Are
People, shambling shadows in he corner of his eyes. Coming and going as they damn well pleased. A mockery of everything that was right and good in the world. Heathens so dead set on playing straight into the hands of the one that would rather have their whole world plunged into the depths than admit defeat. Yet, a part could not but long for the moment the absolute silence covered them all. Because there in the ashes of a risen corpse would only solemn peace rule, and above it all would a raven on rag wings rise. A blackened master of the void, a final embrace as the work of one not yet dead came to an end.
Tiny clouds of newly fallen snow tumbled of the ragged ghost of a man as he woke from his open-eyed slumber. Creaking of stiff leather as he with new-found purpose entered the finally calm clearing. A haggard figure but nonetheless menacing, axe and shield held in white-knuckled fists, mottled eyes darting around in search of whatever roused him from finally finding peace among the fallen leaves.
A speck of fire, burning ever so bright in the face of what was good. A flame stoked by heretics and apostates. An affront to the very god he'd sworn his life and death to. "They demand it." a raspy voice whispered from within the hooded helmet and purpose turned to power.
An arch of steel, gleaming through the cold and throwing up whirls of snow as the axe was driven deep into a source of the scalding indignity. A triumphant, black tinged roar as the warrior finally stood victorious over something that mattered.
Tiny clouds of newly fallen snow tumbled of the ragged ghost of a man as he woke from his open-eyed slumber. Creaking of stiff leather as he with new-found purpose entered the finally calm clearing. A haggard figure but nonetheless menacing, axe and shield held in white-knuckled fists, mottled eyes darting around in search of whatever roused him from finally finding peace among the fallen leaves.
A speck of fire, burning ever so bright in the face of what was good. A flame stoked by heretics and apostates. An affront to the very god he'd sworn his life and death to. "They demand it." a raspy voice whispered from within the hooded helmet and purpose turned to power.
An arch of steel, gleaming through the cold and throwing up whirls of snow as the axe was driven deep into a source of the scalding indignity. A triumphant, black tinged roar as the warrior finally stood victorious over something that mattered.
