Broken words for a broken man

[Jentos 9422]

“ Darkness -

Subtle song of shadows, where the devils of man’s mind dance.

Mirroring the fiends of humanity.

 

But what is humanity?

A dreadful, dying thing.

 

A sinful thing.

For man has killed,

Killed his own God

 

And now he looks down at his grave and prays to a corpse

But wouldn't God’s own corpse be a thing of power itself? Isn't my punishment testimony of such? ”

 

The old man murmured, his form swayed left and right, digits clasping over his withering head.

Those words weren't his, no, for he shared him with others.

He moaned, a moan of pain.

They screamed at him, clawed at him, banishing silence from his very self.

 

He trashed and he screamed, spitting chaos and curses unto the cave walls, driving them off in the ends of his bones.

 

Shrieks, cries evaded him into the stormy night

 

The elder’s form shifted left and right, seeing death in every shadow of his barrow.

 

Lost in the beings that infested his form, the dark clad man drove his bare fingers into the soil, digging into the dead, lifeless earth, digits crammed into the dust and ash of life now past, spraying it left and right in somewhat desperation.

And he found it.

A hand lacking of flesh clasped a round surface, from the earth he free’d a forlorn, ancient thing.

An orb, of dark blue and green color, like that of a northern sea. A thing stolen, a thing of scrying.

The old figure hastily hefted it from the ground, caressing the object to his chest.

And pain snaked into him like a thousand burning poniards.

Threads of ebon darkness left him, flakes of burning ashes left his soiled self

 

He trashed and he screamed, spitting chaos and curses unto the cave walls, driving them off in the ends of his bones.

 

Shrieks, cries evaded him into the stormy night

 

His focus could not be kept, it fled.

It shifted, it howled to be released from the accursed man.

But he would not

He kept it

And his eyes stared at darkness no longer, what ears he did not possess heard not the night

They heard the cries of dead men

The cries of souls dead no less than a hundred years.

Conjured forth by a seeing stone of the past.

Or was it just the broken nature of the user?

Or perhaps his failure

For once more, he'd lost it

Lost his name.

 

Only God can tell.

 

Alas.

God is dead

Or so the dead claim.

 

He was Aldred the Oathless

and death sang in his ears.

[Vaynth 3005]

Moved to The Great Library. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.

 

If you feel this is a mistake, please contact myself or any FM and we'll restore it.