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Post by wastelin on Jan 1, 2009 4:44:45 GMT -5
Man, that lineup is your wet dream!
Hope it dont turn into nightmare...
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Post by xade on Jan 1, 2009 18:28:05 GMT -5
Nah, the Nightmare ain't in that list...  |
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Post by xade on Jan 5, 2009 3:14:25 GMT -5
Xade walks speedily out of the circle, straightens out his jacket and adjusts his glasses while examining his slightly crumpled outfit.
"Five and Nought Free. Four of them against your boys" - he said in the direction of the Guilds camp.
"Not bad for a days work..." - as he turned to walk from the arena...
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Post by awall on Jan 5, 2009 22:26:36 GMT -5
As Xade strides confidently out of the arena, a small imp descends from the sky and emerges from its dive a short but respectable distance in front of him. As he approaches, it speaks in a distorted voice: "My master bid me give you this." It extends a hand, which clutches a small roll of parchment. As soon as xade takes it, the imp departs and is soon lost from view. The parchment contains a very brief note, scrawled in a familiar hand as if by one in a hurry:
My business keeps me away for the moment, but your actions have not gone unnoticed. I shall attend to you as soon as my other obligations allow. Consider your days numbered.
-a
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Post by xade on Jan 6, 2009 7:02:11 GMT -5
The parchment quickly bursts into flames within Xade's grip.
"I look forward to it" he mutters under his breath...
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Post by awall on Feb 12, 2009 4:54:46 GMT -5
A small imp skims across the flat wasteland of the hell-plane. It rises up, beyond an embankment of boulders and alights on a small rock. Nearby, the flat rubble gives way to a sheer cliff with crashing waves hundreds of feet below. Gazing out across the sea, the imp vaguely discerns a landmass in the distance. "That'd be the place," the imp muses to itself. Spreading its wings, it takes once more to the air and soars into the stormy skies.
After what seems like an eternity, it arrives upon the distant beach of The Isle of Maknud. Explosions echo from makeshift arenas across the landscape where warlocks of The Isle protect their home from others seeking the treasure stored there, and plumes of smoke adorn the (temporary) graves of those who fell in its pursuit or defense. But the imp does not concern itself with any of this. It drifts over the battlefield looking for a single being. Spotting its target, it dives from the sky and halts its fall several feet away. A tall, red-clad figure stands over the body of Nawglan brushing himself off and muttering. Sensing the imp's presence, he turns around and narrows his eyes at it.
"And what business have you here?" asks Xade.
"I come with another message for you," replies the imp. It flits into the air above Xade and drops a rolled parchment into his hands. As Xade unrolls it, the imp disappears into the sky and begins the long trip home.
Your time is up. Now you shall atone for your actions of last month. I shall await you on the cliffs across the channel from The Isle. Come once you are prepared.
--a
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Post by xade on Feb 12, 2009 16:02:33 GMT -5
Awall!
With a click of his fingers, xade is transformed into his battle garb.
Clad in a chainmail shirt, slung over heavy jeans, xade moves at great speed in the direction of the cliffs.
I've been waiting for this...
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