Flames roared as the sky was speckled with tiny flakes of ash, as the
hooded man stood with his three comrades at the center of the village.
Robes of crimson draped his body and his eyes gleamed as the village burned
before him. His two companions had different robes upon their bodies. The
one to his left wore a cloak of forever moving water, and the one to the
right wore a heavy garb as black as midnight. The hooded man held up his
hand and said, "Feast your desires upon the village, let no being escape and
find the child." With a flash he threw down his hand to initiate the
plundering. The two men at his side fanned out to begin their search. The
hooded man approached the well in the center of the village. Peering into
the dark depths he lost himself for a moment in deep thought..
Hooded man's thoughts: This is the third village we have ransacked along the
coast. The child simply has to be here. There is no way that his
companions could've flown so quick northward. Such a troublesome little
brat... The Princess should've destroyed the sigil when she had the chance.
Now we're out here destroying the countryside. It is fun to use the magic
we've been given, but I want more of a challenge.. These villages the child
has been seen in hold nothing competitive for us three... Perhaps this will
be the last village we hav...
With a snap, the hooded man was brought back to reality as a familiar shade
revealed himself and said, "Master, I have terrible news." "The child...
He isn't here." "We were too late." The hooded man sighed as his breath
could be seen upon the ashen air, and stated, "You've done well Yvorsid. We
will need to continue northward and devour as much of this countryside as
necessary. We will camp here for the night and continue our trek tomorrow."
Yvorsid nodded and slipped back into shadow.
Description:
The tall, cloaked individual before you is concealed in a myriad of dark colors. A sinister stare reveals cloudy pale eyes that squint from notice of your existence. Darkened skin clings to a frail, slender body that can still carry the weight of the heavy robe that is worn upon his body. His movements are concealed within, what seems to be, a wave of pressure that distorts almost every action. A strip of archaic runes are circumferential to the face and head, continually mapping the exposed parts of the rest of his body. At his side is a rigid staff with a swirl of deadwood encircling a blue orb pierced by intricately, woven sprigs.
