1. Castor

    Private Rest and Recharge

    "Fucking gods," swore the knight as he roused from his bed. Sweat soaked his mattress and brow alike. Visions of ascending into a storm unheralded swam through his memories. He buckled as nausea struck him with unwelcome force. Bile rose in his throat but did not find release. He'd once strode...
  2. Castor

    Private The Tools of My Enemy

    Space and Time abandoned the forsaken knight, Reason along with the rest. A duty done, an eternal reprieve. Yet peace's embrace was absent. Heaviness clung to his soul, clawing him back to torrid reality. Each subsequent step dragged his senses closer to an unwelcome lucidity. The knight's mind...
  3. Castor

    Castor of Dusk

    A relatively recent addition to the ranks of Anathaeum, he seeks to put his skills as a spellblade to use.
  4. Castor

    Private The Tools of My Enemy

    Shrouded strike skewered the unsuspecting knight, or would have if not for Faramund's warning. Castor stepped aside just in time to avoid the fatal blow. He winced as steel sliced armor but only grazed skin. The knight had been mere moments from death and yet was oddly giddy. Frantic but...
  5. Castor

    Private The Tools of My Enemy

    "Think I'm the one missing something here," replied the knight with bladed tone. He looked to his brother's confused expression and finally sighed. "Let's keep moving." Too much had transpired and yet their task remained. A child struggled alone in this edifice of evil, and that's all that...
  6. Castor

    Private The Tools of My Enemy

    Fear. Anger. Worry. A torrent of emotions swirled within the knight Anathaeum, each threatening to rise to the surface and ruin his farcical facade. He was barely managing to the suppress the rising bile in his throat. This place, this workshop, could not be conjured in Castor's darkest dreams...
  7. Castor

    Private The Tools of My Enemy

    "Sounds bloody unpleasant," remarked the knight to himself. However, it was Faramund's next words that truly worried Castor. They were Knights Anathaeum. Trust was ever granted without given voice. Battles fought, wylds protected; all from the same root. Thus if his companion felt the need for...
  8. Castor

    Private The Tools of My Enemy

    Two guards with twice the number of blades. If the knights drew steel here, that was the game. He sensed that glib excuses would likely just get them killed faster. These guards were different from the normal rabble and paranoia ever haunted the higher hierarchy. Castor mentally braced himself...
  9. Castor

    Private The Tools of My Enemy

    "Bloody cultists," the Sworn swore. Always lacked imagination. There's a reason the knight had several vials of blood at his side even if most wasn't his own. He made to say something but Faramund already removed his glove. Better that he save his party tricks for later. Who knows what they...
  10. Castor

    Private The Tools of My Enemy

    "You're the expert. I'm just here to make sure you don't die alone," quipped the knight sarcastically. Morbid humor was a staple in their line of work. There was an inherent need to acknowledge the dangers of their undertakings. Had a way of keeping one grounded, focused. It could alleviate the...
  11. Castor

    Private The Tools of My Enemy

    First 'wicked' and now 'ugly', he thought knights were supposed to be nice. Castor, like Faramund, did his best to replicate the cultist's attire. There was always something strange about wearing a dead man's clothes. Almost as if stepping into the skin of another. A troubling thought when that...
  12. Castor

    Private The Tools of My Enemy

    "Can't say I'm overly fond of sweet things, but I'll try anything once," replied the Sworn with a shrug. All this complexity and process had Castor wondering if they were still talking about tea. Figured it was better to just let it lie. It was nice to have something to look forward to, beyond...
  13. Castor

    Private The Tools of My Enemy

    A single flame flickered its ominous last as the knight exited his room and then the remainder of the Sworn's barracks. His preparations had been made as well as they could even if he suspected they'd ultimately be insufficient. He'd learned through many battles that no plan could truly sustain...
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