Candle's Call

[Wand 932]

The Sword of the Shadow was sheathed -
Held taut in trembling grip, the Red Lord's breath
Quivered and bled his life upon the wicked blade.

Again had it tasted blood of its Shurad, a
Mimicry of His murder long ago by Four crowned
In ensorcelled helms to fell their mighty king.

Now, this reddened man had become a scabbard,
And bore in his breast proof of paradox, stood
Unharmed by the draining blade of the Trickster.

At once, this deep blade of Shadow had met
Great resilient light, and for the first time failed
To drain the flesh or essence in its bite.

This new Shurad took the Broken Blade,
And recalled the words of its previous master,
Knowing now the Flame would be forever, within.

∞


Melting (Jordan Cameron)

[!] Upon the dawn of the new month, seven blackened signs burn upon the hands of their marked -
offering no direction, and only a pulsing pain, to remind of what they were denied.