Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-26288702-20180310221203/@comment-26288702-20180503032814

Armata does not respond Tirush, instead choosing to keep his focus on the cathedral. Gusts of wind occasionally rush through the abandoned town. With each breeze the town makes an eerie cacophony of noises. Clattering window shutters that hang loosely from their hinges, wind chimes ring, but their sounds are dull and unpleasant. Dark clouds blot out the sun’s light as the group passes through.

“That Tirush does not know of what she speaks.” Acheron leans in to Armata, keeping his voice down.

“If you are to speak of Tirush, speak. Hiding your words from her ears is beneath you Acheron.” Armata looks over his shoulder.

“I-I simply do not wish to start a conflict.”

“Then keep your thoughts to yourself.” Armata stops, and looks down. A small doll lay trampled in the mud. The Vampire Lord reaches down and excavates it from the muck. He looks over it, observing it’s wear.

The doll is small and fits easily in Armata’s hand. The stitching at the doll’s arms are tearing, and mud soils it’s once bright golden woven yarn hair.

“Armata?” Alburn stops.

“I wager this doll meant a lot to a young girl not too long ago... Here all of it lays trampled into ground. It’s purpose lost.” Uncharacteristically, Armata tucks the doll into a pocket inside his coat, then continues forward.