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Sieben traipsed through the dense foliage, not quite sure what he was looking for. His usual skill and agility was somewhat diminished, as every footstep brought the sounds of whispering to his ears. Sometimes the whispers sounded like his name, other times like bits of conversation long forgotten. These whispers crept into his soul, chilling him to the bone, no mean feat given that the things he’d seen – and done – had steeled him against even the most heinous acts that humanity had to offer.
Slowly, he made his way through the spectral woods, every ounce of shade blackened even deeper by the presence of a true Shade. Sins crept forward, then retreated. Death snaked across the ground. The smell of rot and decay danced in the air, a pair of virtuoso terpsichoreans flitting in and out of the nose. Sweat beaded on the ranger’s brow, the cold sweat of impneding, everlasting ruin beading on his forehead, trickling down towards cold steely eyes.
“Come on, get it together,” Sieben thought, trying to shake the fear. “This is nothing, the fog is nothing, the voices are nothing. It’s all in my head.” He stopped to take a deep breath, to take the Archer’s Breath, taught to him long ago by a mentor he thought of fondly until Sieben had to kill him. “Deep breath in, hold it, steady. Become one with the bow. Breathe, relax, aim, release, surprise. Envision nothing but the weapon, become one with it, put everything else out of your head.”
Then the sound of an owl calling his name broke his reverie. His heart pounded.. never had he been snapped from his sniper’s trance, and that in and of itself was… disconcerting. The owl, knowing his name, calling to him? That was beyond comprehension, beyond rationale. An ill omen, that’s al it could be.
He forced himself onward. First one foot, then another. The fog thickened, wrapping itself around him like a chain of cold iron. It felt like it was going to drag him into its depths, it would swallow him, drown him with its immense sorrow.
Finally he spotted a small path, a trail that would take him... who knew were. Anywhere but here would be better he supposed. He stepped gently onto the path, then strode forward. He needed to be moving, to get away, to get out of the woods – and he was a person who not just loved the forest, but worshipped it. The fog seemed to deepen, until he could see no more than a foot in front of him. A bend wa sup ahead, and on rounding it, he nearly toppled over a strange object.
He took a second, then realized that it was a small pike, planted in the path, perhaps as a warning, perhaps as a welcome. On the top of the pike was a head, a person long dead by the looks of it. It had been pickled and placed there, preserved for the ages. Sieben was relived. This was something tangible, something he could handle. He seen these before, and fairly often. He allowed himself a slight smile – until he noticed that the eyes had opened and were looking directly at him.
The ranger backed up a step. The ancient head began to work its jaw, slowly, as if it weren’t used to the motion. A chunk of lip fell to the ground; apparently the crows had been at the face at one time or another. It’s teeth, old, gray, rattling in its head. Finally, a it spoke.
“Oy, wot’re you lookin’ at? It’s just a flesh wound…”
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Earthwulf - War Priest/Order, Avelorn
Earthwulf - Shaman/Destruction, Ostermark
Earthblade - Swordmaster/Order Phoenix Throne
Wulfkin - Ironbreaker/Order Anlec (Oceanic PvP server- no arsehats so far... only place I can play in "primetime"  )
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