Darktanion
A professional writer is a amateur that never quit
The television echoed in the waiting room, a women standing in the center, holding the microphone to her panted red lips as she spoke softly. Channel 5 news, on every night at 3pm and lasting late into the night.
Darkened blue eyes watched the screen as the women spoke. Dark thinned framed glasses hung loosely over pale skin. It was only a few days till the day of 'Everett'. It was a day in history that no man, women or species forgot. A day that the world morns together. 16 years ago to the date, a man stepped over the laws of magic. He reached into the depths of time and space, beyond our world in a greedy attempt to take power. In his actions, he brought upon the world death, like no race had ever seen.
In the shadow of the spell, a women emerged, skin pale as snow with the crown of metal this earth had never scene. In the greed of her summons, she casted casted death upon the world. Every women who beared a child that day, every infant born, every frail being that existed, perished. There was no saving them, and since that tragic day, no child has ever been born on the day of its anniversary. It was a day of true morning.
It was a battle that only vague details remained. It took thousands of mercenaries to rid the entity out of this world, and in the end, only one man survived the battle.
Count Dalorian Casseous. The running head of the mercenary foundation. The rise of his finger commanded the respect of all species. A picture of the man flickered over the screen, brown eyes reflecting against the same colored hair. He wore a long scar done the left temple and cheek, the only remaining evidence of the battle he fought long ago. To many, he commanded great respect.
The boy watched the screen for a long moment, moving back to scrubbing the floor of the foundation. His hands were covered in black gloves that hugged his skin, matching perfectly against his black blocking and scarf leaving only the small area of his face to be exposed. He had worked for the foundation building for years. He stepped into the building at the exact same time, in the exact same clothes everyday to clean. He didn't talk much to the mercenaries that came in and out, then again, not many people did. The idea of being talked to by authority often scared people off. Although, unlike most, the boy just had an odd essence about him. Every once in a while a wolf would sit outside the foundation waiting, staring through the window. The wolf was just as unapproachable as the boy was, which made some whisper about the idea of omens.
The boy swiftly finished cleaning the floor, picking up the soiled bucket, moving towards the bathroom quietly.
In this world there was no limit to species. Demons, Vampires, Elves, Orc's. They all existed, though some not so compliant to the rules of living amongst others. The Mercenaries Foundation upheld the law, limiting dark magic and illegal summoning among other crimes.
Darkened blue eyes watched the screen as the women spoke. Dark thinned framed glasses hung loosely over pale skin. It was only a few days till the day of 'Everett'. It was a day in history that no man, women or species forgot. A day that the world morns together. 16 years ago to the date, a man stepped over the laws of magic. He reached into the depths of time and space, beyond our world in a greedy attempt to take power. In his actions, he brought upon the world death, like no race had ever seen.
In the shadow of the spell, a women emerged, skin pale as snow with the crown of metal this earth had never scene. In the greed of her summons, she casted casted death upon the world. Every women who beared a child that day, every infant born, every frail being that existed, perished. There was no saving them, and since that tragic day, no child has ever been born on the day of its anniversary. It was a day of true morning.
It was a battle that only vague details remained. It took thousands of mercenaries to rid the entity out of this world, and in the end, only one man survived the battle.
Count Dalorian Casseous. The running head of the mercenary foundation. The rise of his finger commanded the respect of all species. A picture of the man flickered over the screen, brown eyes reflecting against the same colored hair. He wore a long scar done the left temple and cheek, the only remaining evidence of the battle he fought long ago. To many, he commanded great respect.
The boy watched the screen for a long moment, moving back to scrubbing the floor of the foundation. His hands were covered in black gloves that hugged his skin, matching perfectly against his black blocking and scarf leaving only the small area of his face to be exposed. He had worked for the foundation building for years. He stepped into the building at the exact same time, in the exact same clothes everyday to clean. He didn't talk much to the mercenaries that came in and out, then again, not many people did. The idea of being talked to by authority often scared people off. Although, unlike most, the boy just had an odd essence about him. Every once in a while a wolf would sit outside the foundation waiting, staring through the window. The wolf was just as unapproachable as the boy was, which made some whisper about the idea of omens.
The boy swiftly finished cleaning the floor, picking up the soiled bucket, moving towards the bathroom quietly.
In this world there was no limit to species. Demons, Vampires, Elves, Orc's. They all existed, though some not so compliant to the rules of living amongst others. The Mercenaries Foundation upheld the law, limiting dark magic and illegal summoning among other crimes.
