Information
Olrhain Marwolaeth has a minion!
Mister Sliths the Coalbra
Mister Sliths the Coalbra
Olrhain Marwolaeth
Legacy Name: Olrhain Marwolaeth
The
Darkmatter AntlephoreOwner:
shannon_lynn3Age: 12 years, 1 month, 1 week
Born: April 7th, 2012
Adopted: 10 years, 2 months, 2 weeks ago
Adopted: February 26th, 2014
Statistics
- Level: 6
- Strength: 10
- Defense: 10
- Speed: 10
- Health: 15
- HP: 12/15
- Intelligence: 0
- Books Read: 0
- Food Eaten: 0
- Job: Store Clerk
Olrhain Marwolaeth- Hunting Death
Bells toll loudly in the silence of the gloom at night. Lonely bells, aching, longing, making skin prickle and shivers run down spines. There's the cathedral, towering above the quaint city like a silent sentinel, windows like eyes staring out at the dead town.
The wind kicks up, and the sound of footsteps echo down the road. But as you turn, there is no one there. When you turn back, a black Sheeta is sitting in front of a fountain in the center of the town, as if she was there all along. Curiously, she was dressed in a black robe, with a silver cross around her neck. The sheeta sat back against the fountain, playing an old harmonica. The wind carried and distorted the tune, making the instrument sound warped and cracked.
When she looks up, her eyes are filled with an empty light. She assesses you silently, but then says in a surprisingly warm voice. "Let me tell you a story."
Bells toll loudly in the silence of the gloom at night. Lonely bells, aching, longing, making skin prickle and shivers run down spines. There's the cathedral, towering above the quaint city like a silent sentinel, windows like eyes staring out at the dead town.
The wind kicks up, and the sound of footsteps echo down the road. But as you turn, there is no one there. When you turn back, a black Sheeta is sitting in front of a fountain in the center of the town, as if she was there all along. Curiously, she was dressed in a black robe, with a silver cross around her neck. The sheeta sat back against the fountain, playing an old harmonica. The wind carried and distorted the tune, making the instrument sound warped and cracked.
When she looks up, her eyes are filled with an empty light. She assesses you silently, but then says in a surprisingly warm voice. "Let me tell you a story."
It was a hundred and thirty years ago when I first came about. The pet of a Victorian lady struggling to find her place in society. She was a god-fearing woman: Her father beat that into her when she was young. Now, unable to find a husband she worked late embroidering fine dresses; working her fingers until they bled. Above the wall always sat a crucifix.I remember one day her father visited after her mother's death. He had become a different man. Although he never was patient and not without violence, he was different. Even his presence in the room seemed to make .