Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-25808351-20190114001113/@comment-30014014-20190204062617

Marcus' words paint into Prad's view, twisting them...

From above, his sight count the impromptu change in the air's color, from a neutral ambience to a rust shade. A harsh congregation of rust colors. With them, comes the smell. A smell of iron imbued in choking smoke. The wall have disappeared under his violet sight, replaced with a lightless dark. Gravels and mountains scratch the heavens behind.

From the middle, the winds turn more hostile, swirling around the man named Marcus as jagged make-belief of hands grasping at his very person. Hands of desceased, hands of forgotten. Whispers of misery, of accusations and scowling vengeance, all directed at him.

From under...skulls. Piles of skulls stretching form under his feet. Mountains, made of the grisly remains, all washed in the rust red. Some intact, some crushed. Other silent, other speaking in whispers. His feet clamp over a small piles, all moaning in dark misery. Blaming him for the sins of the father.

A horrid picture amidst others that have haunted the young man ever since his arrival. From Armata's dark sky of crimson corpses to the heavens, to Imperia's cell-like glitter of gold hindering the hanged men, to the young Layoka's inexperience twisted into sadism, forever feeding on fresh desceased smeared in their own lifeforces, piled up on one another.

Visions, cursed visions of a primeval entity currently standing behind him, feeding the young Prad what he sees in them. "Trust me..." he speaks, his voice dampened by a tone washed in all-too familiarity in this sort of event "I can imagine...how it's like..."

"This one places the blame of the dead for its beast progenitor, ever so blind to its own bloodlust. Literally blind to the heap of corpses its family has manifested over its life, piling up under its feet. Is that what you fail to see, animal?"