Board Thread:Off-Topic Posts/@comment-32576568-20181103004517/@comment-36948568-20181120150308

I made a short story about pestilence just now, so yay me.

You died last night.

You were infected by the Plague, and no doctor was alive to treat you.

Your house was raided in the night by a theif, so no-one knows what you were.

You were buried in a mass grave and promptly forgotten.

Your family mourned you until they also succumbed to the sickness that had overtaken the town.

The town was abandoned shortly, and the only resident left was the one who cared naught for the lives he had taken.

The god who had taken the lives of thousands cared not for the destruction his plague caused.

He simply watched, waited, and listened.

Until another group of settelers found the lonley island on which this god still waited.

These settelers found the ruins of a town amidst the island's vast forest, and christened it, "Salem".

And so the god appeared to them, in a mortal form.

To slowly cleanse his home of all who came here.

Ever vigilant, this being would rid his home of the mortal parasites who stole the islands resources for their own gain.

He cared not for the conflicts of mortals, for the groups they formed, for the spells and killings they practiced.

All this being knew was that these mortals would be cleansed by his plague, again and again.

This is the story of the Fourth Horseman of the Apacolypse,.

This is the story of Me.