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<span class="mu-s">CRACK</span>
The bones of the kneeling man give way as a primal scream escapes his lips, the sack covering his head only provides enough of a barrier to marginally lower the volume of his shrieking.
The crowd watching this brutal execution jeers at the man, "MURDERER", "C'MON LAD, PUT YOUR BACK INTO THE SWING", and other words of mockery slip from the mouths of the audience. The executioner, a large and burly man covered from head to toe in black garments, wields a nearly inhumanely long and heavy looking club. Each swing of it brutalizing the man in what is an increasingly barbaric display of punishment.
"Bastards.." you catch a barely audible whisper coming from what may be a woman behind you.
That's right.. you're not far off from being in the mans shoes ahead of you. Unsure of your bearings or whatever village they've transported you to due to your own coverings over your head, the only sure thing is you deserve to be here by all equal rights and measure. No matter what hole they put you in, no matter how long you were in there for, temptation overcame you.
<span class="mu-s">CRASH</span>
The sound of the poorly constructed floorboards give way and the crowd cheers, everyone waiting in line with you in the back is splattered by something.
"DID YA SEE THAT THERE? BATTERED THAT FUCKERS HEAD CLEAN OFF E' DID!" A particularly excited man shouts from out front the display.
You feel a rough hand grab your arm as it <span class="mu-r">tugs aggressively</span> causing you to yelp in pain, the wound in it from your previous capture not yet fully healed. Looks like you're next for whatever is coming, no tears fall from your eyes, you lay your sights on nothing but the burlap sack covering your head, your vision obscured by the bag.
In these final few moments you close your eyes, visions of the past slowly trickle forth from both before your criminal acts and after. You sigh and try to contain the fear of certain death coming your way, that is until an <span class="mu-r">overwhelmingly sharp pain in your head</span> throttles itself into the forefront of your thoughts. You scream before anything even happens and drop fully onto the floor like an infant.
No, you can't accept this.. to just lay down and die like this? You won't let these bastards make a display out of you.
<span class="mu-b">All the pain in your body suddenly goes away!</span> You stand, despite the efforts of the executioners help trying to keep you down on your knees, you stand defiant before them as an unknown burst of strength takes hostage over you.
The crowd murmurs amongst themselves in confusion, you hear the executioner wasting no time and rapidly approaching you on the stage.
"Oyo... what's that freak doing there now?" A confused man in the crowd says.
From behind the bag hiding your face, you smile. "Oh, but I'm not just any freak.." you start talking back, "I'm.."
>Monte Hilderbrund, The Werewolf of Viscan
>Kiku Minatori, Siren of The Foreign Lands
>Graveth Hastings, The Immortal Butcher
The bones of the kneeling man give way as a primal scream escapes his lips, the sack covering his head only provides enough of a barrier to marginally lower the volume of his shrieking.
The crowd watching this brutal execution jeers at the man, "MURDERER", "C'MON LAD, PUT YOUR BACK INTO THE SWING", and other words of mockery slip from the mouths of the audience. The executioner, a large and burly man covered from head to toe in black garments, wields a nearly inhumanely long and heavy looking club. Each swing of it brutalizing the man in what is an increasingly barbaric display of punishment.
"Bastards.." you catch a barely audible whisper coming from what may be a woman behind you.
That's right.. you're not far off from being in the mans shoes ahead of you. Unsure of your bearings or whatever village they've transported you to due to your own coverings over your head, the only sure thing is you deserve to be here by all equal rights and measure. No matter what hole they put you in, no matter how long you were in there for, temptation overcame you.
<span class="mu-s">CRASH</span>
The sound of the poorly constructed floorboards give way and the crowd cheers, everyone waiting in line with you in the back is splattered by something.
"DID YA SEE THAT THERE? BATTERED THAT FUCKERS HEAD CLEAN OFF E' DID!" A particularly excited man shouts from out front the display.
You feel a rough hand grab your arm as it <span class="mu-r">tugs aggressively</span> causing you to yelp in pain, the wound in it from your previous capture not yet fully healed. Looks like you're next for whatever is coming, no tears fall from your eyes, you lay your sights on nothing but the burlap sack covering your head, your vision obscured by the bag.
In these final few moments you close your eyes, visions of the past slowly trickle forth from both before your criminal acts and after. You sigh and try to contain the fear of certain death coming your way, that is until an <span class="mu-r">overwhelmingly sharp pain in your head</span> throttles itself into the forefront of your thoughts. You scream before anything even happens and drop fully onto the floor like an infant.
No, you can't accept this.. to just lay down and die like this? You won't let these bastards make a display out of you.
<span class="mu-b">All the pain in your body suddenly goes away!</span> You stand, despite the efforts of the executioners help trying to keep you down on your knees, you stand defiant before them as an unknown burst of strength takes hostage over you.
The crowd murmurs amongst themselves in confusion, you hear the executioner wasting no time and rapidly approaching you on the stage.
"Oyo... what's that freak doing there now?" A confused man in the crowd says.
From behind the bag hiding your face, you smile. "Oh, but I'm not just any freak.." you start talking back, "I'm.."
>Monte Hilderbrund, The Werewolf of Viscan
>Kiku Minatori, Siren of The Foreign Lands
>Graveth Hastings, The Immortal Butcher
