It had been a while since players had graced Astorea, the once vibrant city overgrown with vines and weeds, monsters roaming the streets and houses. It was outside of the city however, in the forests of Western Brisshal that had more reclaimation duty at the moment then the city itself. Along the outskirts of the player city, just out of reach behind lines of trees, brush and the horizon roads were being trimmed and repaved, though not coming close enough to the settlement to be seen, they were being made close enough that they could be connected with just a bit of work from others when the time came. The reason for that was naturally the fact that the ones doing the work were all skeletons. Each one clothed in leathers or rags of different kinds. Using tools like scythes, sickles or hoes to rip or uproot the overgrown woods to carve a path each skeleton worked diligently like members of a chain gang, mechanically swinging and working.
The only one among them who seemed to have any genuine intelligence and planning ability had been a shadowed figure. A wraith cloaked in a fancy nobleman's coat, with a simple hat. Though the creature had no face or legs, instead it wore a porcelain mask with black fog billowing out from beneath it, and in place of legs there was merely empty space as the coat flowed down over nothing and faint transparent fog kept him afloat. The Wraith was a high tier undead, a Wraith King, what many would consider an apex predator among the spectral monsters of the wild, but this one was different. Rather then roaming the wilderness in look of murder or life to consume, it stood with a gentlemanly demeanor, notebook in hand as it thumbed through pages as if trying to digest or perceive any hiccups in the plans he'd been given.
The Steward was a diligent but relaxed task master, the speed at which the units worked was what it was meant to be, provided there were no problems he'd see no reason to lead personally by giving instructions. Instead, tilting his head as he thumbed through his Miss's plans he felt perplexed at their role, wondering why they weren't beginning with their home territory and were instead clearing the way for Players instead.
@Sol
The only one among them who seemed to have any genuine intelligence and planning ability had been a shadowed figure. A wraith cloaked in a fancy nobleman's coat, with a simple hat. Though the creature had no face or legs, instead it wore a porcelain mask with black fog billowing out from beneath it, and in place of legs there was merely empty space as the coat flowed down over nothing and faint transparent fog kept him afloat. The Wraith was a high tier undead, a Wraith King, what many would consider an apex predator among the spectral monsters of the wild, but this one was different. Rather then roaming the wilderness in look of murder or life to consume, it stood with a gentlemanly demeanor, notebook in hand as it thumbed through pages as if trying to digest or perceive any hiccups in the plans he'd been given.
The Steward was a diligent but relaxed task master, the speed at which the units worked was what it was meant to be, provided there were no problems he'd see no reason to lead personally by giving instructions. Instead, tilting his head as he thumbed through his Miss's plans he felt perplexed at their role, wondering why they weren't beginning with their home territory and were instead clearing the way for Players instead.
@Sol