Hey World's End! Name's Motionless, and I am an Undead Monk RPer on Wyrmrest Accord. I'm curious to see what other RPers who play Forsaken Monks (and any other RPers in general) have to say about my characters Prologue. Feel free to post your own, in fact I encourage that you do! Enjoy~
I made it short and sweet. :3
It was storming again. The soft patter on the stone stairs leading down into the crypt was like a clock.
Deep down, on the tenth floor beneath the ground laid a hundred empty graves, their denizens long since risen to join the Queen.
Fourty three thousand, seven hundred and six. Fourty three thousand, seven hundred and seven. Fourty three thousand...
Laying still in his grave, a forsaken took to counting the seconds in the day. He laid there day and night for weeks, months, years. He felt the death in his mind, his bones and his lungs but it was no matter to him. He would not rise to serve a monster.
Fourty three thousand, eight hundred. Fourty three thousand, eight hundred and one...
The sound of the rain was dampened for a moment, and the Forsaken turned his attention from his count. He knew what that meant. Quiet footfalls on the stone steps approached his little six by three of dirt. They were heavy, and as the data arranged itself in his head, he determined the approximate height and weight of the approaching Man. Six feet three inches, two hundred and ninety pounds, give or take. It was either a small orc, or a large human. The clink of armor plates made his mind flutter. Uneven footsteps and the creaking of bones. It was an Armored Forsaken. A shadow fell over him, and with his nearly faded witchlight eyes, he saw the man above him.
Burning orbs of blue sat in his sockets, the rot of undeath reaching over his face like tendrils of sickness.
"You live, even after all these years." The Forsaken Death Knight spoke in Guttertongue. "Why have you not yet died?"
The Forsaken laid silent in his grave, his vision nearly gone yet locked on his blue eyed brother. He considered speaking and took his first full breath inward in nearly a decade since the forsaken woke.
"No need. I know what youre going to say, Brother. I came to see if you still believed in the good that the Forsaken can do in the world."
The corpse, still lying in the dirt, furrowed his brows. He could hardly believe what he had just heard. With a sharp intake of breath, he spoke. "Why?" The word was slow and quiet, but its whisper was more than loud enough for the Death Knights supernatural hearing.
"Because Im sick of this life. You were always the good one in the family, Elliot. We need you. Our people need you. They risk extermination should they not halt their actions." The Blue Eyed Man narrowed his eyes in disgust at his own words, but they rung true.
Slowly at first, the motionless corpse took on life. He relocated his shoulders and stretched the old, dried muscles. He grabbed the edges of the stone coffin and pulled himself upright, and with a growl of determination he stood, staff in hand.
I made it short and sweet. :3
Absolutely beautiful. I like how he spends the time counting. Such a peace of mind makes for justification to be a Monk.