Lonelywerewolf: To answer your quetsion, Tzeentch(did I write your name right?), no. Only those of Carnate shall be included in the story,since I haven't played Ties that Bind yet(I'm trying not to spoil, anyway), but if I might change my mind, in the future, eventually.
Well then, that aside, hope you all enjoy.
Chapter 3: Lethal Reality, Help me….(Mainliner)
The last of the big three, a lethal poison that succumbs in the grave of the holder, offering very little compensation for the living and the dead. I have been used to inserting that needle all the time that it doesn't surprise me, when I see them. Their eyes turning white, their heartbeat slowing down, eyes gently closing, ready to take in their final breath.
Rumors around this prison catch my ears almost all the time, like the story of a recently executed inmate, Brass Reese, a murderer and a rapper. Been new in the job, with only four executions at my fingertips, Reese was according to some the legend of the lethal injection. It is said that after taking in the shot, Reese woke up, attacked the executioner, and with two poisonous syringes in hand, got the executioner right in the eyes, inserting the needles with brutal force. Once his deed done, Reese watched slowly as the executioner died from poison. It is later told, or rather rumored for sure, that when Reese walked out to his escape, from his ears and eyes and nose came out blood. Litters and litters of blood, he died of blood loss and then, like any other inmate, he was buried in the cemetery and never heard of again, except once in a while, when new C.O.s in the prison were given a good scare.
Looking at the creatures that linger in the ground before me, I see that Reese legacy indeed exists. Carefully this creatures crawl with hands and knees, syringes all over them, like some kind of porcupine with poisonous spikes. Syringes, like the once in Reese story, are seen stuck in it's eyes. Fool that I was….it was an awful sight….I wondered how long I will last….I guess this is how they say an executioner must die, by the tool of his trade.
-Francis Wright(1968-1999)
They called them sour,
Once they were fools,
Who thought them better than the crowds,
Lost within the distant crime,
They rot in life and go around,
In the blood they go and rise,
Time to rise again sunshine,
Let's go round again,
And die together by trade.