Post by The Shadow of War on Jan 28, 2014 14:42:11 GMT -5
August 4th, 23CLE.
Hecarim was in his quarters recovering from a brief trip to the mainland that had not gone to his exact plans, his once shining armor of dread was dented and his flames were burning dim. There were times even in his unlife that the centaur was overwhelmed and needed to actually rest, making trips to the mainland were growing more and more taxing the more he attempted them and sooner than later he would be careless and be caught or even worse, destroyed.
In these times when he found himself damaged he returned to the place he truly called home on the Shadow Isles, the horse graveyard accompanied by a lone manor, when he came here the creatures he had under his personal dominion knew what it was he sought the second his hooves blessed the ground. They immediately began to scramble to him and begin the delicate process of removing his armor and taking it to the basement where it would be repaired, they also attempted to take their masters treasured halberd but found every time that the centaur would refuse to it go. He would never trust the weapon in the hands of another whether they be undead or mortal, he took care of the weapon in unlife on his own.
Aside from repairs to his armor these creatures made sure that all of his needs were taken of around the manor such as sending messages to the other champions of the isles and or making sure their master received their messages. Though on this distasteful night a lone creature crawled his way to him and appeared to be hesitant on speaking, he turned his eyes to the lowly creature with a stern glare encouraging he spit whatever news he was bringing out.
The geist stuttered at first, but with the eyes of his master upon him he found himself speaking fluidly not missing a single detail.
"While master and the others of the king were invading the fleshies of Demacia we thoughts to tell you that your promise to those of the frozen north is unfulfilled, many many dead brought here by Yorick... all to the afterlife rather than the pit. What will master do?"
He did not speak for some time, leaving the geist before him in what appeared to be fear of his masters next move or word. Instead he spoke in his normal echoing voice.
"How long until my armor is finished." Though this question would answer itself as five slightly larger geists came running into the room and got to work putting the armor back onto his fiery body restored to it's usual glory. He grabbed his halberd that he had sharpened some time ago and ordered his servants out with a wave of his free hand and then walked steadily out of the manor. The second he was sure that he could do no harm to his lair he took off full speed towards the shore and then eastward, to the frozen north.
His hooves like thunder with each step he took the others on the island and possibly the king could hear him going off once again, his current speed was so great that even his loyal riders of the grave rose as he raced toward his destination. The sheer thought of what would be left of the Freljord brought satisfaction to him, as he neared the water he let out a roar to his comrades that made them raise their weapons in a cheer as they followed their leader.
"BROTHERS... TO THE FRELJORD!"
Hecarim was in his quarters recovering from a brief trip to the mainland that had not gone to his exact plans, his once shining armor of dread was dented and his flames were burning dim. There were times even in his unlife that the centaur was overwhelmed and needed to actually rest, making trips to the mainland were growing more and more taxing the more he attempted them and sooner than later he would be careless and be caught or even worse, destroyed.
In these times when he found himself damaged he returned to the place he truly called home on the Shadow Isles, the horse graveyard accompanied by a lone manor, when he came here the creatures he had under his personal dominion knew what it was he sought the second his hooves blessed the ground. They immediately began to scramble to him and begin the delicate process of removing his armor and taking it to the basement where it would be repaired, they also attempted to take their masters treasured halberd but found every time that the centaur would refuse to it go. He would never trust the weapon in the hands of another whether they be undead or mortal, he took care of the weapon in unlife on his own.
Aside from repairs to his armor these creatures made sure that all of his needs were taken of around the manor such as sending messages to the other champions of the isles and or making sure their master received their messages. Though on this distasteful night a lone creature crawled his way to him and appeared to be hesitant on speaking, he turned his eyes to the lowly creature with a stern glare encouraging he spit whatever news he was bringing out.
The geist stuttered at first, but with the eyes of his master upon him he found himself speaking fluidly not missing a single detail.
"While master and the others of the king were invading the fleshies of Demacia we thoughts to tell you that your promise to those of the frozen north is unfulfilled, many many dead brought here by Yorick... all to the afterlife rather than the pit. What will master do?"
He did not speak for some time, leaving the geist before him in what appeared to be fear of his masters next move or word. Instead he spoke in his normal echoing voice.
"How long until my armor is finished." Though this question would answer itself as five slightly larger geists came running into the room and got to work putting the armor back onto his fiery body restored to it's usual glory. He grabbed his halberd that he had sharpened some time ago and ordered his servants out with a wave of his free hand and then walked steadily out of the manor. The second he was sure that he could do no harm to his lair he took off full speed towards the shore and then eastward, to the frozen north.
His hooves like thunder with each step he took the others on the island and possibly the king could hear him going off once again, his current speed was so great that even his loyal riders of the grave rose as he raced toward his destination. The sheer thought of what would be left of the Freljord brought satisfaction to him, as he neared the water he let out a roar to his comrades that made them raise their weapons in a cheer as they followed their leader.
"BROTHERS... TO THE FRELJORD!"
