Senor Krinkle
First Post
The fires raged all around, the windmill was in flames. Alcon Kata raised a single fist out of the fallen beams and in his final last breath, let out a prayer:
Mortis, lord of the dead, Judge of souls, give me the strength, the power, to right my wrongs, to save myself, give me a second chance.
A quick gust of air flew through Alcon’s curly brown hair, burnt strands flying like flags in a hurricane. The smoke filled air escaped from his lungs as he hit the floor; the tiles were damp with humidity.
“Rise, my son,” the cloaked man boomed, his voice carrying like thunder in the mountains, “your cries have been heard.”
Mortis stood with his axe upon his shoulder, the chain of souls dangling at his waist. The black cloak shrouded the deity with mystery, yet Alcon was soothed. Mortis was no demon from hell, no; he was the judge of all men, the scales of souls.
“Mortis, please, grant me the power to avenge my family, my village,” Alcon sobbed, his muscles slick with sweat, his hair matted to his neck and tangled like ancient veins over ruins of civilizations past. He cried like a child before the powerful entity, the deep blue eyes looked upon the god, the weigher of woes, tears running down his cheeks, mixing with the blood from that of his nose, “please, I beg of thee.”
“Child, I have seen what has become of your world, but some things are set in stone, just as it is not your time to die, it is not your place to enact revenge, please understand, and that this just isn’t your lot in life.”
Alcon Kata wept, “Please, grant me the power.”
“I will not, this is not your place, I apologize for the inconvenience, but if you will not see yourself out of here, I will have no choice but to remove you with force,” Mortis snapped at the crying warrior. Alcon continued to weep upon the floor, crying out for his family.
“Look,” Mortis preached, “I can give you this,” with a few thoughts an axe appeared before Alcon Kata, the beautifully hand carved shaft of the axe was one solid piece of oak and the axe head was polished to perfection, the cold iron head glowed with a slight light, only visible in the total darkness, “use her well.”
Alcon Kata awoke on a beach, the cold ocean water shook him awake, the sand clung to his form, his mind was blank.
“Where am I?” he pondered, “Who am I?”
MORE NEXT WEEK!
Mortis, lord of the dead, Judge of souls, give me the strength, the power, to right my wrongs, to save myself, give me a second chance.
A quick gust of air flew through Alcon’s curly brown hair, burnt strands flying like flags in a hurricane. The smoke filled air escaped from his lungs as he hit the floor; the tiles were damp with humidity.
“Rise, my son,” the cloaked man boomed, his voice carrying like thunder in the mountains, “your cries have been heard.”
Mortis stood with his axe upon his shoulder, the chain of souls dangling at his waist. The black cloak shrouded the deity with mystery, yet Alcon was soothed. Mortis was no demon from hell, no; he was the judge of all men, the scales of souls.
“Mortis, please, grant me the power to avenge my family, my village,” Alcon sobbed, his muscles slick with sweat, his hair matted to his neck and tangled like ancient veins over ruins of civilizations past. He cried like a child before the powerful entity, the deep blue eyes looked upon the god, the weigher of woes, tears running down his cheeks, mixing with the blood from that of his nose, “please, I beg of thee.”
“Child, I have seen what has become of your world, but some things are set in stone, just as it is not your time to die, it is not your place to enact revenge, please understand, and that this just isn’t your lot in life.”
Alcon Kata wept, “Please, grant me the power.”
“I will not, this is not your place, I apologize for the inconvenience, but if you will not see yourself out of here, I will have no choice but to remove you with force,” Mortis snapped at the crying warrior. Alcon continued to weep upon the floor, crying out for his family.
“Look,” Mortis preached, “I can give you this,” with a few thoughts an axe appeared before Alcon Kata, the beautifully hand carved shaft of the axe was one solid piece of oak and the axe head was polished to perfection, the cold iron head glowed with a slight light, only visible in the total darkness, “use her well.”
Alcon Kata awoke on a beach, the cold ocean water shook him awake, the sand clung to his form, his mind was blank.
“Where am I?” he pondered, “Who am I?”
MORE NEXT WEEK!
