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Darkness descends upon the land to wrap the world in night's black embrace. The restless dead stir in their ancient tombs. And creatures borne of shadow rise to quench their savage hungers. Whispers echo from the crypt, beckoning the promise of dark desire and those who heed their call are forever lost in the night. Any who read these words that are still among the living, I who write, will have long since gone my way into the realm of shadows. The journey into death is one that all life must take in turn, fear of it is irrelevant and serves only to hinder one's self. Discard such useless notions and dive into the unforgiving realm of the forbidden. There will be no words of warning for you, traveler, only death lies in wait for you. Does the walker choose the path, or the path the walker?
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Shimmering mist gutted the decadently still night air, bestowing upon it the quality of an ethereal grave. Locks of the trees' hair billowed without wind, without sound, the moist soil rising up in tiny dust clouds. Flowers, restless denizens of the light snowfall, danced among the graves and carried the ersatz love from family members through the shroud of icy fog. Grime attached to black leather attached to a foot attached to a leg stomped down upon a grave just before its marker without grace. The leg belonged to a body, the body of a man. His hook-like nose breathed in the frosty sublimating air as if it were a delicacy.
A tongue scraped the marker of a grave lovingly. Excess dust and dirt was lifted upon it and carried back into the receiver's mouth. A mess of matted yellow hair clumped around the face of someone who was clearly a madman. He shot one gloved hand out to the gravestone and caressed it tenderly, as if it were a lost loved one itself. Then with the other hand, he plunged it wrist-deep in the loamy soil. Closing his opalescent and misty blue eyes, the psychotic gravedweller wriggled his fingers. All at once a mighty groan that seemed ancient arose from beneath the grave. It was a recent plot, that much this man could tell. But his job would not be over with just the one grave. The giant battle that had occurred a month ago left this graveyard dedicated to the lone warrior who stood to fight, stood and lost, lost their lives.
"Oh the way ye died, poor warriors of olde." The man chirruped mockingly. "'Tis not befitting of ye." his voice didn't match his linguistics. Then he hummed a horrible rendition of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star to himself. A putrid smell had reeked from underneath the soil as the sound of flailing and moaning and screaming filled the night air. This robber of graves walked to the plot directly beside and repeated the same black ritual. Two corpses were shambling inside of their graves, apparently in agonizing pain. The soil erupted violently and a pale hand, perfectly formed and manicured groped forth from the underbelly of the Earth's unforgiving blanket.
Minutes later and a fully formed body had proceeded the sounds of splintering wood, muffled darkly by the soil. The same began to occur in the adjacent grave. The necromantic grave robber danced with glee much like a child receiving his first toy airplane. The moaning had stopped, there was a sucking sound as if flesh were abhorrently reforming itself among the figures which were now fully risen from their graves. The robber stopped dancing and looked around as though having been spotted. He smiled one last evil smirk at the two figures now writhing around above the misty Earth. "My time is up, pretties. Do what you were meant to do. Become what you were meant to become. A death so tragic and unneeded. Shame. Give that bitch from hell a taste of her own medicine. Take it from an agent of chaos, you could do a great deal more to her than you gave yourselves credit for." He turned his sopping greasy head around. "Oh, and do me a favor. Don't kill each other this time." and he simply vanished; an invisible hourglass had shed its last grain.
The two figures were clouded in the foggy night but their visibility was restored very soon. They had been buried in their common attire, one in black, one in red. They both seemed speechless for the moment. A great silence cut the air like the sword of Siegfried the Dragonslayer, only more potent, and more terrifying as they both turned to face their own graves.
Here lies:
Trevlac Victor Ehrgeiz
Here lies:
Ordin Odysseus Wales
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Shimmering mist gutted the decadently still night air, bestowing upon it the quality of an ethereal grave. Locks of the trees' hair billowed without wind, without sound, the moist soil rising up in tiny dust clouds. Flowers, restless denizens of the light snowfall, danced among the graves and carried the ersatz love from family members through the shroud of icy fog. Grime attached to black leather attached to a foot attached to a leg stomped down upon a grave just before its marker without grace. The leg belonged to a body, the body of a man. His hook-like nose breathed in the frosty sublimating air as if it were a delicacy.
A tongue scraped the marker of a grave lovingly. Excess dust and dirt was lifted upon it and carried back into the receiver's mouth. A mess of matted yellow hair clumped around the face of someone who was clearly a madman. He shot one gloved hand out to the gravestone and caressed it tenderly, as if it were a lost loved one itself. Then with the other hand, he plunged it wrist-deep in the loamy soil. Closing his opalescent and misty blue eyes, the psychotic gravedweller wriggled his fingers. All at once a mighty groan that seemed ancient arose from beneath the grave. It was a recent plot, that much this man could tell. But his job would not be over with just the one grave. The giant battle that had occurred a month ago left this graveyard dedicated to the lone warrior who stood to fight, stood and lost, lost their lives.
"Oh the way ye died, poor warriors of olde." The man chirruped mockingly. "'Tis not befitting of ye." his voice didn't match his linguistics. Then he hummed a horrible rendition of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star to himself. A putrid smell had reeked from underneath the soil as the sound of flailing and moaning and screaming filled the night air. This robber of graves walked to the plot directly beside and repeated the same black ritual. Two corpses were shambling inside of their graves, apparently in agonizing pain. The soil erupted violently and a pale hand, perfectly formed and manicured groped forth from the underbelly of the Earth's unforgiving blanket.
Minutes later and a fully formed body had proceeded the sounds of splintering wood, muffled darkly by the soil. The same began to occur in the adjacent grave. The necromantic grave robber danced with glee much like a child receiving his first toy airplane. The moaning had stopped, there was a sucking sound as if flesh were abhorrently reforming itself among the figures which were now fully risen from their graves. The robber stopped dancing and looked around as though having been spotted. He smiled one last evil smirk at the two figures now writhing around above the misty Earth. "My time is up, pretties. Do what you were meant to do. Become what you were meant to become. A death so tragic and unneeded. Shame. Give that bitch from hell a taste of her own medicine. Take it from an agent of chaos, you could do a great deal more to her than you gave yourselves credit for." He turned his sopping greasy head around. "Oh, and do me a favor. Don't kill each other this time." and he simply vanished; an invisible hourglass had shed its last grain.
The two figures were clouded in the foggy night but their visibility was restored very soon. They had been buried in their common attire, one in black, one in red. They both seemed speechless for the moment. A great silence cut the air like the sword of Siegfried the Dragonslayer, only more potent, and more terrifying as they both turned to face their own graves.
Here lies:
Trevlac Victor Ehrgeiz
Here lies:
Ordin Odysseus Wales