As the stadium burned and sent plumes of acrid smoke into the air, there was further mania and chaos to be found in the central plateia. This was another hive of Creed activity as the Drowned Ones seemed to melt out of the shadows and take solid form when no-one was paying attention to their movements. As more spook than human, they swept around the stalls and displays like wraiths, destroying all they touched in a stampede of bands and crashes.
Civilians ran, women screamed, children stood dazed and alone, crying and holding up hands to any who might offer them comfort.
The Creed gave no such thing, leaving bodies young and old in their wake.
As his brothers in arms laid siege to the central square of the city and sent pedestrians and merchants alike scattering in every direction, one Drowned One in particular refused the typical tiny, dart-like knives of his compatriots and instead withdrew a nasty looking knife. With its curved blade he began hacking at a piece of broad, smooth wall where the carvings of his message would be unmistakable in the smooth stone.
The shrill keening of his blade set his ears on edge and caused those nearest to him to press their palms to their ears as they ran but when he was done it was worth the assault on the senses.
A piece of art carved with aggression.
The Drowned Ones left the square as if they had never been there, their work and task completed; their primary message and demands laid out for all to see.
GIVE US STEPHANOS OF MIKAELIDAS.
Civilians ran, women screamed, children stood dazed and alone, crying and holding up hands to any who might offer them comfort.
The Creed gave no such thing, leaving bodies young and old in their wake.
As his brothers in arms laid siege to the central square of the city and sent pedestrians and merchants alike scattering in every direction, one Drowned One in particular refused the typical tiny, dart-like knives of his compatriots and instead withdrew a nasty looking knife. With its curved blade he began hacking at a piece of broad, smooth wall where the carvings of his message would be unmistakable in the smooth stone.
The shrill keening of his blade set his ears on edge and caused those nearest to him to press their palms to their ears as they ran but when he was done it was worth the assault on the senses.
A piece of art carved with aggression.
The Drowned Ones left the square as if they had never been there, their work and task completed; their primary message and demands laid out for all to see.
GIVE US STEPHANOS OF MIKAELIDAS.