if i'm a danger to myself Just think what I could do to you tagged |
A slender man trudged up the snowy mountain of Basilisk Fang, not looking to be bothered in the least bit by the cold weather. Snow-white hair matched the flakes that weaved and danced their way from the sky to the ground in gentle swirls and twirls. Only strands of the nightly sky trickled through the white of this man's hair, marking it with strangeness of his corruption. Red eyes, flecked with the mere gold of the sun's rays, studied the haze before him, up to the peak of the mountain. Stationed in front of him was the massive structure of the dark guild's hall, encased by stonemason's stone and bitterness of the world. A grandeur appearance, a sightly feature, and the man paused to admire the mass that towered before him. Its sight was one to behold, and here he stood, about to entire the grounds of which no mage ever returned from.
Marschal glanced away from the awe-striking castle, down to the doors that were eccentrically designed and carved. He weaseled his way through the snow and up to the doors, grabbing hold of one of their handles, and swinging it open. The door creaked like that of entering an abandoned, supposedly haunted home, echoing to the rafters of the great building. Quietly, the former legal mage stepped into the hall, his footsteps echoing before people started to emerge from their hiding places. Not hiding places, just places where they had been because what was it that Basilisk Fang feared? Nothing. Those people around him though? They were incapacitated by the aura that spilled off him, keeling to the ground. Eyeing those people, the drinking master waited for someone more important than the lowlifes kneeling before him.
"Who here runs the place?" Marschal called out, sweeping his gaze over those who were fighting to stand and keep themselves balanced. He'd point a clawed finger at another man, his grip white-knuckled on the table to keep himself from keeling over and throwing up. "You there... tell me... who here is the Masssster..." his deep voice rumbled out in a low, felinistic growl...
Marschal glanced away from the awe-striking castle, down to the doors that were eccentrically designed and carved. He weaseled his way through the snow and up to the doors, grabbing hold of one of their handles, and swinging it open. The door creaked like that of entering an abandoned, supposedly haunted home, echoing to the rafters of the great building. Quietly, the former legal mage stepped into the hall, his footsteps echoing before people started to emerge from their hiding places. Not hiding places, just places where they had been because what was it that Basilisk Fang feared? Nothing. Those people around him though? They were incapacitated by the aura that spilled off him, keeling to the ground. Eyeing those people, the drinking master waited for someone more important than the lowlifes kneeling before him.
"Who here runs the place?" Marschal called out, sweeping his gaze over those who were fighting to stand and keep themselves balanced. He'd point a clawed finger at another man, his grip white-knuckled on the table to keep himself from keeling over and throwing up. "You there... tell me... who here is the Masssster..." his deep voice rumbled out in a low, felinistic growl...