Evil

A chorus roused within a discreet cave.

A blasphemous rite has neared its conclusion,

and in drappled, flashing pictures,

a macabre and heinous practice

unfurled to the gazes that gauged the fragile coherency

of the realm’s shield against the volatile sea of chaos. 

The Veilwatchers,

whether blessed or burdened by the greater sight,

were bestown with a countenance of ruptured fabric.

Clad in a splendorous corral, shackled in a great and gilded chalice,

it oozed the agitation.

A glimpse of the beyond.

Its looming brawn was leering out in all its glory. 

A din of blistering winds that spewed therefrom

gnawed on the ears of the observers.

In the cloven maw,

a welter of writhing colours,

of crimson and viridescent,

roared and frothed with sheer might,

freckled with sinister smudges of abyss.

Obsequious to the rift’s power,

space bent at its fringes,

wavering and hazing,

croaking and crackling.

There was a pair of podiums at its brims,

staring at each other from across the arcane chasm.

Stationed upon either, stood a figure,

wrapped in instantaneous black cloak each,

and  with hoods draped lowly over their visages.

Wisps of mana thrived about them,

and beset in trembles lingered either. 

Beckoned by the avarice,

they wrought a terrible deed,

whether folly was to follow or greatness to arrive.