Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-26288702-20180310221203/@comment-26288702-20180512034411

“Come then. We must find a place to rest for the time being. There must be someplace in this village spacious...”

Armata pauses to look a crumpled building for a moment.

“And sturdy enough for us to rest in. Acheron, Alburn. Go scout us a suitable place.”

“You do not give me orders, Anathema. Though I will oblige you as it seems difficult for Praetor to move.”

Like a gray streak, Acheron zips out of sight. His speed unsurprising for race. Alburn shoulders his rifle and spits on the ground.

“Right. We’ll find something warm and cozy for everyone.” Alburn walks off with his rifle at the ready. He slowly strides down an abandoned street, shifting his attention from home to home as he passes them.

He suddenly stops as he spots an abandoned farmhouse, it decaying image suitable for the village it resides in. Alburn approaches the farmhouse cautiously. Each step is loud and alerting from the mud that coats the ground. The wind howls over the home, and it creaks eerily. He slowly pushes open the front door with his rifle barrel. The door opens, casting a faint light on everything. Alburn begins scoping the house. Opening doors, checking rooms and searching for essentials. After checking everything but the upstairs, he heads back toward the group.