Pestilence: Rise Of The Pure Undead
Moulded from rot and souls, Loimos is born as an undead, as a skeleton. An undead linked to the weakest category of its kind, yet, he has something no other of the dead have. He is pure. Follow the journey of Loimos as he fulfils his duty and hunts down the living with extreme prejudice and faces off with the hypocrisy of those who live in death. In a world thriving with life, magic and heroes, he stands as the solution and its end.
The Southern King
"You have slain much too many, woman" Alisart appeared garbed in his full suit of armour, carrying his greatsword, his firm gaze clearly transpiring even through the helm.
"Your Majesty…" Aramap somehow was still conscious, his face and hair severely reddened by a thick layer of blood.
"You did well, lead the others to the outside, fare as long as you can, this place is probably going to collapse" not daring to question the orders, Aramap stood up and ran off.
Meanwhile, Cleavster looked around, as far as the eye could see, there were horribly mangled bodies, agonising knights and soldiers who had had the misfortune of brushing up with The Death Dealer, his blood was boiling.
The pristine white cloaks of his valiant warriors had been tainted red, their durable armours slashed to pieces, their honour tarnished from having to even interact with such a vile, filthy creature.