StygianRose

Come and play the faceless game Where there are no hearts to claim Born of masks and bitter sorrow Abandon now all that's hallow Catch a glimpse and mark it well Let it guide you through this hell It is this you must remember When there remains not an ember In the darkness you will scream Ever mourning a fading dream Weary now you embrace the cold Silent tears for tarnished gold

     The heavens cast their bitter tears down upon the shadowed boughs of the ageless forest, rainwater washing over the undergrowth in scouring torrents. The skies roiled and seethed with fury, their breath whipping through the trees in earsplitting howls. Dusky clouds flashed with violent lights, and yet the air hung silent save for the screaming winds; lightning illuminating the distant reaches without so much as a whisper heard in the forest itself.     One figure braved the storm, his tawny flesh stretched taut over the heavy musculature of his six and a half foot frame; his broad shoulders tense with unabsolved stress. Much of his form

     The final rays of daylight cast their twilight radiance down upon the smoking aftermath of a terrible conflagration. Charred husks rose all around, harsh reminders of the town’s former grandeur. Unidentifiable corpses laid twisted at unnatural angles, their faces forever frozen in expressions of fear and suffering. The air hung caught within the grasp of an oppressive silence, heavy with the acrid stench of ash. A small group of people wandered through the wreckage with grim expressions, the pointed tips of their ears perked to catch the slightest noise. Children hid soot streaked faces against their mother’s skirts, unwillin

     Mounds of countless coins gleamed in stark contrast to the obsidian stone which they rested upon, each shining with luster that seemed freshly minted by the forge. Priceless trinkets laid strewn throughout the pile, seemingly at random; weapons, rings, pendants and other baubles all found their way here. Ornate altars of living stone rose above the mountains of wealth, each flawlessly merged with the earth at its base; delicate runes etched with a strange calligraphy wound their way around the twisting spires, casting a pale illumination upon the polished surface. Above each of these hallowed pedestals, hovered a single artifact; the she

     The wind whipped and howled through the jagged walls of the crevasse, its screeching claws tore relentlessly upon the unforgiving stone; charred remnants of once gleaming marble weathered away beneath the ruthless sun, grim reminders of ages passed. The air stilled as the sun began to set on the horizon, a suffocating silence settled over the area as the creeping fingers of dusk crawled across the landscape; the horizon painted itself with vibrant shades of burning amber and molten crimson, as the last rays of gold streaked across the land in vibrant arcs of gleaming sunlight. From these final moments of daylight, a shadowed rider rushed

The thunderous pour of rain sounded all around him, lighting cracking in the distance with the roaring booms of thunder tearing through the air. Yet Venarion heard none of it, felt none of the stinging pelts of droplets upon his body, for his attention was transfixed upon the scene below. Far down from the hilltop upon which he stood, an orphanage lay aflame. He could almost hear the sickening cracks of the wooden timbers as the fire licked and danced beneath it. The screams of the dying sent a cold shiver down his spine, for he thought he could pick out the screams of children among them. Wasting no time, he ran down the steep incline toward