churning hoofbeats close in, until it is a dull rumble.

A shadow streaks around Jorge, circling, the voice of the horse shrieking in an echo through the black copse. A sharp rattle of harnesses and heavy armor follows the shadow as it circles him, black earth thrown up in its wake. Gradually, it slows to a trot, the horse shifting, its breath deep and labored.

The dark rider gazes down at Jorge from the depths of his helmet. 

There is a deep rush of wings, and dead leaves are kicked up in a cloud, covering Jorge. Slow, heavy footfalls accompany a severe drop in the temperature of the air. The figure emerges, the leaves settling.

'' Wounded, lost, and neglected? That is no way for a "champion" to be. ''

Jorge looks up to see the towering figure of Aidlis. She smiles as she walks, her pitch black eyes with red pupils burning with malevolence. She reaches over and strokes the mane of the horse.

''Beautiful...beautiful. And he could have been yours. So much could have been yours...''