The man writhed in the sublime agony of the fever, slick with pearly beads of sweat glistening on his tortured visage. His gaze was empty and unfocused, searching restlessly for something in the distance of the poorly lit room. The veiled lady stood above him and chuckled slightly.
“My poor dear Will,” her voice a cold, ghastly whisper, “why do you torment yourself thustly? What is it you are trying to accomplish?”
The man turned his gaze towards her slender figure, trying and to recognize face beneath the veil.
“I… where’s… Layla…” he muttered, in the firm grip of delirium.
“She’s not here, Will. She never was.”
“You… lie…” Will accused her, “she… was… right..ther…” he said pointing towards an empty spot. “I… heard… her… voice…” he caughed and for a moment his eyes rolled back into his skull. The veiled lady enjoyed his suffering immensly. She loomed over his prone form on the bed and smiled with an ugly smile behind the dark veil.
“Aah yes, her voice. The damned echo that keeps me apart from you, my dear Will. How I loathe it,” she screamed in jealous rage and clenched her fist above him, “how I wish to throttle the life out the throat which births it!”
She was furious, mad with rage and her eyes burned with the red of arterial blood, like twin firestorms beneath the veil. It was Will’s turn to laugh but he could only manage a rictus grin. Continue reading
Beyond the sweet lull of the narcotic,
Beyond the simple delight of the flesh,
Beyond the momentous catharsis,
A primordial thirst, lies unquenched,
Beyond those empty stares,
Beyond the wraiths’ unfocused glares,
Beyond the cosmic novae flares,
In chains of darkness, their souls are clenched
Photo by Iarlaith McNamara from Pexels
The hulking giant walked inside the Sanctum where Cybel ministered to his blades, ‘Solace’ and ‘Absolution’. Her pale delicate hands cleaned and oiled the monomolecular edges with the attention a mother would give to her newborn children. Her Master, the supreme commander of the ship and the leader of The Covenant was mighty sight to behold. Clad in the crimson Heresy pattern Power Armor with his right arm and shoulder-pad painted in midnight black he strode with purpose. Behind him, a pair of black wings adorned his jump pack in remembrance of his long lost father. Marks of his former legion adorned his left shoulder-pad while the accursed mark of the Messiah of Blood was forged in bronze on his right shoulder-pad. Cybel had the misfortune to serve the followers of the Messiah of Blood and they were indeed terrifying but He was different. His visage resembled that of His father’s image painted on the murals of the Sanctum, his long golden hair gently falling over his unblemished face, and eyes as green as the jade visor lenses in his helm. A more naive soul would see innocence, beneficence even, in their depths.
‘Tap, tap, tap…’ droplets of water fall freely in the half-filled tub steaming with hot water. Helen sits in the next room on the couch they used to share staring on the floor upon which he took his first steps. Little Adrian… her son and life, now gone. Memories come unbidden to her mind of their lovely laughter. Adrian’s and Victor’s. Their home was once filled with warmth of family and pure joy of life itself. Now, its icy touch creeps upon her pale skin, freezing the blood in her veins, her heart waning in the colorless days which go by without notice. Only the color of despair and shades of emptiness are her entire world. Victor was gone now, taking their son with them – “because of your erratic behavior, I won’t let your destroy our son,” – it said in the letter which now burns in the fireplace.
Did he ever really know the struggle of being different? Did he ever truly know how it was to be afraid of one’s own mind? Did he ever truly believe she would put her light and soul in the form that lovely bundle of hands and feet and toes in danger? How could he even imagine such a heartless act?
Heartless, that is what she was now. The pain of losing them both overwhelmed her and it has become too much to bear. The undeniable truth of that complete and silent loneliness bores inside her skull, and she can almost hear the accusations and the mockery.
To find that ultimate alone-ness in this uncaring universe… we are godless – we have always been. What questions do we ask ourselves? How do we explain this soul crushing division and loneliness? Are we forever doomed to traverse this universe in this alone-ness? What we wouldn’t give to fill this void of emotion and sensation… everything is so fleeting…
Even if some of us are doomed to walk this Earth frozen and alone… could we ever find that spark of solace in the company of another? Or are we cursed to walk and dream and die in vain?
Photo by Haydan As-soendawy from Pexels
In the end,
What awaits us?
What awaits the sinner’s soul?
Will God grant us repentance for our sins?
Or shall He be as Vindictive as the Book says?
We are but playthings in His Great Game,
Pebbles on the table,
Moved by an uncaring God,
Ours is the earthen misery.
What awaits beyond the Veil of Lies?
Photo by Mitja Juraja from Pexels
Here lies His great iron hand,
waiting for the call that has been ordained,
~Script destroyed by mold~
Turn from this vault of accursed knowledge,
Some doors are supposed to remain shut
If ye ~script smudged~
It will poison the land,
…in the air where only the Taker breathes deep
– Ancient papyrus found clutched by a skeleton’s hand in an abandoned village near Armrund.
“Only the stench of the rotting corpses and the cawing of crows remain in these places now. The sun shines no longer. The clouds, the darkness, and despair are thick in the air, and in our hearts… Flordram, have mercy!” – Journal of Lady Xandria, last entry
“Lord Drakenhof, the situation here is dire indeed. The people are dying in droves by this Shadowplague. It changes their minds and they turn upon each other like rabid beasts. My scouts inform me that entire cities have perished in as little as two months. . The cause might indeed be magical in its nature somehow since our conventional means do not yield any improvement. I pray to the Chronicler to grant you the wisdom and strength to lead us through this calamity.
Your loyal servant,
– report from the city of Vagast, Gunter Malodar, Healer of the Court
Aihal Morwalienn has found a very strange writing written in chalk on one of the support columns of the Arena in Kadril… The characters are of unknown alphabet and cipher, which may hide even more cryptic words… Is there something more going on inside this once prosperous city?
Photo by Jimmy Chan from Pexels
“Stay vigilant brothers and sisters! Keep the beacon of Amenel burning bright at all times, lest we fall to the darkness beyond the horizon! For more than 2.000 years it has been warding our shores from the Great Unknown, keeping our ships safe in the coldness of the misty seas…” – Arakil Icethorn, the Great Builder.
In the silent moments before the clock hits midnight,
I find myself sitting beneath that oak tree,
Gazing absently in the intricate dance of stars above, expecting her with glee,
The gathering storm rumbles to the west tonight,
I can sense her hunger long before she appears in my sight,
The coppery tang reaching my heightened senses, she has already indulged this night,
Bringing with it a whiff of something else, something sacred, something pure,
The fragrance of the Acolyte,