bobalob57
Viking
Registration Date: 12-16-2007
Posts: 505
Location: uk, cheshire
Race in game: Absorber
Clan: NIGHT
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| a load of seemingly random stories |
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got a bit bored so decided to have a go at writin something.
it probably wont make sencse untill later, but all the events are connected
The rain lashed down, drenching the single traveller, despite the waterproof trench coat he wore. It had been a mistake from the start, no treasure could be worth this, the rain had started hours ago, slowly getting heavier, and colder, until now a chill penetrated him to the bone, and was sucking away his will to live. Around him he could hear the howling of the wind, the whisper of the rain, and suddenly, an all too real scream. Startled, the man spun around, running towards the direction of the sound. About 50 metres of the path, he came to a old oak tree, stunted by radiation and age, and beneath the tree, sat an old man.
“I heard someone scream, do you n where the sound came from?”
The old man sighed, and turned to face him.” what is it your in such a hurry to get too?”
“Someone screamed. I must help them”
Again the old man sighed “people die all the time in the wastelands. No one will miss one more”
The traveller spluttered in surprise “someone is dieing, and you think I should just leave them? You heartless bastard”
“Very well then. To prove that I am not as you say I will help you. I know who screamed, and I no where the are”
“Tell me then, so I can help them”
The old man laughed “foolish child, you do not understand, you cannot help them; after all, you can’t help yourself when you’re dead”
A bone sickening crunch filled the air, and where the adventurer had been, there was a pool of red blood, and shards of bone.
3 months earlier
there was a small settlement, a cluster of houses within a wooden wall. The settlement had not existed for long, only bout 27 days, but the locals where all agreeing hat something strange was happening. The happy atmosphere that they had all felt was slowly fading, and was being replaced by something much more dark and sombre. As the night began to fall, and the scorched and blackened moon, scarred by the ancestor’s war, began to rise in the sky, a perfect circle. As the night progressed, the villagers where waken, by scratching sounds, and whining, one, braver than the rest, walked over to the gate, and peering threw the small window he saw a small beggar shivering in the cold. Opening the gate, the man welcomed the beggar inside.
“What where you doing out there, you could have died!”
“I was lost, I didn’t no where to go. I saw this place in the distance and decided to head this way”
The man frowned “please if there’s anything we can do just ask”
A thoughtful look crossed the beggars face. “Well now that you mention it…”
The villagers gasped, as the beggar suddenly tore the mans head from his neck, and began to change. Its skin rippled and its eyes burned a poison yellow. In a matter of minutes the hunched up beggar had transformed into a beast standing 10 feet tall, its eyes burning yellow, its long snout full of razor sharp teeth, its body covered in short matted grey fur. As the terrified locals watched, the creature threw back its head and howled. In response, more howls filled the night air, and the wooden gates to the settlement burst open, revealing more werewolves. Upon sighting the villagers they leapt forward, tearing threw men women and child, their claws glinting in the moonlight, but soon becoming dulled by the red stain of death. Where moments before a small crowd has stood, now their was blood, gore and bone scattered across the frozen ground. Where flaming torches had been knocked over a small blaze was starting consume the small huts, driving more people into the creatures jaws. One man, obviously a have a go hero, ran at one of the creatures with a knife, but he may as well have attacked steel with cotton, the knife just shattered. As the werewolf turned to face him, the villager began to back away, to hide, but he was not fast enough. The werewolves claws ripped through him like a hot knife through butter, the mans screams turned to gasps as his blood drained away, his limbs were torn away and finally, his head was crushed in the jaws of the beast.
Alone on a hill nearby to the village, a lone figure, clasped in the black cape and silver skull mask of the assassins guild watched, his hands clasped around the daggers at his belt, his mind thinking of schemes to complete his mission.
1 year earlier
A thin mist covered the ground, snaking around trees in the park. In a small clearing, 2 men stood, their hands tightened around their firearms. A small crowd, friends and relatives had gathered, waiting to watch the dual. A man dressed in a black waistcoat stepped forward and began the countdown, as the 2 men walked away from each other. On the number 5 both turned, and fired. One bullet whizzed overhead, missing completely, while the other found its mark, ripping threw the soft flesh of the 2nd mans shoulder. He cursed, dropped his gun and drew a thin rapier. In response the other man did the same, and threw himself at the wounded man. Steel clashed against steel, and the thin blades performed a dance of death, as they flickered together one suddenly launched forwards, piercing its opponent’s soft flesh, and stilling his heart. The crowd gasped in shock, before some broke out cries of joy, while other began to cry. At the edge, a furious looking young man reached for his mobile phone.
“Do you no of a man called davros?”
“Yes my lord”
“I want him gone.”
There was a short hiss of static on the phone, before the voice spoke again
“It will be done my lord”
This post has been edited 2 time(s), it was last edited by bobalob57: 10-19-2008 22:03.
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