Post by farcry11 on Jul 31, 2014 10:51:07 GMT
Leonin breathed his last, the room disappearing from sight- he was dead. The sword in his gut, Jason's pained murmurings, his life- gone. He was floating in a sea of darkness, no longer a body, but a soul. A ghost. He looked around to get his bearings- all darkness.
Suddenly, a horrible noise erupted from all around him- the powerful roar of a moving train. He shut his eyes, expecting to be hit- and gasped when he suddenly felt solid ground beneath him. He was... Corporeal. He opened his eyes, looking around. He was on a very, very crowded train, occupied by varied folk. People of all races, shapes, colors, sizes. Leonin looked down at himself.
He was wearing... Samurai armor? He was covered neck-to-foot in the plate-like armor of an ancient Japanese warrior. A katana and wazikashi hung on his waist, and he felt his head. His hair was the same, though he was wearing some sort of headband.
Suddenly, the train screeched to a stop, and everyone began to pour out. Leonin didn't have time to contemplate his situation before he was caught up in the tide of exiting passengers.
"Welcome to Hell, sub-level 7," a soothing voice spoke over an unseen intercom. Leonin looked around him, ignoring the pushing and shoving of his peers. He was in... Some sort of town, the houses mismatched and usually makeshift. The sky was full of dark grey clouds, and Leonin blinked as it began to rain. There were trees around him, and he could smell food cooking. Hell wasn't all that bad, it seemed. He began to walk, and hadn't made it far down the street when he was suddenly called out.
"Hoi, Smythe!", a familiar voice called out. Leonin looked behind him and saw a man waving from the door of a nearby house. It was... Selvion Renworth? Leonin blinked, then waved, approaching.
"Selvion. You told me you'd see me in Hell- but I didn't take you seriously."
"Well, it's really not that bad... Glad to see a familiar face around here. What happened to you?"
"I commited suicide by proxy via a sword-fight. And you?"
"My father sawed all of my limbs off and nailed me to the ceiling."
Leonin winced. "Tough luck, I suppose."
"Aye, well, I've gotten used to it. Hell's an interesting place, you know- not like they tell you in all the storybooks. No fire or eternal torment- just a sort of infinite existence. I suppose we're immortal, seeing as we're already dead."
Leonin looked down at his body again. Through the chinks of his armor, he could see his arms- no longer robotic, but instead replaced by some sort of wispy, ethereal phantom limbs. He blinked for a moment, then looked back at Selvion.
"We bear all the wounds that we had at death, then?"
"Seems so. Makes some of the locals down here look rather grizzly, but you get used to it at a point- there's a rather pleasant young lady down the block that had her heart cut out by some sort of serial murderer. Kindest woman you'll ever meet."
(W.I.P because tired)
Suddenly, a horrible noise erupted from all around him- the powerful roar of a moving train. He shut his eyes, expecting to be hit- and gasped when he suddenly felt solid ground beneath him. He was... Corporeal. He opened his eyes, looking around. He was on a very, very crowded train, occupied by varied folk. People of all races, shapes, colors, sizes. Leonin looked down at himself.
He was wearing... Samurai armor? He was covered neck-to-foot in the plate-like armor of an ancient Japanese warrior. A katana and wazikashi hung on his waist, and he felt his head. His hair was the same, though he was wearing some sort of headband.
Suddenly, the train screeched to a stop, and everyone began to pour out. Leonin didn't have time to contemplate his situation before he was caught up in the tide of exiting passengers.
"Welcome to Hell, sub-level 7," a soothing voice spoke over an unseen intercom. Leonin looked around him, ignoring the pushing and shoving of his peers. He was in... Some sort of town, the houses mismatched and usually makeshift. The sky was full of dark grey clouds, and Leonin blinked as it began to rain. There were trees around him, and he could smell food cooking. Hell wasn't all that bad, it seemed. He began to walk, and hadn't made it far down the street when he was suddenly called out.
"Hoi, Smythe!", a familiar voice called out. Leonin looked behind him and saw a man waving from the door of a nearby house. It was... Selvion Renworth? Leonin blinked, then waved, approaching.
"Selvion. You told me you'd see me in Hell- but I didn't take you seriously."
"Well, it's really not that bad... Glad to see a familiar face around here. What happened to you?"
"I commited suicide by proxy via a sword-fight. And you?"
"My father sawed all of my limbs off and nailed me to the ceiling."
Leonin winced. "Tough luck, I suppose."
"Aye, well, I've gotten used to it. Hell's an interesting place, you know- not like they tell you in all the storybooks. No fire or eternal torment- just a sort of infinite existence. I suppose we're immortal, seeing as we're already dead."
Leonin looked down at his body again. Through the chinks of his armor, he could see his arms- no longer robotic, but instead replaced by some sort of wispy, ethereal phantom limbs. He blinked for a moment, then looked back at Selvion.
"We bear all the wounds that we had at death, then?"
"Seems so. Makes some of the locals down here look rather grizzly, but you get used to it at a point- there's a rather pleasant young lady down the block that had her heart cut out by some sort of serial murderer. Kindest woman you'll ever meet."
(W.I.P because tired)