WG- Another Shadow Over Hackdirt Options

[Elisabeth Hollow]

I apologize for clogging the free-roaming Wobbly Goblet thread with our mission, as neither of us thought about making another thread(Until I did this morning.)

Once we get a hold of an Admin, we'll see abut putting the rest of the mission here. Until then our Hackdirt posts will be kept here.

[Darkness Eternal]

Draken forced Kayla's call out of his mind. They were seperated by a wall of stone. Her time will come soon enough, but first thing is first. He'll have to stomp on the remaining insects.

There was debris everywhere, all over his clothes and inside and even in his nose and mouth and in the corners of his eyes. Though the dust did not settle, he could see in this darkness as if light shun through. He was on his feet before two of the brethren even managed to register what happened.

The nearest one was already wounded, and his fate was sealed.

Draken thrust his fist up into the air. Five forks of blue lightning arced out from above his head to devour the screaming man, cooking him alive. Shrieking in pain, he danced and twitched like a puppet on azure strings for several seconds before his smoking husks collapsed on the ground.

The second creature was inspired by fear at seeing his fellow burnt alive by such eye-blinding display. He weakly stumbled to his feet and fled over the piles of turned stone and shattered rock.

Draken didn’t give him a chance to even see what was coming.

With unseen force and confined power, he picked the man up while standing afar and slammed his back into the wall of the cave, pulverizing his spine. With the same manner he took care of the other back in the room, he tossed the man with even greater force into one of the sharp protruding stones, snapping his neck as he was drove facedown into the dirt. His corpse twitched once, then never moved again.

The nobleman sucked in the air around him, and released a long, deep exhale. He felt rejuvenated. As a servant and product of Molag Bal, he relished in the vanquishing of his foes. He gains powers from their suffering. But it must be balanced, at least for him. Killing for sadistic pleasure without profit or gain is the works of a fool.

There was but one man that was alive and he was only three feet away. He couldn’t run. His legs were broken. He couldn’t move his fingers, for they were crushed. But he was still alive enough to see Draken pick up his saber, pull it from its home and march toward him.

“The Deep Ones,” Draken began. “I would consider making an investment in this town. I believed that this place had redeemed itself from cult practices. That whatever chaos began here would end with the death cries of your kin. I was a fool to believe that old wounds would not heal.” He paced around the man, sword angled down to his feet. “I have no desire to profit from a town when I am not aware of its secrets. Where are the Deep Ones?”

The Deep Ones’ identities were only known by the townspeople, and only a select few knew of their exact location. They lived far below the earth where artificial caverns had to be constructed to get to them. With this cave-in, that was unlikely now.

Arentus wheezed blood from his lips and tried with great effort to move his legs but failed. His eyes fell to Draken’s foot. “You’ll die in here with me, outsider. This cave will be your grave. Even then you’re not worthy to lie in Hackdirt’s tomb.”

Knowing he wouldn’t be of help, and eager to take care of other matters, Draken walked over to the wounded Arentus, shoes stepping over already broken fingers. He cocked his head, and then shielded his blade.

"You're life has no worth, mortal. You walk about aimlessly as a child without much of a thought to how this world works," he frowned. "But every life, no matter how dull, can sustain another."

A red glow surrounded his ringed fingers, and Draken stood over Arentus. His eyes bloodshot face pale and body cold. Blood caked his face and arms, but he looked the same cold and unforgiving man he always was.

The crimson glow fell upon Arentus, his life essence violently sucked out of his body, aging him a thousand years in only a few seconds. Muscles and tendons atrophied in an instant; his skin withered and shrank, pulling tight across his bones. His eyes and tongue shriveled, reducing him into a mummified husk before his desiccated flesh crumbled away, leaving only a skeletal remain and few pieces of hair and tattered clothes.

And so the man becomes his home . . .