Atin Vendet
Journeyman Protector
Ambience
The Eerie glow of some luminous insect colored the toothy visor of the hunter, as it crawled over the motionless body, and down the crimson stripe that ran the length of the helm. Howls, and the distant screams of otherworldly creatures basked Umbara's foggy surface of perpetual darkness in a shroud of dread as the smells of rotting leaves, alien fruit, and the musky dirt, permeates the air. Black leather, over a gloved hand, rests a single finger over the trigger weld of a great metallic weapon.
A rider's dark outline crests an embankment, diverged from the bank of a snaking rapid, and our hunter's breaths slow. Cracks of twigs beyond measure the riders plural, and the beasts numerous. Too long have they been without a proper enemy, isolated only through reputation eons past. A since of birthright, pride, and tradition guides the path of the Umbaran riders. Upon the lead Umbaran's head rests a totem of beasts long dead, and on his side hangs a pair of Westar 35s.
Lok Pluthre'hnro of Umbara figured himself invincible, and had been kind enough to a trespassing outsider to let him depart, at the cost of his pistols. Such a thing was not unfair, as many other poachers had been stripped of their lives for less. Had the outsider been less kind, and less amiable, Pluthre'hnro would have stripped him of his life as well, but Plethre'hno was a forgiving and generous creature.
A mistake he would not make twice, as triple bolts of energy pierced his throat, exploding cauterized bits down his back, while the echoing scream of a blaster shot echoed across the land. Pluthre'hnro clasped his throat in agony, squirming on the ground as his life blood left his body. The healer of his tribe rushed to his aid, only topple, burning, off the side of the opposite embankment as twin plumes of plasma exited his chest.
Pluthre'hnro's faithful and stalwart gundark caught scent, rushing into the thickets to bring justice to his owners enemy, as the tribe followed suit. Pluthre'hnro began to slowly lose the will to struggle, as death began to overtake him. A branch snapped, and hope jumped to his heart. Maybe, just maybe, his clan had come back to see to him in his time of need.
A cold leather boot pushed his head to the ground, as the toothy T visor of the outsider looked down at him. It paced around him, and unlatched the pistols from his belt, before dusting them off, and holstering them on his side. Pluthre'hnro had not the strength to reach his own fallen rifle, as it was kicked away from him. He felt the cold boot once more, upon his neck, as he was pushed from his world. As he was taken by the spiritual darkness of his homeworld, the T visor heralded his departure, as a finger ran the length of the smile.
The Eerie glow of some luminous insect colored the toothy visor of the hunter, as it crawled over the motionless body, and down the crimson stripe that ran the length of the helm. Howls, and the distant screams of otherworldly creatures basked Umbara's foggy surface of perpetual darkness in a shroud of dread as the smells of rotting leaves, alien fruit, and the musky dirt, permeates the air. Black leather, over a gloved hand, rests a single finger over the trigger weld of a great metallic weapon.
A rider's dark outline crests an embankment, diverged from the bank of a snaking rapid, and our hunter's breaths slow. Cracks of twigs beyond measure the riders plural, and the beasts numerous. Too long have they been without a proper enemy, isolated only through reputation eons past. A since of birthright, pride, and tradition guides the path of the Umbaran riders. Upon the lead Umbaran's head rests a totem of beasts long dead, and on his side hangs a pair of Westar 35s.
Lok Pluthre'hnro of Umbara figured himself invincible, and had been kind enough to a trespassing outsider to let him depart, at the cost of his pistols. Such a thing was not unfair, as many other poachers had been stripped of their lives for less. Had the outsider been less kind, and less amiable, Pluthre'hnro would have stripped him of his life as well, but Plethre'hno was a forgiving and generous creature.
A mistake he would not make twice, as triple bolts of energy pierced his throat, exploding cauterized bits down his back, while the echoing scream of a blaster shot echoed across the land. Pluthre'hnro clasped his throat in agony, squirming on the ground as his life blood left his body. The healer of his tribe rushed to his aid, only topple, burning, off the side of the opposite embankment as twin plumes of plasma exited his chest.
Pluthre'hnro's faithful and stalwart gundark caught scent, rushing into the thickets to bring justice to his owners enemy, as the tribe followed suit. Pluthre'hnro began to slowly lose the will to struggle, as death began to overtake him. A branch snapped, and hope jumped to his heart. Maybe, just maybe, his clan had come back to see to him in his time of need.
A cold leather boot pushed his head to the ground, as the toothy T visor of the outsider looked down at him. It paced around him, and unlatched the pistols from his belt, before dusting them off, and holstering them on his side. Pluthre'hnro had not the strength to reach his own fallen rifle, as it was kicked away from him. He felt the cold boot once more, upon his neck, as he was pushed from his world. As he was taken by the spiritual darkness of his homeworld, the T visor heralded his departure, as a finger ran the length of the smile.
