1195
Scourge, a fictional-tale of an Undead.
IlumTarus
About e Auor. Eze'kiel Tarus is a blacksmi and architect by trade, recently made Templar. He lives wi his Grandfaer and has fought some undead before. He does not have e best undersnding of ere ways, is should not be considered an accurate guide to e workings of e undead, but for enjoyment. ::  DISCLAIMER! I am not an Undead, or affiliate myself to em. This is merely a work for enjoyment of someing sinister, keep in mind, is is a Mature-book for Mature people. ::  :: :: THE SCOURGE. :: :: "NO! PLEASE! DON'T!" These final words echoed in e forest as a wicked crack was heard, for Kel'ieon- is was almost his sound of merriment. For is poor farmer, is was simply e last sounds of his life fading to noing. Kel'ieon dropped e corpse on e ground, next to a pile of two oers... his family,   a woman, two children... ey'd susin him wi eir flesh tonight. Kel'ieon grudgingly sent his hand to a dismembered limb, devouring flesh off dripping red  muscle. Grudgingly, his mou sank and chewed into it. Anger wiin each gnaw. "The world made me is way, so is world will pay." Kel'ieon tensed his arm to e sound of snapped branches, turning quickly to it. He dismissed e oughts after a while, a sneaking predator... much like he was. :: :: It had to have been six years ago, wi Kel'ieon in Alkhazar. He was a cutpurse, a ief, a common-crook wi an uncommon end. Kel'ieon found himself sprinting rough e city, over e rooftops, away from his latest  target, he found himself vaulting over roofs and shingles sloppily. "JUST LEAVE ME BE!" He shouted to his pursuer, whom was cloaked, head to toe, yet nimble as an arrow. Kel'ieon darted over one last roof and felt himself spinning, wi no ground benea. He flew for a few moments until e sounds of crunching bones were heard. Moments after, e soft patter of footsteps fell from e sky, next to him. A hand cast over Kel'ieons face and pulled him up, his hand was like a bear- locked. "You are a foolish child- to not know who you're dealing wi." The man's hood flew up and down momentarily, e words seemed to echo out, as ough ese words came from e deps of hell itself. "Don't... kill me," ese words choked out, muffled by blood filling his mou like hot iron. "Kill you..? There is an idea... no boy. Your life is mine now, you will suffer more." :: :: Kel'ieon tried to recall his old name... he could not. Much of whom he was seemed to be overlapped by screams of e dead and damned. He heard e same crack is time, turning to face it once more. two arrows flew out, one following anoer like two-bees wi stingers of steel. Kel'ieon reacted and lifted his staff, deflecting one to e side and letting e oer go  through his hand, letting the blood drip down his arm. After that, he waited and stared to the direction, a sudden roar emerged, "You murderous, bloodlusting fiend!" As a man Iron-clad rushed at him. Kel'ieon jerked his staff forward and fire washed over the man like a bath from hell. He jumped back just in time to his suprise as a sword swung through this. He then slid back as another strike came, spinning to the side once more after. He sent out his hand to the Warrior's head, the arrow still pierced through. It went directly through his eye, the sword dropped to the side as Kel'ieon leaned him back. He then slid his hand off the arrow, still lodged in the nearly-dead man's eye. He lifted his staff and and looked down, but hesitated. In that moment he found himself in weakness by his own memories. He pictured himself at his feet and bit his lip hard, letting it too bleed. He then lept back and ran through the brush with the vigour of nature itself.