Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-25808351-20181211225019/@comment-30014014-20181226064653

"Innocent...the young ones, innocent? I that why every one I lay eyes on on, all I can hear is the unending wails of the dead behind them? But...it matter not, does it? You washed your hands off of the deceased in your mind, as one could expect. As the rest does from this 'place' you named Tepes. All is forgotten, it matters no longer, to you, nor they..."

'"But it does, to me. I have not forgotten. Their memories, the last of the proof of their presence...and wrenching deaths. And so, I do not forgive, as they their pleads came without mercy. You...and your kind, and the beastkin...None have offered mercy, none have offered shelter. Butchery, savagery, suffering. These are what you offered to us. And the dead...they went out, weeping and begging". '

Host Prad remains sitting, his eyes now gleaming in a blinding light. The room around them darkens to the impossibility of seeing even the furniture. Slowly, entities rise to the surface, things ancients. The dead, beyond the zombies. Specters devoid of visages, bearing a cross on the front instead. Tall ones, short ones. Men, women, children. All silent, standing in a lined hall, in the thousands, their heads sulken down "You've built a kingdom out of their bones. A society out of the macabre display of tally kills. And now, you tell me you washed your hands of their plight. And you muster the confidence to speak of redemption. By forgetting them. No rite, no peace, no funeral..."

The thousands turn their cross-bearing faces to Armata, ever silent in their act "Go ahead, undead one. Tell them. Tell them to 'get over it'. All the misery, the death, the destruction, tell them you have turned a leaf. Tell them the other animals have done the same. If you can get their approval, then I shall lent my unbridled hand to this genesis your kind have roused from sleep, a war of your making. One you have brought down by casting the lives of my kin with no care to the aftermath. Until then..."

Host Prad shrugs by the shoulders and arms, not a single ounce of care seeping from this possessor at the utterly of Pramool "As you mentioned, I return: I'll leave you to ponder on this little dialogue..."

The specters have their gazes fixated on him, most recongnizing their ancient killer. Yet they remain, likely under host Prad's words. An eerie silence compounded by cold winds...