Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-25808351-20181211225019/@comment-30014014-20190103081225

Prad leaves the tome of the demonology back to its place. He knows where his next interest lies. One see through to glance, though his feet shake at him. His mind screams at him.Hus eyes blur his vision. Every inch of his body tells him the very same message...

''Do not cross that threshold! Turn back! Danger! Durga---''

Years tethered to the afformated human he knows only as the man in the wall, Prad's curiosity demands but a glance at the sort of era he walked in. Surely it couldn't be so bad...

Flipping the directory, Prad is not welcomed with the letter C where he should have been pointed. Instead, the letter V comes about "V? What for? No, I'm looking for the circadian".

No matter how many times he flips the pages, the same letter comes back to him. His resistence is worn down, boots flopping the floor in the search for the V section "Fine, fine, a quick glance then I am gone".

Walking among the tiles, he ends up in the sought section. His eyes manage to find the mystery tome. Pulling it from its shelf, Prad is left confounded by the singular word mapped on the cover "Vritra? Huh, what could that be---

He flips the hard cover open.

And it happens...

His eyes turn violet in a violent tide. A malevolant aura washes form the tome itself to Prad, refusing to be dropped. It binds the young man in place, forcing his eyes open to the content within: ancient language. Language from a distant past, written in harsh tone. A HATING tone...

  -͎̣͖-̫̗̻͚̬̫̦-͓̖-̲̭̙ ̗͕̠̦͈-̻͕-͙̹̪͚̯̞ͅ ̻͔-̰̦͕-̰-̘-̻̬͔--̲̲͓̮͙͙͇-̗͖͕̳-̺̝̝̜: false humans

They came unnoticed by the from behind, by those from the front, and those in the middle.'' This place was to be ours. They had fled its lands. It was to be ours.''

''We celebrated. Grog. Meat. Songs. Dance. Our green tide flaunting our righteous might.''

The came unnoticed by the darkness of the night and the light of the pale body.

''We roused our arms up, for tomorrow, the last piece of land is to be ours, forever. Sealed off to the tribes. Sealed off to the other beasts. Sealed off to the elves. Sealed off to those who fled.''

They came unnoticed by our scouts, our warriors, our shamans.

''Cloaked in the fur of a slain beast, he cast the bones on the green flame as we all stare with expectations. Fortune. Glory. Battle. Control.''

''It shaped a grotesque symbol of those who fled us. An olive branch. A relic of a pink-skin tribe from the distant past. An offering of peace among them. Is that why they fled? Or was it something else?''

''We laugh at their weakness, their cowardice. But then, shouts, warnings. I saw something vaguely bipedal. I smell something vaguely metal. I felt something vaguely arcane.''

''A pale body walks form the distance, barely lit by the pale light. We settle this the matter of who gets to slaughter the pink-skin, as only one of them would be this scawny. An easy task for this entire army of O---A demon of man is coming!!!''

A demon of man is coming?--

''A scream. Then two. Then four. And it goes. The worst screams my flabby ears can endure. The screams of mighty warriors slaughtered in the most horrid way, ways we wouldn't consider for our worst enemy. Screams of warriors tortured in the instant. Warriors ripped apart, a fate worse than death''. ''Warriors begging, pleading in our tribal tongue. Its black hand ignores their plead and pulses in a cursed light.''

''It's face is...none-existant. A shroud of darkness covers its feature. It does not have any face. It does not grant my fellow a warrior's death. It does not fight. It just...butchers.''

''These warriors...these Orcs I've fought with from our childhood. It send them away. A screaming pit of countless essences. Is this hell? Is this...a demon of man?---a demon of man---A demon of man!''

The demon of man is here!The demon of man in here!The demon of man in here!The demon of man in here!The demon of man in here!The demon of man in here!The demon of man in here!The demon of man in here!The demon of man in here!The demon of man in here!The demon of man in here!The demon of man in here!The demon of man in here!The demon of man in here!The demon of man in here!The demon of man in here!The demon of man in here!The demon of man in here!The demon of man in here!The demon of man in here!The demon of man in here!The demon of man in here!The demon of man in here!The demon of man in here!The demon of man in here!The demon of man in here!The demon of man in here!The demon of man in here!The demon of man in here!The demon of man in here!The demon of man in here!The demon of man in here!

Images of a man in metal, pulsing in violet. Stirring images flashing in Prad's eyes. Violent images. Images of death and misery. Carnage wrought in such a way as to have Orcs plead for their lives, for their souls. A faceless entity shaped in a human body, warped in metal. Adorned in a singular gauntlet. The speaker of this tome, impaled, held high, his soul, damned forever.

The book burst open in darkened energies, all while the young Prad, shocked and confounded by the images and words, throws it away "This book...it's cursed!". It burns of itself on the floor, seemingly playing the same images they burned Prad's mind with. It burns with a thick violet, slowly...