Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-26517142-20190421032824/@comment-30014014-20190510130706

" M̲̞̳a͖̪̟̞͈̲k̯̹̳̳̟̰̜o̱.̰̥ " A singular voice pours through the rift. One word, uttered in a gutteral and distorted tone. A veil pierces the rift, a presence within, to the alarm of the men turned to face it.

A presence, peering to their very essence, with eyes. Gilded light cutting amidst the thickest of powdered smoke. A hand breaches it, distorted, jagged. Followed...by an arm.

A foot.

A leg.

Arms.

Legs.

An outfit reminescent of a trench coat.

A mask...A man, now wholly visible to anyone and everyone. A man bearing the pound of gold on his shoulders, elbows, kneescaps and boots. His wrists and hood. His color is a stark domination of pink with an inner layer of orchid. Normally, a cause for admiration.

This, however, dies as the mask becomes the tribe squad's focal point. A blank mask with but two holes where the eyes lay. They shine in a malevolant gold-orange, directed solely at the man he called Mako, the distraughted leader.

"All-maker...curse you, Lyssa...we came with conquest in our mind...you send no warrior...but a butcher among your ranks...The Sanguine Comedian..."