Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-25808351-20180615005427/@comment-25808351-20180921040403

The guards and Hunters all muster in front of the crowds, blocking Pramool from the frightened people. A lone officer steps forward to establish authority. “Y-you there, the city is experiencing a disaster and we are in the middle of finding civilians shelter. State your name and business.”

“Your orders to shelter vermin are unrelated to my business....” Pramool’s glare slowly shifts to the officer and a wave of malice can be felt by all as Pramool’s eyes glow, a sign of displeasure and anger. The officer feels the coldest chill pierce his body and soul. He sweats profusely despite the cold and chilling change in his body temperature. His eyes rattle in his skull as he trembles in fear, his mind blank as Pramool stares him down. Though ever fiber of his being screams to look away, his fear locks him in place.

His teeth chatter, his skin crawls, tears stream down his face and nothing but horrified futile attempts to speak leave his mouth. Finally Pramool looks away from the Vampire officer, and officer drops to his knees limply. He flops to the ground. Two of his men rush to his side, but despite their efforts to regain their superiors moral, all they got was incoherent babbling and a lack of acknowledgement. The men looked to Pramool with terror growing stronger in their hearts.

“I am to speak, and you all are to listen. I, am Pramool....” The ancient one plants his sword into the ground and rests his hands upon the pommel. Crowd chatters amongst themselves in disbelief, while others pray to their gods. “The legends surrounding me are no longer fictions you tell to your infants at night to make them obedient. I have returned after countless millennia to lead my children in savage war against all that the devine have conjured. Your world is but a staging point. A stepping stone in my conquest.”

“You have two months. Two months, to gather every warrior you can, fortify your strongholds.... and make peace with your gods. After that, I will destroy everything have, and everything you will ever have. Two months.... Oh and Armata, Marcus.... Thank you for your part in my resurrection.” Pramool is then consumed in the same pillar of flame. The flaming pillar shrieks like a Banshee, deafening all within the city walls before it shoots into the crimson churning clouds.

People look on at the scorched ground where Pramool stood. But slowly the entire present populace turns and looks upon the group, especially Armata.