User:Hibernaculum/Middian: Difference between revisions

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|-
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| bgcolor="#7d8f7d" align="center" | <font color=#ecffec>Location:</font>
| bgcolor="#7d8f7d" align="center" | <font color=#ecffec>Location:</font>
|  | <font color=#b3c6b3>''Grigg Heights''</font>
|  | <font color=#b3c6b3>''Looking for new home''</font>
|-
|-
| bgcolor="#7d8f7d" align="center" | <font color=#ecffec>Current Level:</font>
| bgcolor="#7d8f7d" align="center" | <font color=#ecffec>Current Level:</font>
|  | <font color=#b3c6b3>42</font>
|  | <font color=#b3c6b3>43</font>
|-
|-
| bgcolor="#7d8f7d" align="center" | <font color=#ecffec>Group:</font>
| bgcolor="#7d8f7d" align="center" | <font color=#ecffec>Group:</font>
|  | [[Rot From The Moors|<font color=#ff8f8f>'''Rot From The Moors'''</font>]]
|  | '''Forming...'''
|-
|-
|}
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== <span style="background: #778877; color: #bcb; border-left: 2px solid #667766; border-top: 2px solid #667766; border-right: 2px solid #667766; border-bottom: 2px solid #667766">&nbsp;&nbsp;Status&nbsp;&nbsp;</span> ==
== <span style="background: #778877; color: #bcb; border-left: 2px solid #667766; border-top: 2px solid #667766; border-right: 2px solid #667766; border-bottom: 2px solid #667766">&nbsp;&nbsp;Status&nbsp;&nbsp;</span> ==
'''RETIRED'''  
'''Making a Comeback'''  
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
== <span style="background: #778877; color: #bcb; border-left: 2px solid #667766; border-top: 2px solid #667766; border-right: 2px solid #667766; border-bottom: 2px solid #667766">&nbsp;&nbsp;History&nbsp;&nbsp;</span> ==
== <span style="background: #778877; color: #bcb; border-left: 2px solid #667766; border-top: 2px solid #667766; border-right: 2px solid #667766; border-bottom: 2px solid #667766">&nbsp;&nbsp;History&nbsp;&nbsp;</span> ==


''A moor is a type of habitat found in upland areas, characterized by low growing vegetation on acidic soils. But when the plague swept through Malton, something other than plants rose from that soil.''


''There is a bog, a special bog, lost in these forgotten moors. In this bog, all manner of filth and inhumanity bubbles. And percolates. And festers. And from this fetid soup, numerous souls, long thought to be lost, have been spit up from the depths. They float on the surface and are disgorged onto the foggy shores. From there, they slowly stand, opening their eyes to the world for the first time in centuries.''


'''Middian was a knight, terribly wounded during the first crusade in 1095. He died at the very spot where the cursed bog would soon come to be. His body was somehow preserved by that unholy stew. It churned and turned over the centuries, decaying ever so slowly. One day, for no apparent reason whatsoever, he was spit out into the cold Malton night. All memories of his previous life have long since been lost to the rot that has taken hold of his brain and body. The only thing he knows is hunger. He must feed. And feed. And feed some more.'''
'''Middian was a knight, terribly wounded during the first crusade in 1095. He died at at the very spot where the cursed bog that face rise to ''Rot From the Moors'' was formed. His body was somehow preserved by that unholy stew. It churned and turned over the centuries, decaying ever so slowly. One day, for no apparent reason whatsoever, he was spit out into the cold Malton night. All memories of his previous life have long since been lost to the rot that has taken hold of his brain and body. The only thing he knows is hunger. He must feed. And feed. And feed some more.'''





Revision as of 19:22, 20 April 2009


 Hibernaculum   Dr.Summeroff   Middian   Huddie Ledbetter   The Autarch   Talkpage   Sandbox   Notes 



Middian
Middian.JPG
Name: Middian
Age: 913
Occupation: Zombie
Current Status: Eating Brains
Location: Looking for new home
Current Level: 43
Group: Forming...


  Middian  



"Brains!!"



  Status  

Making a Comeback

  History  

Middian was a knight, terribly wounded during the first crusade in 1095. He died at at the very spot where the cursed bog that face rise to Rot From the Moors was formed. His body was somehow preserved by that unholy stew. It churned and turned over the centuries, decaying ever so slowly. One day, for no apparent reason whatsoever, he was spit out into the cold Malton night. All memories of his previous life have long since been lost to the rot that has taken hold of his brain and body. The only thing he knows is hunger. He must feed. And feed. And feed some more.



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If you never, EVER, stole anything, then you can be sure you aren't eligible to be in the Liberal Party of Canada.



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