Difference between revisions of "Zectaras Neithurus"
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;Home:<!--location--> | ;Home:<!--location--> | ||
;History:<!--short biography--> | ;History:<!--short biography--> | ||
;First Encounter with Neitlumar | |||
:<blockquote> | |||
''I remember the smell more than anything. The rancid scent of old blood, the air filled with the sweet heavy taste of meat that was left out in the sun too long... and they way they moved. First just slowly shambling about, some sniffing the air, some peering about with what remained of their eyes, others snapping their head in the direction of every sound. | |||
Once they sensed we were close, they charged straight at us, mouths agape and clawing at the air, like they might pull themselves forward with greater speed. | |||
We were trained, we had been told what to expect, and we were not ready. Four of us had managed to draw our swords before they hit our line. Three of my brothers stood frozen in terror. Another pair fled screaming, and the last collapsed into a sobbing wreck. | |||
It was mutual slaughter. They just kept pressing, ignored their injuries, and seemingly immune to pain. We stood our ground as best we could hacking and thrusting at the mob of bodies. We cut off limbs, and they didn't slow. They only stopped when the blow was directly fatal; a stab through the heart, or a severed head. | |||
In the end we... three of us... survived. Neithur be praised.'' | |||
</blockquote> | |||
=Connections= | =Connections= | ||
Revision as of 05:56, 4 December 2019
Identity
- Name(s)
- Zectaras
- Title(s) and Rank(s)
- Culture
- Waejiran
- Profession
- Priest of Neithur
Description
- Ethnicity
- Waejiran
- Gender
- Male
- Age
- years old, (<--Birth-->YG -- <--Death-->YG)
- Height
- metres ( feet, inches))
- Build
- , kilograms ( pounds)
- Appearance
Personality
About
- Home
- History
- First Encounter with Neitlumar
I remember the smell more than anything. The rancid scent of old blood, the air filled with the sweet heavy taste of meat that was left out in the sun too long... and they way they moved. First just slowly shambling about, some sniffing the air, some peering about with what remained of their eyes, others snapping their head in the direction of every sound.
Once they sensed we were close, they charged straight at us, mouths agape and clawing at the air, like they might pull themselves forward with greater speed.
We were trained, we had been told what to expect, and we were not ready. Four of us had managed to draw our swords before they hit our line. Three of my brothers stood frozen in terror. Another pair fled screaming, and the last collapsed into a sobbing wreck.
It was mutual slaughter. They just kept pressing, ignored their injuries, and seemingly immune to pain. We stood our ground as best we could hacking and thrusting at the mob of bodies. We cut off limbs, and they didn't slow. They only stopped when the blow was directly fatal; a stab through the heart, or a severed head.
In the end we... three of us... survived. Neithur be praised.
Connections
- Familial
- Personal
- Professional
