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File: bava tudor.jpg (29 KB, 400x267)
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"It's a strange feeling when everything that was brought up over many years can be lost in less than one. Quite strange how life has a cruel sense of humor, but sometimes you have to take the good with the bad...I have one, but not the other." Words to remember, surely, especially when considering how quickly things can go downhill and not stop. You can of course get in the way to make it stop, but the only thing that has seemed to accomplish is getting crushed at the mercy of...the never ending circumstance. At this point, it's probably better to either embrace it, or step back and watch, praying until it's all over. Prayers can only accomplish so much.

One hundred years ago, the empire was forged with the mightiest heat from a young king's heart as he carved up the lands with his military in tow, a thousand men strong. He brought not only unity, but also peace. He died young, leaving only a small lad barely at the age of 11 to rule, who continued doing so for many years. Being a king was all he knew. He soon died of what was described as a mysterious plague, the original stronghold abandoned, with everything at the mercy of the elite. A young kingdom that's barely one hundred years young, and it's already collapsing at petty internal warring.

Everything can only get worse now it seems. At the midst of warring, people die, yet not truly die. Upon death see those that have fallen merely become constricted with death, yet not truly embraced it.

"I recall holding the hands of my sister who was under the gaze of death's shadow. She tightened her grip as she looked at me with her empty pools within her head, looking past me to something I couldn't see. 'I am death, but I am not welcome back home to the embrace.' I had to kill her myself, unfortunately." The man kicked back in his chair with it creaking in protest, his dirty boots on the tables dripping with mud. The man wore but the bare essentials. A white woven cloak, filled with holes, and stains of the outsides and fuel of life still dawning a faint shine draped over his shoulders. His shoes were thick, came up the quarter of his shins, with gloves made similarly that protected his hands. His head void of the youthful mane, as it instead migrated underneath his chin and nose. He routinely shifted his grey eyes, attempting to cut through the darkness that the candles on each of the tables couldn't cut through. Men crowded around him, more of a group young stallions than he was with their golden locks bouncing off their shoulders, while his dark brown hair didn't have such a luxury.

"That white cloth on your back tells some stories I see."

"Not much more than I can tell. It's been with me for awhile." The man replied.

"Fair enough. Need one for the weather...it's about time for the cold to settle in."

"I hear that, friend."

The young stallion's words ceased as his face curled up, and he retreated to a small table with a stone mug. (Cont.)
He took the handle and spilled the liquid into his gullet, before slamming it down violently on the table. Such a noise that would be disrupting, providing had it not been hushed by the murmuring of others.

More men would occasionally wander in, dripping with water, blood on their hands, their varying weapons their waste also stained. They simply got a drink from the barrel in the corner and seat themselves, not looking at each. They're their own company. The booming sound of the outside crept underneath to the whole room.

Perhaps it's time to leave.
>Go outside
>Get a drink with these men
>Get a drink and sit alone
>>Go outside
Post incoming. I was somewhere else when I posted this.
"It's about time I head up..." The man got up from is seat, pushing it back the table slowly in order to minimize what noise he could've made. Not that it really mattered, seeing however everyone were either too engrossed into their own thoughts, each other or their drinks. "He looked at his mug that still had about half left, and grimaced with the weak bitter smell that still managed to sting his nostrils. "...Hm."

He proceed towards the doorway that separated him, as well as the others from the elements and the outside, with it being repeatedly bombarded with the soft drops of liquid rain, and now clattering from the sudden gusts of wind. The clattering was enough to get some people's attention, but only for a moment as they returned to drowning themselves into their temporary pleasures. The wood of the door felt damp yet still retained it's coarse, rough texture. He pushed it open and was greeted with a torrent of the night storm, as it picked up in intensity, turning the sidewalks and roads in front of him into steadfast streams. To the right of him was a hood that was somewhat shielded by the downpour by an adjacent building, along with axe, protected by a case of hide that stood the test of whatever liquid that has fallen upon it. He picked both up, the hood casting a shadow upon his face, with the axe and case hoisting snug onto his waist. Everything in front were masked with the darkness of night, and the veil of rain, with only the few odd buildings ahead having a candle lit in the window, only to be put out shortly after, as the night overcame that spot.

Underneath his clothing, he felt sticky, he felt hot. His fingers twitched as he took the first steps forward, feeling out for whatever he couldn't see with his left hand, while promptly putting his right hand by his waist. He looked around hastily, the only things in his ears were the rain, his own footsteps, and his rapid breathing.

He heard a splash

He quickly inhaled and placed his hand on the axe, looking in all directions, seeing only the occasional indoor light, with the light not generous enough to light up anything else.

>Who's there?!
>Better...keep moving.
>Approach the sound silently
>Approach the sound silently
>>Better...keep moving.
Splashes happen. Water, sound - common occurrence...
Get somewhere warm quickly. That damn rain.
Rolled 51 (1d100)

Post incoming soon. Rolling to determine which one.
He removed the axe from his hoist, adjusting it in his hand as he approached the sound. He can only rely on where he heard it, and not much else, as everything in front of him may as well be invisible as the blended together with the darkened surroundings. He held his breath, carefully placing his feet on the ground in front of him with each step, not to trigger the splash noise from the numerous puddles that surround him. He arched his arm up, placing his axe at the same height as his face, his arm shaking violently, and him tightening is grip. He must be close to the sound now...it was in front of him, ready to be silenced. Musn't take any chances...may they be friendly, let them speak now or forever let them lie in peace.

"W-wait..." A raspy quiet voice was enough to break through the grating and repetitive sounds of the unrelenting rain. "I-I...mean no harm...I promise you...wherever you may be." The raspy voice was also somewhat deep, perhaps a man? An aged man? Nonetheless, the voice coughed and wheezed, and before another splash in it's direction.

The man, lowered his weapon, but not much, he approached, but not swiftly, having his right foot slowly glide over the ground until it hit an obstruction. He looked down, but saw only a faint outline of a smallish figure. moving hazily. "S-...State your name."

"My name...er...Hamlem Rochen...please, son...I don't mean to scare you. It's been...so long...and I was only greeted with the smell of decay...nothing has changed. One can only hold out for so long...then came night, then came rain...and..." The voice hesitated, before letting out a small gasp. "Oh dear, you're outside. It just hit me...I won't keep you son. I came outside to enjoy it one last time...whether it was ideal is a story I'll never tell, but it's something. Now I ask for you a request, huh? I want you to kill me. I'm...tired...I refuse to go on much longer, it's best that I don't. I'd rather be remembered for me, than something else eh? Kill me...take whatever's in my pockets and be done." The voice then proceeded to cough violently, nearly to the point of retching as it struggled to get out something that's probably no longer there before letting out a small chuckle.

The main looked down on the outline of a person. He felt is foot a bit over him, receiving no protests and only felt damp clothing, and the stiffness of what's inside. He placed his axe hand to his side, as he contemplated the soul.

>kill him no questions asked
>"What happened to you?"

(Is this okay, lads? I apologize for the very late response.)
>"What happened to you?"
>kill him
Ask him what happened to him while you take a test swing with your axe, the behead him in one strike. We could use some coin. And we have to get out of this damn rain.

>Is this okay, lads?
Slow moving quests are ok :)
You the scientist from Youtube? What the hell are you doing here?
Not him, actually. Never heard of him in fact. Just wanted to do the name.
>>"What happened to you?"
Rolled 91 (1d100)

"What happened to you?" The main said in a soft voice.

The person cleared their throat once more, attempting to turn to face the man, the shuffling making the light accumulated droplets of rain on him fall down to welcome the ground below. "Just an average person. Someone who's...satisfied with their short life. In times like these, it's best that people just accept fate. Best not to keep her waiting, despite her patience that can last several lifetimes." The coughing continued, but softer and followed by forced, low exhales. "Ah yes...I can feel it...please, do what you have to do if you'd please."

The man felt around with his right foot once more, attempting to outline the figure somewhat, the rather thin figure, but nonetheless he was able to pinpoint of what he assumed to be the head. He kicked it lightly, and received a short gasp in response. He bent over, removing his gloves and felt around the area to confirm that it was a head that he made contact with, and sure enough he felt hair. Very loose, and while certainly wet it was coarse, and also rough, something that the rain's moisture wouldn't be able to save, especially at this time. He brought the axe in close, slowly making his way down the head of the person's body, to the approximate location of the neck.

His grip tightened, the person's breath picked up. He raised his axe, the person's breaths were now audible. He took a deep breath, the person's breaths ceased. He brought down the axe towards the neck, feeling as it effortlessly sliced through the man's tissue and muscle, yet only halfway. Only halfway. His spine felt cold. He could see nothing, yet it also felt like something was there. The darkness and the rain blinded him, blinded him from what he did not want to see.

Gagging was heard. Then choking, Attempts to clear something out of his his throat that wasn't there. The gasping continued. The gagging went on. He placed the hand towards the person's neck, he felt the blood flow. He felt his own eyes flow...or maybe it was just the rain. They flowed together, and fell together...or maybe he just has no more tears.

The gagging ceased, as did the gasping.

Finally silence.

>Take his things
>Walk away without a word
>Stay where you are

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