Post by Edward Threnody on Jun 15, 2010 11:42:16 GMT -5
As the Forsaken male entered through the veiled entrance of Wayfarer's Rest all heads swiveled in its direction. The Sin'dorei patrons all sensed the necromantic magics that lingered around him like a foul scent. The innkeeper could see the distaste on the faces of his regulars, the glares of barely concealed hostility. No one would protest his being here of course, out of respect for Lady Sylvanas and her new 'people'. But that didn't mean that he was a welcome addition to the inn. If the undead wretch had noticed, it gave no indication. It stood probably no taller than 5'6, but its slouched posture and hunched shoulders made it difficult to guess its true height. Gaunt and haggard, it seemed to be all flesh and bone, no discernible muscle to be seen.
Shuffling his way across the room, the Forsaken seated itself in a high-backed chair close to where a string quartet played. The musicians cast weary glances in his direction as his bones crackled while it crossed its legs on the oversized cushion, the chair seeming to swallow the creature up. Sighing to himself, the innkeeper forced a welcoming smile and went to take the it's order.
As he approached, the innkeeper caught the faint odour of decay that afflicted all Forsaken. Another scent, a sickly sweet floral fragrance, attempted to mask the smell of rot, but failed to make any real improvement. The Forsaken wore simple linen clothes, a kilt and an open vest of midnight blue, riddled with moth holes. Curiously, a decayed flower was pinned onto the breast of its vest, rotten black petals terribly reminiscent of the blighted Dead Scar.
The innkeeper cleared his throat to gain the creature's attention. The Forsaken's round face turned to face the innkeeper. Its blotchy corpse-blue skin stretched across a wide forehead, almost translucent. A vein above it's right eye protruded from underneath. Sunken grey eyes, surrounded by many wrinkles, seemed to gleam with a silver light. Two deep grooves ran from either side of its small nose, starting just above the nostrils and stopping short above the corners of his mouth. Its grey lips were cracked and dry, one side raised in a slight sneer. Lank hair, a blue so dark it seemed black, hung down to his collar.
“Whatever's strongest,” it rasped.
As the innkeeper returned with the creature's drink, he saw the Forsaken packing a wooden pipe with a dry leaf of some kind, decayed like the flower pinned to its chest. The Forsaken gave a wide grin when it saw the innkeeper, its decayed gums holding only a few rotten teeth. The innkeeper gave an involuntary shudder as he handed over the chipped mug. The Forsaken thanked him and placed the pipe in its almost-toothless maw. Holding its right index finger to the bowl, a small flame sparked from the bony tip. The innkeeper noticed that the Forsaken's right hand was a different shade to the rest of its arm. At the wrist the flesh was melted, burn scars running up the arm. It clearly was not the creature's original hand.
“So,” the innkeeper started, trying his best to act as he would to any other patron. “What's your name, stranger?” Not that he cared, but after all, he did have a professional reputation to live up to.
“Edward,” it replied. It took a long pull from its pipe. Opening his vest wider, Edward scratched his chest, dry flakes of dead skin floating into the air. The innkeeper now noticed several tattoos on the undead's torso, various arcane symbols, several of which had either been burned or scarred over, as if in an angry attempt to remove them. “Edward Threnody.” To the innkeeper's horror, smoke began to leak from a small hole in Edward's chest. The undead noticed the innkeeper's discomfort and flashed another grotesque, toothless grin. The innkeeper could have sworn that the creature was amused.
All courtesies forgotten, the innkeeper turned away from the creature and made his way back to his safe confines behind the bar. Over the music and the chatter, he heard Edward's gravelly voice rise, a strange halting rhythm to his speech.
“You, viola, you're flat. What are you, an amateur? And what is this rubbish you're playing? Play something a bit more...lively. I swear, I'm being bored to death here...”
((Just want to say how happy I am to have found this guild. Been lurking around the site for a while now and can say that I am thoroughly impressed. I'm not able to play WoW at the moment due to dodgy internet connection, but hopefully I can resolve that in the not too distant future. If only I had discovered you guys a couple of years ago when I was playing... Oh well. Guess I'll just stick with the boards for now - not that that's a bad thing
Also, for those interested, Edward's appearence is based on a photo I found of my biggest hero
img.listal.com/image/247882/600full-christopher-walken.jpg
Anyway, thanks for being who you are. I honestly was starting to think that no one in WoW actually cared for RP...))
Shuffling his way across the room, the Forsaken seated itself in a high-backed chair close to where a string quartet played. The musicians cast weary glances in his direction as his bones crackled while it crossed its legs on the oversized cushion, the chair seeming to swallow the creature up. Sighing to himself, the innkeeper forced a welcoming smile and went to take the it's order.
As he approached, the innkeeper caught the faint odour of decay that afflicted all Forsaken. Another scent, a sickly sweet floral fragrance, attempted to mask the smell of rot, but failed to make any real improvement. The Forsaken wore simple linen clothes, a kilt and an open vest of midnight blue, riddled with moth holes. Curiously, a decayed flower was pinned onto the breast of its vest, rotten black petals terribly reminiscent of the blighted Dead Scar.
The innkeeper cleared his throat to gain the creature's attention. The Forsaken's round face turned to face the innkeeper. Its blotchy corpse-blue skin stretched across a wide forehead, almost translucent. A vein above it's right eye protruded from underneath. Sunken grey eyes, surrounded by many wrinkles, seemed to gleam with a silver light. Two deep grooves ran from either side of its small nose, starting just above the nostrils and stopping short above the corners of his mouth. Its grey lips were cracked and dry, one side raised in a slight sneer. Lank hair, a blue so dark it seemed black, hung down to his collar.
“Whatever's strongest,” it rasped.
As the innkeeper returned with the creature's drink, he saw the Forsaken packing a wooden pipe with a dry leaf of some kind, decayed like the flower pinned to its chest. The Forsaken gave a wide grin when it saw the innkeeper, its decayed gums holding only a few rotten teeth. The innkeeper gave an involuntary shudder as he handed over the chipped mug. The Forsaken thanked him and placed the pipe in its almost-toothless maw. Holding its right index finger to the bowl, a small flame sparked from the bony tip. The innkeeper noticed that the Forsaken's right hand was a different shade to the rest of its arm. At the wrist the flesh was melted, burn scars running up the arm. It clearly was not the creature's original hand.
“So,” the innkeeper started, trying his best to act as he would to any other patron. “What's your name, stranger?” Not that he cared, but after all, he did have a professional reputation to live up to.
“Edward,” it replied. It took a long pull from its pipe. Opening his vest wider, Edward scratched his chest, dry flakes of dead skin floating into the air. The innkeeper now noticed several tattoos on the undead's torso, various arcane symbols, several of which had either been burned or scarred over, as if in an angry attempt to remove them. “Edward Threnody.” To the innkeeper's horror, smoke began to leak from a small hole in Edward's chest. The undead noticed the innkeeper's discomfort and flashed another grotesque, toothless grin. The innkeeper could have sworn that the creature was amused.
All courtesies forgotten, the innkeeper turned away from the creature and made his way back to his safe confines behind the bar. Over the music and the chatter, he heard Edward's gravelly voice rise, a strange halting rhythm to his speech.
“You, viola, you're flat. What are you, an amateur? And what is this rubbish you're playing? Play something a bit more...lively. I swear, I'm being bored to death here...”
((Just want to say how happy I am to have found this guild. Been lurking around the site for a while now and can say that I am thoroughly impressed. I'm not able to play WoW at the moment due to dodgy internet connection, but hopefully I can resolve that in the not too distant future. If only I had discovered you guys a couple of years ago when I was playing... Oh well. Guess I'll just stick with the boards for now - not that that's a bad thing
Also, for those interested, Edward's appearence is based on a photo I found of my biggest hero
img.listal.com/image/247882/600full-christopher-walken.jpg
Anyway, thanks for being who you are. I honestly was starting to think that no one in WoW actually cared for RP...))
Welcome to the site. Look around and join in if you want! If you have any questions, please ask! --Sumi))
Founded April 26, 2005