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Moon
- Joined
- Oct 20, 2009
For whom this concerns, should be all whom read this. Deceivers, Cowards, Men, Women, thy wrath I feel very sweet, though quite spiced. As you stare at this wall, once mine, know that Death and Fear will stalk the hills, the trees, the very streets at night. Know that doors will not hide thee, know that I will FIND thee, and know that mine sword thirsts for misery, woe, and decay as I write this. Know that this manâs âBloodâ that my grave was too shallow, and woe the next time you see my grim apparitionâ¦
Town folk, liberated years from their treacherous Herzog Waldgraf von Grendlitcht II. They stood horrified as their former governor, Sir Albrechy of Gelnrahide of the Third Saintly Order lay with his neck slit open, exposing the picked flesh by rats as long as the drained, pink vessels all the way from his windpipe over his spine making the fat neck look like a split open mellon. A grim warning written in this manâs own blood as the turned away from the ghastly look of fear and pain lingering over his features. He left no legacy, and if he had one could only feel merciful if the message was really from whom they thought it was.
Months passed since this grim, forboding message had been delivered and unlike most the author was both the messenger and his own threat.
Dry leaves, long fallen from the trees in mid Autumn, it was time for farmers to reap the crop they had sewn. Many had hired help to construct walls, primitive palisade to protect their crops and themselves from certain ill-fate. Some wealthy land owners didnât much care for their safety, and when they heard some farmers had perished â theyâd simply move in to try obtaining even more land. Mostly these deaths, these poor innocent folk were actually killed by hired thugs and the wealthy used the legendary monster, whom was known as the âGrendlitcht Dread Wightâ, though some whoâd witnessed him called him âthe Herzog of Dreadâ, though such people were largely unheard as they were outcasts or loons.
The sun began to sink, it never had the stomach to for see the crimes that typically did happen when it was gone. For it was the moon, the outcast that bared witness on death and crime for countless ages that began to surface. A wind began to stir in the forest, in the wetlands and the swamps, the reflection of a window â from a hidden shack did a lone candle light as a figure dressed in strange, ebon armor step forth from this home â or lair.
Heavy black-iron boots crushed fragile dry leaves underfoot as the Swamp Gases, visible for just a momen, began to spur and twist into a strange shape. Suddenly a horse made of ever shifting mist gathered as he climbed out of the murky depths. Moonlight illuminated itâs shape, the set of sharp fangs within itâs maw as a hot breath pushed forth from itâs maw. What witchery had conjured this beat was uncertain, however for when it waited, itâs master was almost certain the man climbing up onto the saddle before the apparition, or perhaps something with a little more substance than a mere object of adult fears and nightmares.
Town folk, liberated years from their treacherous Herzog Waldgraf von Grendlitcht II. They stood horrified as their former governor, Sir Albrechy of Gelnrahide of the Third Saintly Order lay with his neck slit open, exposing the picked flesh by rats as long as the drained, pink vessels all the way from his windpipe over his spine making the fat neck look like a split open mellon. A grim warning written in this manâs own blood as the turned away from the ghastly look of fear and pain lingering over his features. He left no legacy, and if he had one could only feel merciful if the message was really from whom they thought it was.
Months passed since this grim, forboding message had been delivered and unlike most the author was both the messenger and his own threat.
Dry leaves, long fallen from the trees in mid Autumn, it was time for farmers to reap the crop they had sewn. Many had hired help to construct walls, primitive palisade to protect their crops and themselves from certain ill-fate. Some wealthy land owners didnât much care for their safety, and when they heard some farmers had perished â theyâd simply move in to try obtaining even more land. Mostly these deaths, these poor innocent folk were actually killed by hired thugs and the wealthy used the legendary monster, whom was known as the âGrendlitcht Dread Wightâ, though some whoâd witnessed him called him âthe Herzog of Dreadâ, though such people were largely unheard as they were outcasts or loons.
The sun began to sink, it never had the stomach to for see the crimes that typically did happen when it was gone. For it was the moon, the outcast that bared witness on death and crime for countless ages that began to surface. A wind began to stir in the forest, in the wetlands and the swamps, the reflection of a window â from a hidden shack did a lone candle light as a figure dressed in strange, ebon armor step forth from this home â or lair.
Heavy black-iron boots crushed fragile dry leaves underfoot as the Swamp Gases, visible for just a momen, began to spur and twist into a strange shape. Suddenly a horse made of ever shifting mist gathered as he climbed out of the murky depths. Moonlight illuminated itâs shape, the set of sharp fangs within itâs maw as a hot breath pushed forth from itâs maw. What witchery had conjured this beat was uncertain, however for when it waited, itâs master was almost certain the man climbing up onto the saddle before the apparition, or perhaps something with a little more substance than a mere object of adult fears and nightmares.
