WarderDragon

The pendulum swung back and forth, back and forth in the chambers evanescent light. He studied its sharp contours, the blades razor edge, watching, as with each sweep of the hand it inched ever closer to his breast. His breath caught in his lungs. Delirium overtook him. The chain that suspended it let out a low, serpentine hiss as it swayed to and fro in its murmurs dance, its hypnotic vibrations seducing him, confusing his senses, even as it forced him to contemplate his own mortality. Peter lay there, sprawled naked across the sheets of his massive bed, vain comforts usually reserved for princes and kings. The chain hung, suspended from hi

Pain. It filled him. Overwhelming pain. It defined his existence. The world spun and heaved around him. He fought to remember where he was. Magincia. Who he was. Durante. The acrid stench of burning pitch, the remnants of the immolated manor stung his nose and clogged his lungs with soot. Pain. Punishment. Perdition. He curled his fingers, attempting to stir life into the long, bruised digits, his fingertips scraping a thousand pieces of shattered glass. They bit up and bled his flesh of life, numbing him. Must get up. He inhaled, fire swelling through his breast. His ribs were broken. Must not remain here. He pressed his palms into the flo

Petrarch dropped to his knees. "H...Heloise," he choked, reaching a trembling hand to touch her face. Heloise, she had been called. The Maid of Amitel. Sunhair. The Fair. Blades of argent light cut through the stained glass window and illuminated her ravaged form, a shadow of its former splendor, spread eagled upon the marble floor. She was draped in a pool of her own blood, silver chains wrapped tight around her throat. Silver nails driven through her palms into the crossbeam beneath. She had been Crucified. The Sorcerer bit back tears that threatened to blind him, and looked away. A black rage filled his chest. For of these tortures, for

"...and sometimes he sits up straight in the middle of the night, gasping, open mouthed and trembling, with covers clenched in his fists and wide eyes unseeing. He is blinded by bloody memories..." Peter drew breath and sighed. Tonight had been a pleasant evening, he mused in absence, ascending the last steps to the tower door. The woman - Maydra Arabani, he murmured under his breath, testing the name on his lips - had been an interesting ...conversant. She had exposed him to thoughts he had never before considered. Shards? Mirror Worlds? A thousand Sosarias spread across the Great Dark. Of course, Scholars and Priests - even his own father

 He stood on the ridge in that pre-dawn hour, those void eyes gazing longingly up at the stars. One half of the Heavens stood in a languid spiral of stars and constellations, the lovers Valdesin and Camilla intertwined in their eternal, rapturous dance. The other half was a song of light in the East, the rising sun heaving up to moan at the clouds. She was his muse, her dance paining memories across the violet and orange nimbus. Nicholas was cold. It was not the cold of the mountains, or the snow around his feet. Even in death, the Dark Prince shivered as that lonely wind echoed across the mount. He had been up there several times this past

"That was cliché," Mark murmured in dull, sardonic tones. Nicholas shrugged, the ghost of a smirk lingering on his lips. "If the shoe fits." The Paladin-turned-Satanist spared a single, absent glance over his shoulder, considering his options. One man was dead, the other injured. One gripped his sword and vainly attempted to find his courage. The girl dangled behind him, unconscious, a limp carcass hanging over the yawning void. The only thing tethering her to this plane, and away from the gibbering jaws of a thousand daemons were the iron shackles clutching her bare arms. Mark's eyes returned to his opponent, and he spoke. "What do y

Mark bowed his head in prayer. Four men knelt in a circle around the obsidian pillar, arms drawn, weapons stabbed into the bloodstained floor. Four Paladins, Knights of Britannia. Their armor gleamed in the flickering torchlight, evanescent flames dancing across breastplates polished to mirrors. Ceremonial capes hung from their shoulders, forming a train behind each man, unblemished, as white as virgin snow. Each head was bowed in reverence, worship, offering their silent devotion to the macabre altar before them. "Pape Satan, pape Satan aleppe," they chanted together. "Please," the girl whispered, chained to the stone. She had been beauti

I once met a woman So wild and carefree, Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would wish, For you to fall in love with me.

Swiftly upon soft morning dew, There with silken wings the White Raven flew. Through the heat and cold, They of old, Followed her unto journey's end. Twas beneath the canopies of the old oak trees, That they came together and worked like bee's. Warriors and Traders, Witches and Bakers, There in the Ol' Town of Ravenshire. There beside the Sea, Bards hummed and children sang with glee, Druids sat amongst the oaks, And the Gypsies danced with the Sea Folk, There in the Ol' Town of Ravenshire. The Golden Knight spun his tales, And the Old Elf King sat beside the Well. There the Wicked Witch brewed a pot full o' magick, And Mori