Empty....Yes, the great city of Paryer was empty. Void of all the life it once had, it was a cryptic, hollow world of shadow and silence now, only offset by the glow of spreading flames.
A large, cloaked figure rode throughout the streets on the back of a hulking horse (if it could be called that), covered from head to hoof in old brass-like barding, and draped in a faded trapper, with designs of unknown make, meaning, or origin; slick black eyes the only indication that the creature this equally hulking figure now rode was alive at all, or even remotely a horse.
The figure stopped, looking down at the smoldering remains of a building, the distinct shapes of lanky, black-boned corpses lay about under the the charred remains and ashes, a fading but still pointedly pungent smell of burnt alcohol in the air. The figure dismounted, striding cautiously over to the blackened remains of the building, stooping down near one of the burnt corpses, a gauntlet appearing from under the cloak, reaching out to touch the skeletal remains with the bare tips of it's metal covered fingers. The figure tensed, reaching out, it pulled a crossbow bolt out of the skull of the blackened corpse with a hard jerk; raising the object up to it's hooded face, it's grasp tightened, and nearly snapped the bolt, but instead replaced it's hand back within the cloak, the bolt disappearing with it.
The figure stood, moving off down the street at a ponderous pace, the hulking horse tromping along a distance behind the figure.
Coming close to the edge of the city, the figure paused, looking out at the see of life outside, distant shapes, tents, fires, the Purge, resting from it's recent endeavors to destroy one of the largest cities that Man had claims to. Then it's hooded gaze turned, staring at the hushed devastation about, the empty buildings, creaking, cackling, and whispering in the breeze that was spreading the massive fires of the Gold District throughout the rest of the city, bodies of bystanders strewn about, it's head lowering shaking in the absolute slightest that one would think the wind were simply playing with the figure's hood if they didn't know otherwise. But nobody was there to see, nobody knew otherwise.
The figure raised it's head, the hooded facade angling this way and that as it silently observed the cobblestone covered graveyard with the buildings as it's oppressing wooden headstones. But the hood suddenly halted, the figure's body tensing; with it's head still stooped down somewhat, but looking out to the side, it was a deterring sight as the hulking figure stood paused in it's actions and observation.
Moving as if incoherent, the figure strode up to a small form in the doorway of one of those wooden giants that laughed like a crone when the wind caressed it. Falling to it's knees with a 'thud'
, the clattering of metal could be heard as it did, the gauntlet appeared once more, joined by it's sibling, the figure reaching out to the small form, lifting it's head in one of it's hands. Brushing aside thin wispy hair from the still form's face; the girl's eyes still open, grey and filmed over, thin lines of moisture barely evident anymore could be seen trailed down her pale white cheeks, metal fingers traced her cold blue lips. The figure stooped over the dead child, slowly, ponderously, scooping the child up in a manner almost obsessive, bringing it's hooded face near the girls own, a single dark drop fell on her forehead, the red
bead of liquid running off into the lining of her hair. As the figure began to straighten up from it's near fetal position, it began to tremble, then shake violently, an unnatural guttural sound like that of a terrible beast of pure wrath and enmity rumbled from the figure like thunder during a great storm.
Standing, girl in arms, the figure stormed off in long strides that carried it towards the Purge encampment. ((Imagine Darth Vader when he walks))
"Sir! We weren't expecting your arrival so soon! But I am happy to report that nearly all who were captured have joined the Purge, Sir! We have thousands, uh......" The Purge Lieutenant paused, his face lowering, and look going plain. The minor officer looked back up at the hooded figure's shadowed and covered face, his own face growing stern as a slow realization came over him and the surrounding soldiers at their campfires who'd been watching, now all silent and still, a growing sense of dread clinging to the air.
Another bestial sound of primal spite and rage could be heard rumbling forth from the ominous figure, the men freezing in shear terror of their leader
"Bring me Fa'ask!!!
((Wanted to do more, post as my Elf and Dwarf, etc., but it was late. Also, killing children is a no-no, even for Purge, Papa Poteryannyĭ spank rebellious Fa'ask.