Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-26288702-20180310221203/@comment-26288702-20180314234645

Armata slowly descends a giant spiral staircase down to the ground level of the mansion, his cloak trails behind him leaving a perfect trail in the settled on the floor. He moves emotionless past the halls and doors of his childhood, as if they weren’t his memories. He stops for a moment once he reaches the front door, he looks over his shoulder to make sure everyone is behind him. Then turns the door knob and opens it.

Tirush, Prad and Jorge are treated to a wonderful sight as the doors open. They are high, high upon a might hilltop overlooking a bustling city. The sky is a perfect blue with dark patches of clouds that occasionally blot the sun. The city itself is a interesting combination of standard medieval and a gothic castle. Homes and estates are tall and round like castle spires all protected by a mighty wall that would require and even mightier siege engine to breach.

The Vampire Lord wastes no time moving toward the city. He walks a path of stone steps that barely qualify as steps now. Centuries of zero maintenance and shifting ground has uprooted and deformed the symmetry the step’s once had. Armata continues his silent march, but looks over his shoulder back at his forgotten home as it retreats further into the distance.

The group keeps following steps down to the main road that leads to the city gates. Once his foot touches down on the cobblestone road, people immediately stare, not just at Armata, but Tirush, Praetor and Prad. Armata leads his group into the city square, the stares continue on as they make their way into the city.

Tirush can hear amongst the staring civilian’s chatter the word “anathema” being slung about frequently, alongside talks of Tirush herself.

“These people have never seen anyone like you Tirush. This world has no Wyvern’s.” Armata speaks up.