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The Third Advocate


Sorcerio
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6-Bly26utBo

 

 

We tread a thin line, or some would say;

To bear forth night and flee from day.

This road tread is shallow and waning,

Each step taken, ever-draining.

We wander ceaselessly, without an end,

And further into folly, so we descend.

 

 


 

 

“Have you found what I’d asked of you?”


 

A lone voice questioned atop the slant of greying rock, scraping the air with its gravelly tone. It was a pale figure, one clothed in silk the color of poison. His face was gaunt and waxen, with hollow lips and a gaze alike to some vicious serpent; eyes glowing like a dying ember. And upon his brow rested a gleaming diadem that seemed to claw for the blackened veil above. With him lingered an air of feigned authority, and yet the very winds seemed to quiver at his presence, for he held himself in such esteem. 


 

“I have not.”


 

A second would finally hum in reply, breaking the silence with their far fairer tone - yet despaired all the same. This one remained shrouded in black, save for the silver lustre of his moonlit locks. And upon his willowy visage lie some wretched scarring, which bore the marks of infernal marring; a testament to the fires which had refined him. But the First seethed vehemently at the reply;

 

 

“Your resolve dwindles. You seek to find what lies among those who cannot provide it.”
 

“You know my faults as well as I. It is no simple task.”

 

“Ignorance is bliss, and you grow vain from your own sloth. I know full well the fruits merited by treading down such a path.”

 

“You would have me stray from my word and oath?”

 

“No word need be warped, nor promise broken. But thin lines still lie in-between.”

 

“I’ve stooped to many lows, yet ne'er treachery.”
 

“And if this be the only means to our end?”

 

 

There was no reply. The First snarled, looking to the Second, impatiently pressing a response. Still, naught but the lash of wind that scoured across those high fells. Finally he spoke;


 

“Perhaps this our end then.”

 

 

The First shrieked, the winds ceasing as it glowered towards the Second.

 

 

“Bound by chains, I was not restrained. Yet you are captive of your own will!”

 

“Do not claim me a captive, wretch! You have faded, whilst I endure!”

 

“Empty words from as an empty tomb. Seek out the consul of those sworn against, lest the tower of lies crumble atop us alone. Herald change, or succumb to woe...”

 

“I’ll not be alone. A third now joins us.”

 

“A third?”


 

And the First had but barely spoke, before another figure appeared atop the cliffside; concealed in the ebony veil of shadow and mist, and blinded by a false creed. Upon him were shackles of iron, fetters unbound. Casting aside the oath upheld in his fleeting life, he had faced the woe of the wastes, and had met the folly of his beliefs. The First looked to the Second, overcome by disdain.

 

 

"Was this inevitable?" 

 

"Was this worth it?"

 

“Was this right?

 

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The man from the House of Fir shrieked in pain. He stood in a cellar smelling of rot. He scratched at his face, bile spilling from his maw as he vomited on the floor, blood leaking from great pores over his face. He shook, spasmed. He felt old, antique, and from within, his very heart ached, burned, and demanded sacrifice; fulfillment for its unknown, heavenly plot. 

 

He could almost hear it, the soft murmur of a wanton lullaby, carried by the wind, the sea's, and the psalm from the instrument of a long dead seer. 

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