Matthew Praetus - ToR Round 1From the shadows stepped forward a black haired youngster, who couldnt have been older than 13, with their arms folded and a shade of cyan in their eyes that sent chills down Praetuss spine. Praetus didnt like the idea of hurting children, but he had such a cause that he forced images of the child gaging inside his head.
Shes quite young isnt sh- ACK! Praetuss question was cut short with the end of a blade to his throat.
I AM A BOY! And for such a stupid comment, I shall banish you to the fiery pits of Hell! The boy yelled, one blade holding the scientist in place, and the other prepared to punch holes in his body like a bag of air.
Now now boys, lets not get ahead of ourselves, and I do insist that you call your idea of Hell The Pit; how do you know what its like, eh? Death calmly imposed. Now, lets make this more...spectacular. He clicked his fingers, and with
Praetus Spectator Story - ToRPraetus sat down and pulled out several small tubes of chemicals, which he at first thought he had handy when he died, but soon discovered that they just spontaneously appeared when he thought to the effect of Damn, I could really use some [X]. He wasnt complaining, however, so he wouldnt let it bother him. He had millions of souls on his shoulder for that. He mixed a few together, and started filling up the small needles, which he also found in his pocket. So, this will poison the body when it enters the blood stream, and this, He muttered as he dripped a strange purple substance into the solutions needles, Will act as a catalyst. The effect will be immediate, but they will have a minute of paralysation before they become unconscious and then, he stumbled for the word. ...die.
He finished filling the needles, and put them into his needle gun or so he dubbed it. He made the plastic device ab
Matthew Praetus's Story - ToR The mans overalls were in a sorry state, but this didnt seem to bother him. He kept flicking pages upon pages, backwards and forth until he found what he was looking for. His haste barely disguised his paranoia, his hands were trembling and he found it hard to mix the solutions.
Please, please, this has to be it, it surely cannot be another mixture! His exasperated voice muttered. His glove was filled with sweat, and he took loud, deep breaths that could barely sustain him. I will cure everyone, I will make it right again! Dya hear me? I will solve my mess if it kills me! He was feverish now. He had to get it right.
The concoction was yellow, of a florescent nature, and it had the consistency stale milk. Come on, it must be right! he cried as he thrashed his pestle furiously around the mortar. It became a smooth liquid in a few seconds; a pleas