« Thread started on: Feb 24th, 2011, 3:11pm »
Elazar's form was a spot of white on the blackened wasteland as he made his way through the barren graveyard. There were many ghosts here, clinging to his warm, living form, whispering quiet sadness in his ears. He padded on, his white paws grey with ash, and ignored them. There appearance most likely signalled the end of his sanity, as nobody else could see them, but part of him wondered how his mind- even when cracked- could possibly imagine the many different forms here. He had spoken to a few ghosts, and heard their stories, but not many... The spectres had a habit of drawing the living into their world, and the unwary could get trapped there.