Post by Rowen Erikson on Nov 21, 2010 20:16:02 GMT -5
(Yes, I'm a World of Warcraft addict. Shush >.>)
There were more. Ever since he felt that unnatural chill race through his body, tauning his nerves and senses, Rowen realized that he wasn't the only necromancer wandering these streets. Rumors had begun to spread out through the cities-amongst the supernatural folk-about relatives long dead rising and attacking people at random. This brought a rarely seen smile to Rowen's visage.
As usual, his dyed hair is pulled back in a half-braid and cascaded down his back to stop just below his waist; he could care about the messy state it was in. His clothing consisted of the simple: torn jeans, black tank top, black fingerless gloves and a black long coat. Wearing dark colors at night made you less noticeable and that's just how he liked it whenever he was on a mission.
Out of sight and ear shot, he removed a thick book containing ancient parchment and a covering that would make anyone cringe: tanned human flesh. This did not phase the necromancer, for death was his practice and part of his life. It was during his browsings did he begin to wonder something: Is immortality possible through death?
These thoughts began since he heard of the Warcraft lore: Cult of The Damned. There was far too much associated between that cult and the one he planned on starting! They were capable of bringing the dead back to life ranging from animal to human. However, in Rowen's case, he still had a lot more to do before he could fully master the practice.
It took years of gathering the correct texts and ancient scriptures of past necromancers--oddly enough, he was related to a generous amount; it explains his power--and he finally felt he held enough knowledge to begin. But, he needed students.
Someone was beginning to approach, so he snapped the tome shut, placed it inside his backpack and calmly walked out of the alley he had temporarily stationed himself in. He didn't dare look over his shoulder, but his knife was ready if he was to be attacked...
There were more. Ever since he felt that unnatural chill race through his body, tauning his nerves and senses, Rowen realized that he wasn't the only necromancer wandering these streets. Rumors had begun to spread out through the cities-amongst the supernatural folk-about relatives long dead rising and attacking people at random. This brought a rarely seen smile to Rowen's visage.
As usual, his dyed hair is pulled back in a half-braid and cascaded down his back to stop just below his waist; he could care about the messy state it was in. His clothing consisted of the simple: torn jeans, black tank top, black fingerless gloves and a black long coat. Wearing dark colors at night made you less noticeable and that's just how he liked it whenever he was on a mission.
Out of sight and ear shot, he removed a thick book containing ancient parchment and a covering that would make anyone cringe: tanned human flesh. This did not phase the necromancer, for death was his practice and part of his life. It was during his browsings did he begin to wonder something: Is immortality possible through death?
These thoughts began since he heard of the Warcraft lore: Cult of The Damned. There was far too much associated between that cult and the one he planned on starting! They were capable of bringing the dead back to life ranging from animal to human. However, in Rowen's case, he still had a lot more to do before he could fully master the practice.
It took years of gathering the correct texts and ancient scriptures of past necromancers--oddly enough, he was related to a generous amount; it explains his power--and he finally felt he held enough knowledge to begin. But, he needed students.
Someone was beginning to approach, so he snapped the tome shut, placed it inside his backpack and calmly walked out of the alley he had temporarily stationed himself in. He didn't dare look over his shoulder, but his knife was ready if he was to be attacked...
