User:Zamara/Sandbox: Difference between revisions
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== Random stuff. == |
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A soft refrain comes to your mind, a woman's voice singing, "When the day is new before you and the sun has just begun, I will take your hand and guide you into the great wide world." The tune lingers for a moment, then drifts away. |
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You find yourself observing a small child who is sitting alone in the middle of a desolate landscape. She can be seen playing with two dolls -- a Prydaen and a Rakash one. Holding them by their backs, she makes them walk around awkwardly, but soon indicates her displeasure with a petulant pursing of her lips. With a purposeful look and a magniloquent sweep of her arms, she smashes the dolls together forcefully, and your vision comes to an end with the explosion of lifelike flesh and blood that ensues. --[[User:Zamara|Zamara]] 16:01, 12 April 2009 (UTC) |
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Eyes unnaturally clear, a Y'Shai Guardian moves with a heavy grace, shifting position and stance with subtle movements now and again. Black cambrinth armor covers him from head to toe, its seams oddly invisible, as if it was more a part of him than anything else. At his side, he carries a permanent crimson and onyx moonblade. |
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A bony fylgja suddenly fades away into a cloud of ghostly fog. |
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A bony fylgja chants mockingly, |
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"Woode of Night |
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to Scorpion's Tail |
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You are simply |
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Bound to fail!" |
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A bony fylgja suddenly fades away into a cloud of ghostly fog. |
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A bony fylgja chants mockingly, |
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"Shivering wretch |
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Phoenix flame |
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Will not find |
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More than shame!" --[[User:Zamara|Zamara]] 05:11, 13 April 2009 (UTC) |
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Violent winds howl in your ears, not quite obscuring a multitude of distant moans and screams. Your vision slowly comes into focus, revealing three figures facing each other, weapons drawn, amidst a swirling crimson dust storm. |
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To your left is a young Human man, wielding a curved silver dagger and covered by a dark overcoat. To your right is an Adan'f, holding a mattock and wearing a crude hauberk. Directly across from you is an elderly Halfling woman, in a blood-stained white robe and tensely gripping an oaken cudgel. |
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A blast of ruddy sand momentarily obscures your vision, but not the clash of weapons. Within a second the figures have turned on each other with murderous intent. Their three-way melee continues unabated as the storm rises around them, consuming everything with its stinging grit. |
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