by Oogieboogie » Mon Sep 09, 2024 9:15 pm
The Well
Here lies a deep dark well. The crank that lowers the bucket is heavily
rusted and appears as if it would break at the first touch. A bucket dangles
from a frayed and well used rope. The large granite stones that make up
the sides of the well have become brittle with age and are falling apart.
The ground around the well shows signs of grass sprouting in small clumps
indicating that there must be some --> water <-- within the well. The courtyard
continues in all directions, and the entrance to the southern keep lies to
the east.
[ obvious exits: N E S W ]
A revolting well bubbles with the blood of the sacrificed. <--- One of these things isn't like the other...
A trolloc cookpot, couched in a bed of coals, boils with human flesh.
A black flame dances here in midair.
A trolloc is here commanding a fist of troops.
A bearish trolloc towers here, its snout drawn into a snarl.
An elite trolloc stands ready to obey orders.
A hooded myrddraal, brooding in the shadows, slowly faces you.
A gray haired weaponsmaster stands nearby.
Why is there nasty, gross water in my delicious, tasty blood?
The Well
Here lies a deep dark well. The crank that lowers the bucket is heavily
rusted and appears as if it would break at the first touch. A bucket dangles
from a frayed and well used rope. The large granite stones that make up
the sides of the well have become brittle with age and are falling apart.
The ground around the well shows signs of grass sprouting in small clumps
indicating that there must be some --> [b][u]water[/u][/b] <-- within the well. The courtyard
continues in all directions, and the entrance to the southern keep lies to
the east.
[ obvious exits: N E S W ]
A revolting well bubbles with the blood of the sacrificed. <--- One of these things isn't like the other...
A trolloc cookpot, couched in a bed of coals, boils with human flesh.
A black flame dances here in midair.
A trolloc is here commanding a fist of troops.
A bearish trolloc towers here, its snout drawn into a snarl.
An elite trolloc stands ready to obey orders.
A hooded myrddraal, brooding in the shadows, slowly faces you.
A gray haired weaponsmaster stands nearby.
Why is there nasty, gross water in my delicious, tasty blood?