Title: Pyroclastic Cloud
Genre: fantasy / disaster film
Rating: i dunno, there's going to be violence and swearing so i'll say 15

Characters
Ardecus: latin for 'to set alight'. Head volcanologist
Amelia: my fursona/wereself making a cameo XD
Richarde: moody ex-marine turned newsreporter
Williame: undecided
(more to come)

Location: Scotland, just north of Hadrians Wall
Time era: modern. no cars / aeroplanes yet with volcanic monitering equipment, computers, tv ect

Plot: working on it
Sample: (wip)
Introduction
"Everybody inside! Its going t'blow!
A scrambling of claws upon the floorboards, a baying note as a pub keened its fear into the night. Coughing could be heard through the thick cloud of choking ash - a duvet of minature razor-honed glass flaoting in the air, ready to fill the lungs of the next inhaler. More cries, yells of panic echoing into the darkness. Unable to reply to the warning, many simply drove themselves through the toughened oak doors. A shrouded figure stood in the doorway, a gasmask pulled over a broad face and a nozzle connected to an air sac. It gestured desperatly with sn stm, the ground suddenly trembling beneath, causing the entity to stagger into the fence.

Ardesco ripped the mask off with a gloved hand, an instant shake freeing the burgundy dreadlocks that tumbled over his shoulders. Locking the door, the whole hut seemed to shake from that simple movement. Heads swivelled expectantly towards him; some laced with disbelief, some with shock and some even still with bemused anger. A snarl drew lips back from gleaming white teeth, a rattling growl ripping from his throat.
"Now do you see what happens when you don't listen. And now we are all to die," he stated to the crowd, a strangely content expression spread over his features. Silence fell, thicker than the ash raining down on them from outside. Then one figure spoke, barely distinguishable from those around her.
"We're going to live though aren't we? she asked, voice trembling slightly. Ardescos' reply was blunt, to the point and need not to be repeated.
"No. The ash is too heavy - our lungs will fill with fluid and will eventually drown us. Or we'll suffocate ourselves of oxygen. But the most likely thing ot happen is that the pyroclastic cloud that will follow the main eruption will burn us alive," he stated. Some of those surrounding him remained silent - they knew that in their job this was to be expected, the unspoken sentance to those who don't heed to Mother Earths warnings. Most of the figures sank to the floor, overocme with grief while others wailed their lamentations outloud, the sound rising and falling as the primitive song wove into the air. Only the trees rustled a reply, only the thick sheet of falling ash hissed in reply.
If only they'd listened 4 months ago...when the first clues began

September 6, Romanee XVII Observatory, Hadrians Wall, Scotland
"What the 'ell?
A continuous beeping came from the machine, the needle lacing across the rolling paper in short jerks. Flicking the half-lit cigarette out the wihndow and ignoring the crude yells from whoever it landed on, the jackal heaved himself off the reclining chair and paced over. An eyebrow arched and his refined features took on a puzzled expression. Turning, he tossed a cushion over towards the figure slumped in the far corner, brushing a long wisp of hair out of his face as he did so.
"'Ere Paddy, you ever seen anything like this? he asked, chuckling slighlty as the canine's head jerked up, ripping the newspaper propped along its muzzle. A grunt, the chair creaking as the Alsation flexed his back out - ah that had been a good sleep. Standing, a slight scratch on his thigh and he was pacing over. With a mug of coffee held in a hand, half-moon spectacles slid partway down his muzzle. Peering at the monitor, his eyebrows rose.
"Eh, looks like we got ourselves a...er..2.5 magnitute earthquake," he chuckled, clapping the taller Anubian on the back. The jackals ears perked, and his tongue flopped out of his partially open muzzle as he grabbed a notepad, scribbling down the details as the other described it to him.
"Who do we call?
"The boss of course, Ardesco would want to know about this," Paddy grumbled, flicking the aerial up on the block-like phone

_________________
The skeletons are playing a jig for you ...
... let's give 'em a merry dance
Aka Respergo