Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-26288702-20180310221203/@comment-26288702-20180330211335

“While Praetor and Prad scout our flanks, we four will walk straight into the keep.” Armata immediately steps forward and begins walking toward the fortress. The vast structure is in rapid decay from centuries of neglect and abandonment. The draw bridge sits in pieces, parts floating in the moat. The shredded banners gently sway in the growing wind, while dark clouds soon blot out the sun.

Torches bolted to the walls are lit, signaling that the castle has been visited recently. Cages turn, shift and sway with the breeze, and howling of the wind sets the tone of the groups plunge into this forsaken fortress. Armata and Acheron float over the water and to the other side, while Alburn hops from one bare stone to the next. Once inside, Alburn lifts his rifle, and begins scanning everything, like a modern day soldier behind enemy lines.

Armata and Acheron walk nonchalantly regardless of possible dangers, and directly into the open door of the fortress keep. The moment they pass the threshold of the door, both Armata and Acheron halt. Tirush’s keen sense of smell understands immediately why. The scent of blood is thick. So thick in fact that it’s hard to breath for Alburn. The marksman hunter covers his nose with his sleeve and gags repeatedly.

“That smell. It’s fresh, someone is here.” Acheron observes.

“That is obvious. We must move quickly, this smell is making me thirsty...” Armata replies. The group follows the smell, up the stairs of the spire. For minutes they climb the steps, each foot fall the smell gets stronger, and the scenery gets more intense. The steps are soon covered with fresh flow blood that is slowly pouring down the steps. Armata doesn’t hesitate to investigate, and continues on. His boots splash into the thick crimson liquid, until the group is faced with a young girl.

Her corpse is shredded, and her face is so mangled she cannot be identified. Her blonde hair is sullied by the overwhelming blood, and her remains are scattered about the staircase.

“.....” Armata kneels down in the blood, and places his index finger into it, his eyes fixated on the body.