Character Sheet Thread (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=185117)<br/>OOC Thread (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=185118)<br/><br/><div class="floatright">(http://khalifafilardha.files.wordpress.com/2011/06/sci-fi-post-apocalyptic-36436.jpg)</div>The rain slowly comes down, making the ground wet and causing a faint, acrid smell to fill the air. The rain has never been right since the invasion, sickening those who drink it and corroding the buildings and streets, filling the with pockmarks as though from some terrible wasting disease. It's not too bad tonight, barely making one's skin itch in a hot rash, but there are times when it eats the very flesh surrounding bones, and turns the bones into sludge. Rarely are people caught in such a downpour, but there are always those few who are caught unprepared or too destitute to find shelter for themselves, and those often leave only a corpse--or worse. Many an abomination has entered the city, not through the gates, but through the very inhabitants by transforming after the previous person was killed by the acidic rain.<br/><br/>The Silver Hilt is in force tonight, patrolling the main streets. Platinum-white hair shone in the dim torch-lights, a small candle in the overwhelming darkness of the late evening. The rain seemed to cause them no problem, and their snake-like eyes flitted to and fro in unspoken communication as they walked as one. Their over-sized swords, each one too big for the size of its intended wielder, rode within sheathes at their side, an unspoken threat and promise to eradicate any that got in their way or were their intended targets.<br/><br/>In contrast, the Night Watch was nowhere to be seen. They never made it out on the days it rained, preferring to sip hot tea within the Watch Buildings that dotted the city rather than risk the rain. After all, no crimes were going to be committed when the rain was going to keep people inside. At least, this was the line of thought of the Watch. And on most night they were right. But on this night...<br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Miriel Vitale</div><div class="spoiler_body">"You thought you could get away, didn't you...?" the man licks his rain-slicked knife as he comes closer to the young woman, hatred and murder in his eyes. Every step he takes makes a soft splash, the rain leaving an itching, almost burning sensation on both his skin and that of his prey. He comes closer, brandishing the knife; "Don't worry girl--I'll make it quick--after I've had my way with you," he smiles, continuing to advance on the woman, yellowed teeth showing through peeled lips as his smile grows sharper. "Come now, it's already been predetermined. There's nothing you can do and no-one that can save you. Don't waste your energy and effort--just let it go and enjoy your long sleep..." he gives a short laugh.</div></div><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Anli Revell</div><div class="spoiler_body">The only exception to the absence of watchmen in the vicinity are two men who knock on Anli's door, the first and old codger of a man with a large belly and Sergeant's stripes on his stained uniform, the second an attentive young man in his early twenties with a lazy eye that doesn't follow the other one when something catches his attention. "Ms. Revell, I assume?" the Sergeant puffs beneath the overhang as Anli opens the door, staying out of the rain as best he can as the other one angles a large umbrella to keep the worst off of them. "I'm Sergeant Wick, this is Private Bustol. I'll need you to come with us," he says, expression grave. "It's urgent--and concerning Mr. Varen," he says, his expression and manner dour.</div></div><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Sarya Melisandra</div><div class="spoiler_body">The rain spattered both her and the man, now forgotten and laying on the cobblestones. It felt cool against Sarya's skin, her elvish nature less likely to get irritated by the rain's touch. On the other hand, the rotund man on the floor is breathing heavily, dark splotches of an allergic reaction already visible on his face. He gasps for air and says, "You understand--you do! Please, take it all--anything! Just don't kill me, I don't know what my little Tiha would do without me!" he cries abjectly, shivering despite the night's warmth at the elf's countenance, hoping against hope that the savage would somehow understand him.</div></div>