Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-26288702-20161008211047/@comment-26288702-20161015232457

As the group puts Dunhurst behind them, a single bat hanging from a window frame takes flight. It flys high above Dunhurst and heads north. Over a small mountain path and into the dead lands it presses on, passing over a gray and decayed scenery of ominous trees and misshapen homes. Ahead is the kingdom of the Crimson Puppeteer. A massive, foreboding structure. It's towers jagged, it's walls thick and the Windows shine red with a hair raising red glow. Clouds circle its highest towers as if insnared or drawn in by them. The sun is nonexistent and heavily armored guards patrol the long bridges connecting the many spires. Giant blazing torches and fire bowls burn violently, casting a shade of orange upon titanic sculptures of beasts and warriors.

The bat climbs ever higher to a perfectly placed spire in the back of the massive castle. It stands proud and tall above the other towers, making them seem infantile. Behind the main keep is a straight drop into the rocky sea below, frigid water crashing up against the cliffs, the splash of sea water nearly reaching the walls of Armata's castle as it breaks against the rock. The bat flutters into an open window, inside a room with maroon colored fires raging in perfectly placed fire bowl throught the room. It lands on the shoulder of its master and chirps into his ear, before receiving a small petting and being sent on its way.

Armata smirks and rises from his throne.

Armata:"So, you've brought friends this time, Hound. How sweet that they would resign themselves to death with you. And you are just in time, I hope you enjoy the show I'm about to put on."

Armata strides to the balcony overlooking his domain. In the distance, the horizon is orange and loud earth rattling thuds echo out over shouts and chants. Hound and our heros, are not the only ones on the warpath.....