In a cataclysm known as the Nightfall, the worlds were almost completely destroyed by a harrowing surge of darkness.
In the shadows of the ensuing chaos a new group has taken shape. Led by an Aegyl named Kalos, the 11th Hour touts an esoteric knowledge of how to combat the darkness and restore the worlds. They might be the worlds’ best chance at survival; but nobody really knows enough about them to confirm or deny their claims.
On the brink of collapse, the universe holds its breath in anticipation. Of restoration? Of destruction? It is up to individuals like yourself to decide.
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There aren't enough praises in the world I'd like to give to wonderful coders for the Proboards community. The following have contributed to World Destiny in some way: W3 Schools for countless how-tos and countless of other souls who have helped get WD up to where it is.
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A cacophony of shattered tile and loose stone echoed in the tunnels. The grout on the wall had collapsed when Miller put his weight on it, and instead of a moment's rest, he received a good scare and a few bruises. It seemed that sleep would ever elude him. Miller unwrapped himself, taking his tattered cloak and fastening it around his shoulders. It drifted around his arms and back towards the floor as he stood up, tile fragments tinkling to the ground. With a desperate yawn that brought tears to his eyes, Miller slowly marched down the tunnel.
Leather-soled boots tread gently on pebbles and brick. Miller was alone with his thoughts, only occasionally dragged out of his stupor by a snap underfoot. At this point, the scares were the only thing keeping him awake. This world was blatantly against him; As different as it was, Miller held on to the hope that the souls who lived here would be kind. He didn't think there was a way he could survive alone; physically or mentally.
The sound of each foot fall would make the doll's ear twitch, barely audible under the crackling of a small fire in the center of the large cross roads. In front of the flame sat the doll in question, a small black feline dressed in red and gold garb, blue and yellow eyes gazing down at a small pot, the scent of rabbit stew wafting from the brew. The feline's blue and yellow eyes gazed at the new comer, sizing up the young man.
The young man looked like garbage physically, clearly fatigued and requiring not only sustenance, but definitely some sleep. While Haru certainly couldn't provide the latter, he would be more than happy to provide the former, smiling to his most recent accquaintence and offering a spare bowl, "Well then, I wasn't expecting to see anyone else down in these parts! You look like you could pass out any minute! The name is Haru, now come here and have some warm stew, it'll help you relax."
Suddenly, he was painfully awake. Sharp, stinging eyes studied the creature carefully. Something was certainly unnatural about it; Miller had seen some wild creatures, but they all had physiology about them. This thing lacked substance, and seemed... Falsified. Miller's sword found its way out of it's hiding spot inside the cloak, and dragged along the floor between the two beings. Slowly, Miller strafed around his guest in the tunnels, watching for signs of aggression. The sword ticked against a rather large stone, and noticing that no hostility came from the red figure, Miller looked down.
He stowed the blade away and adjusted the stone to sit near the flame, the light of which only exaggerated the bags under his bloodshot eyes. Elbows resting on his knees, Miller drummed his fingers on his lips, judging the stew. It couldn't be worse than Olric's could it? He turned down the bowl, instead untying a dried, hollow gourd from his belt, and portioning off a scoop of the stew for himself. "Those eyes are common in cats, aren't they?" he mentioned, remembering something from a journal he read once. "The different colors, I mean."
