3. Desecrator

Desecrator


  • The night stood still, the birds were silent, and a cold forboding wind crossed the Nars like a warning to all those near. There was something wrong in the air, something wrong in the stars, a dark omen to those sensitive to the ways of the Weave.

    The Desecrator made its way slowly up a sloping hill. Its glossy black claws sank deeply int the soft earth below, leaving large indented tracks in its wake. Every movent was fluent, its enormous muscles rippled with every step. Its pale green, pupilless eyes glowed with an eerie inner light. Beside it walked Sygil, silent, vicious, and watchful. His yellow eyes, unlike the sinister creature beside it, were sharp, rich and bright. He licked his chops, savoring the coppery blood of its most recent kill.

    They both reached the hill that overlooked the cold windy Nars. There was a moment of silence, a moment of peace. The Pass was quiet and still. The night birds dared a song, the insects dared a call…and then it came.

    A loud feral roar escaped the vicious, bloodstained jaws of both beats. A loud blast of hatred and malignance that reverberated through the Pass like an infernal horn. Flocks of birds scattered to the winds in desperation.

    Early the next morning, while the dew still lay on the blades, both creatures were long gone, but their presence, the residual wrongness of their passing....still lingered.


  • Garen rubbed the thin leather of the reins absently, his mind wandering. The wagon he sat on creaked and complained with every little nook and rock it came across. His wares clincked, clanked and swayed behind him, making a soothing little rhythm he was finding hard to stay awake to. His brother Stel sat at his right, his head leaned against the wagon's support beam, fast asleep despite the bumpy ride.

    He took a quick glance around the wagon. All the mercenaries he had hired were in place, three at his left, three at his right, walking casually alongside the wagon, sporadically looking out towards the plains, watchful of a bandit ambush.

    Garen felt his head start to bob, his eyelids heavy, when one of the mercs cried out in horrified surprise. He looked back and saw the mercs had stopped. There was an enormous black panther, pinning one of the men down, its jaws clamped tightly on the his throat, blood spraying in every direction. The other two stood in stunned silence. They hadn't seen the thing coming.

    Garen's first reaction was to whip the horses into action. He wasn't going to die out here. The moment the horse began to get momentum, four huge raking scars appeared on its thick neck. It whinned loudly and sprinted sideways in a panicked lunge. The abrupt move brought the wagon up on two wheels. Stel woke with a start and tried to hang on for dear life as the wagon landed on its side, the weight forcing the single horse to a sudden halt.

    There was movement between them and the horse. Something was coming at terrible speeds. Garen saw his brother lifted high into the air by the nothing. A small scream escaped his lips just before his neck snapped loudly and his body fell limp beside him. Whatever it was, ran off, leaving Garen in petrified fear.

    The mercs were quick to recover from their shock. They unsheathed their blades in unision and charged the hunting cat. The panther responded fearlessly, lunging on its first attacker, its claws ripping the light leather armor, its fangs tearing through his cheeks and his hind legs ripping his thighs to shreds.

    The second reached the panther sword leading. A foot before impact, he was hit by something, sending him sprawling. The others stopped their rush, confused, not seeing what had sent the man flying. Their hesitation cost them dearly. The hunting cat lunged again, pinning a third man under its massive weight. His screams echoed loudly around them.

    The first man to the cat's left doubled over suddenly, his arms covered in blood, holding himself. The others watched in struck horror as they realized the man had been evicerated. He was holding his inards in his arms.

    The mercs ran. The panther looked up, its muzzle covered in blood, and gave chase. They were no match for the creatures speed. It caught up to them easily, leaping with its powerful hind quarters and taking one of them down, its jaws clamping down on the back of his neck. The last man kept running, just to feel something sharp run across his calf. The pain brought him down fast. He turned, his hand going for his sword. Something grabbed his arm and pulled sharply. His teeth clenched as the bone broke. He could feel it over him, large, powerful, deadly.

    "What…what the hell are ye!?" he asked the creature he knew was there but could not see. He could feel its weight on his chest, its hot breath on his face.

    "Deeeeseeecraaator." Came a terrible low rumbling voice, like something out of the very pits of a nightmare. He felt the thing's thick saliva dripping on his cheek. Before he could think to move, four deep, vicious scars appeared on his neck, his lifes blood pouring out of him.

    Garen sat huddled in the wagon, hearing the hideous death cries of the mercenaries, trembling and alone. He dared not move. He tried to wake himself up but could not seem to. It would come for him…it would come for him but he couldn't move...he couldn't run..there was no escape.......no escape.


  • _"A Drop of Hell. A Touch of Strange."

    Oh High noon, dead moon
    A hangin all over you yeah
    Devilman, yes I can, cut a little piece of you yeah

    Hunger! Inside you
    Hunger!
    Hunger! Destroy you
    Hunger!

    Swift might, dead night
    That's all right for you yeah
    Voodoo man, yes I can, tear it all down for you yeah

    -RZ-

    There are worlds within worlds…there are dark things within us all...

    Syne doubled over, clutching at his stomach as the pain rocked him, knocking him to his knees. He felt his body pulse and beat like an enormous heart as his body grew and his muscles tightened. His head pounded, his vison blurred and the world around him filled with electricity and fire.

    His fingers clawed at the wooden planks beneath him. His teeth clenched tightly together, slowly began to elongate and sharpen. His eyes became wide orbs of pale green fire. The pain was excruciating and complete. His bare fingers tore through the wooden planks with incredible force.

    Syne opened his mouth and from within him escaped an inhuman sound filled with rage and power. The white caterpillar was no more. The cocoon of stone was left behind, torn and ravaged. From the depths of bloodshed and madness, awakened and hungry, rose the Desecrator._


  • Syne began to scream…the pain was becoming unbearable.

    Like a fetus, Syne lay on the ground, holding his head as raw pain shot through him in crashing waves. The visions were growing more and more frequent, the images mixing and swirling. He was losing control, the demand was becoming too strong.

    Another trial...of this he was sure. He was taking too long, his mind would not hold out much longer. He was swimming in the sight of her, the smell of her. He could see her everywhere, the visions coming in bursts of agony.

    He had to find her. He had to end this. He was taking too long. He had to end this, before it ended him.

    Syne could not hear himself scream. All he heard was her voice in his head. His fingers curled up like talons. He had no time left.


  • Such pain…such perfect agony...

    Syne stumbled through his rooms, holding his head tightly in his hands. The visions were getting worse, more painful, more demanding. They came in blurs and hideous whispers, mixing the timelines in a swirl of macabre images. He saw past victims, he saw present pains, and finally came what the expectations of his future. A sharp throbbing, like a deep red flame in his mind, making him groan and desperately clutch at his head, trying to bore his fingers into his skull to relieve the pressure. His eyes wide and madness stricken, his teeth clenched tightly.

    The pain resided as quickly as it had come, leaving him shuddering and in shock, his pale eyes wide, his mouth tasting lightly of blood. How unforgivable…how vicious..how perfect these visions were becoming. Syne sat, holding his head that still throbbed lightly. He balled his hands into fists and bowed his head, his eyes gleaming with fierce determination behind his raven black hair.

    Syne opened his hand, conjuring the flaming sigil once again, finding strength in its form and power in its meaning. He stared at it, letting his mind recover from the deadly assault.


  • Syne sat in the cool breeze of the western foothills with his eyes closed, letting the wind catch his raven black hair. He sat in the center of a large circular symbol, burned into the grass around him. He held his hands before him, a small flame in the shape of an ancient sigil hovering powerfully between his fingers. He focused, the last rights of the ceremony having been completed. The time had come.

    Epitath had been a loyal companion for what seemed like an eternity. His blood had put him on the path. His sacrifice was an important stepping stone, one he would not forget.

    Now Syne focused, summoning his power from deep within, feeling it swim through him in currents. He felt it extend from his body in waves.

    A low growl made him slowly open his eyes. Before him stood an enormous creature. Sleek, muscular, and powerful. Its chiseled black face regarded him impassively, its deep yellow eyes absorbed him like a vacuum.

    Syne's pale gaze became intense. The glyph between his hands glowed brilliantly before vanishing. For an instant, the large predator's eyes glowed green and red. It padded quietly towards him, regarding him one last time before nuzzling the side of his face.

    Syne's smile was genuine. It was an appropriate choice, he thought. He ran his pale hand down the iron muscles and smooth fur, admiring the creature's silent power.

    "Sygil." He whispered to him. "We have much work to do."


  • _Ascension of the Beast

    "Hell on Earth
    For What It's Worth
    Dead on Dreaming
    You started screaming
    The wizard of how
    The king of the now
    Cry like a banshee
    And die like you want me"_

    -RZ-

    Luriel had a bright smile lighting her face as she watched her daughter Alsa try to be as precise as possible, concentrating completely as she cut the vegetables for the night's dinner. She had been asking for days to be taught how to properly cut the celery and bell peppers for a proper stew. Now she stood, her freckled face locked in a comical stare of determination, as she slowly sliced the long celery sticks on the cutting board.

    Luriel looked back down, hesitating slightly before cutting the skin of the ripe, vengeful onion she would need to suffer through in the name of flavor. She had become used to kitchen tears, but she did not look forward to them.

    With an air of abandonment Luriel began slicing the onion, her speed and accuracy a result of years of dedicated practice, cooking for her beloved husband and little Alsa. She watched the onion become thin slices and then deftly turned it, beggining to create tiny squares, suitable for mixing. Halfway through the onion she realized something strange. The knife was cutting cleanly, hitting the cutting board beneath the large white vegetable, but as it struck, it was making no noise.

    She kept cutting, purposefully leaning into the stroke a bit more, but again no sound came. She looked at the knife, tapped it against the cutting board, but heard no loud ringing or clanking. She looked over to Alsa who still stood fixed and nearly done with her celery. Suspiciously she brought the knife up to inspect it. At that instant she felt something grab her forearm.

    Alsa finished her celery sticks, smiling proudly at her work, she looked up to announce her victory just in time to see her mother take the long wet knife in her hand and run it quickly across her own neck. Blood flowed like a nightmare river down her dress. Alsa paled, the knife in her hand dropping in a loud clanking.

    "MOOOMMEEEE!!" She ran for her as the woman dropped to the ground, knife still held tightly in her grip. Alsa dove, he hands going for her mother's deep wound, trying desperately to stop the current with her small hands. She saw the fear in her mother's eyes, a mixture of terror and shock. Then her hand came up, fast and unnaturally, her body jerked as if pulled by a tight string.

    Alsa looked down, five inches of crudely forged iron sheathed deep within her chest, her dress beginning to stain. She looked at her mother's face, a cold pale, horror stricken face devoid of all life. She knew in that look, that the knife that now drank in her chest, was the last thing her mother had seen.

    Alsa's head hit the kithcen floor, making no noise.


  • Chosen he had called him…....favored.

    He had never forgotten the beauty of the night. He could sit under this cold black dome and brilliant stars for a hundred years and not grow tired of its exquisite perfection. He stared at it now, with a sense of wonder, fear, and anticipation. He stood there, letting the cool winds blow through his raven black hair. His task had been done. Years of faithful service had turned the eye upon him. His penance had been completed, and his participation in the great game had been hinted at…if not assured.

    The time would come, of that he was sure. Until then, he would continue on this path, as cruel and twisted as it was, to find the dark beating heart he had been thrust towards.

    Syne looked down, and with a single gesture created a small symbol manifested from pure red flame in his hand. This one glyph, the representation of what his life had become. His past, his present, his future. He watched the glyph, hovering just over his cruel pale hand, feeling the full weight of his choice within the glyph....dark, lonely, painful but filled with the promise of power otherwise unattainable.

    Syne watched the glyph with growing abandon, the night sky forgotten.

    Chosen he had called him…....favored.


  • _Contract in blood

    "Pain inside is rising
    I am the fallen one
    a figure in an old game
    no Joker's on my side
    I plunged into misery
    I'll turn off the light
    and murder the dawn
    turn off the light
    and murder the dawn"_

    Syne sat quietly in the cooridor of whispers, basking in the latent madness of the strange, forboding place. He held his knife in his hand, twirling it slowly in the cold candle light, admiring the dried blood stains that covered it.

    His path had become darker with every night that passed. He plunged deeper and deeper into the dark realms, like this very knife, seeking the strong, beating heart, but having to cut so much flesh and bone to reach the desired destination. So many had failed where he had triumphed.

    Intervention…..the gate keeper

    The first step had been taken. His life, his being, infused with purpose. He still had a penance to fulfill. This very night he would cleanse himself of the stain of his failure. He would return here, to wait for the answer to his plea. A genuine smile crossed Syne's pale features. The smile soon became a cold, unbelieving chuckle, and finally mutated into a deep…. disturbing and murderous laughter.

    The cooridor resonated, echoing his laughter like an endless chasm.


  • Syne knelt in the middle of the room, his pale green eyes searching deep within the infinite. The last few nights of his had been a rampage of violence and bloodshed. He would have never believed Peltarch would be such a ripe hunting ground. The cold city, made colder still by its uncaring citizens, made his profession not only possible, but more enjoyable, as if his actions were not only accepted, but expected.

    He smiled, knowing that soon his task would be complete and he would have paid his penance. Once completed, he would return to the cooridor of maddening whispers to again await his answer. Would he respond? Would he consider him cleansed of his transgression?

    A single drop of blood ran down his cheek and struck the breast of the woman beneath him. She twitched slightly, beggining to come around. Syne inspected the room, his blood flecked face turning slowly, his dark matted hair limp with the lack of wind and the weight of blood. He eyed his surroundings carefully, noting that everything was in just the right place.

    He focused on her, digging deep into her conciousness, pulling out pictures of friends, family, loved ones. She was dreaming her last dream, a good dream. As her dream began to distort, as her pain brought by the many cuts he had inflicted on her flesh began to register in her concious mind again, Syne plunged his knife deep in her chest.

    The woman screamed, her high pitched voice greatly stopped by the gag forced in her mouth. Syne's eyes went wide as the woman's pain hit him like a fist. His temples throbbed and his mouth went dry. He fought to remained focused on his task. He pulled the knife out and spoke those same words he had spoken so many times. Words that would cause a tremor in even the most brave soul. His eyes became like pale flames as the knife came down and was embedded in the woman's throat. Again that flash of pain, and with it the last few memories she held on to with greatest love.

    It was all so….beautiful.


  • Time grows short…..such a strange oxymoron

    Mary walked back home from the pissing goat with a tired, wobbly step. The day had been long and dragging and the patrons had been even less charming than usual. Her legs ached and her feet throbbed painfully. She was glad her shift was over.

    As she walked the narrow streets towards her home, she felt something brush against her hair. She turned, stood for a moment listening to the far away bustle of the city, and continued on her way. A few steps further ahead, she heard the giggling of children and then a sudden movement in the shadows. A wave of terror passed over her and she froze, suddenly very aware of a presence near her.

    The sound of beating wings brought her attention upwards. On an apartment balcony just above her head perched a large raven, covered in perfect black feathers and with terrible glowing red eyes, staring down at her with strange amusement. She could almost hear disembodied whispers eminating from around the creature. It was a ethereal painting she observed, a promise of dark secrets buried within those unholy eyes. It was the last thing she ever saw.

    The raven watched Syne, hooded and cloaked, materialize behind the woman an instant before the heavy mace came crashing down on her skull. He watched her eyes become blood stained and roll to the back of her head. He watched her being dragged into the dark mouth of an alley. The raven glided down, intent on getting a better view of what was to come. He watched as the mace was replaced by the sharpened knife. He stared into the madness stricken pale green eyes of the elf. They were filled with a decadent joy as he skillfully carved skin and muscle, bathing his fingers in blood.


  • The thunder roared over the city of Peltarch that night. A frightful display of light and pelting waters. The very ground seemed to shudder with every brilliant crash.

    Jenny huddled near Tim as close as she could. She pulled her knees close up to her chin, trying derperately to stay warm in the torrent. Tim held her as best he could, his young thin arms shaking from cold and lack of nourishment. He wished there was something more he could do, but this city was not a caring place for a mere boy just turned thirteen with no muscle to lend. To them he was a street rat, an urchin, damned to beg for change and scraps to feed himself and his sister. He was glad for the leaks in the crate that soaked his face. He hated the way her cold skin felt in his arms. He hated her thin, dirty, and torn cotton dress. He hated how she shivered. He wished he could make her warm again.

    Syne crouched low within the shadows of the alleyway. His feral eyes watched them carefully. There were two, a boy and a girl, neither of them over the age thirteen, huddled miserably in the confines of a leaky wooden crate. His unwavering gaze followed the sinister dark shape making its way slowly towards the crate.

    Tim wiped the water from his eyes, fighting the choking feelings that threatened to overpower him. It was then that he heard it. A shuffling of movemnet, quick as heartbeak, and then Jenny was screaming. He looked down and saw an enormous, hideous rat gnawing furiously at his sister's leg. She kicked at it desperately but the thing held on with unnatural strength. Tim paled slightly but was quick to move. He pulled out a worn, rusty dagger from his belt and lunged at the creature. It pack pedaled and hissed at him, its eyes glowing a dim hot red. Tim lunged again, filled with rage. The rat scampered off toward the street.

    The boy, unwilling to let the attacker escape gave chase. It was not long before he lost sight of the giant rat. He turned and ran back toward the crate to tend to his sister's wound. His worn, bloodstained dagger hit the street with a splash and a dull thud. The inside of the crate was splattered in fresh blood. Jenny was gone.


  • _The Wakening of the Desecrator

    "The conquering worm
    The slithering germ
    Lost in black sleep
    I see how the gods weep
    The horror of Madness
    The Terminal Sadness
    The cool air of mourning
    Gave me the warning"

    -RZ-_

    A debt that must be paid….six within six

    Syne took a long deep breath from the apartment's balcony. His pale green eyes surveyed the city below him with a strange detachment. He felt like he was slowly slipping away from this reality, as if the blood he bathed in was somehow slowly pulling him into a realm that was far beyond his understanding. He remembered the room, a horrible mosaic of blood, prophesising a malevolence that would make an untainted soul break under its weight.

    He knew at that moment that his trials had not been in vain, that this melody he had heard in his mind was not a glammer of his own making. He had been a fool to doubt it, but now the time to prove his worth had come. With a slight reluctance, Syne turned to his right to gaze upon the raven perched on the railing. It watched him, mocking him with the vicious glow of its blood red eyes. It waited, it watched.

    Syne glared at the creature for only a moment before turning to room adjacent to the balcony. Soft white candles lit the room, the light bouncing off quickly drying blood. The bed, center of the girl's sanctuary, held what very little was recognizable of her. She lay naked in a twisted angle, her horribly mutilated face caught in a red death scream. Her eyes were torn from the sockets and her teeth lay scattered about. Her nose dangled by a few threads of skin. Sheets that only minutes ago were pearl white, were now bright red.

    Syne took one last long breath, absorbing the mixed smell of blood and oil before lighting his thin leaf pipe. Carelessly, he dropped the tinderwig on the bed and watched as the sheets went up in flames, the thick blood making the flames dance beautifully.

    The raven watched the flames begin to consume the room, eradicating everything in their path. He watched Syne disappear with the murmuring of a single verse. It remained cold and unimpressed. With a quick flick of its night black wings, it took to the cold winds.


  • A puncturing wound, clouding the mind. The body grows cold as its lifeblood leaves it through gaping wounds. A sudden sharp pain as the heart is wounded….the last breath taken, foul and blood tainted.....

    Syne gazed upon the vastness and found within it a certain peace. The hollow of nothingness surrounded him like a comforting blanket. The shapeless forms of petitioners made their way around him in lost abandon, like him, waiting to be judged, waiting to be sentenced.

    Syne lost touch with the notion of time and matter. He drifted in a void of nothing….perhaps for an eternity. He awaited his fate, awaited his judgement, until he felt the pull of an undeniable darkness spring forth from deep within the bowls of the wastleland.

    A sacrice would have to be made. The price of failure was great, its presense, unforgivable.

    Syne accepted his penance with grim determination. He would not fail again. To do so would be unthinkable.

    Blood red eyes glowed in his mind as he awoke to the heart wrenching beauty of a blood-drenched room. Stains filled with a malignance that dwarfed his own like a mountain would a grain of sand.

    He knew what he must do.


  • The hall was dark and hollow but far from empty. As Syne sat within its confines he could almost sense the silent, malignant presence that inhabited the walls. Almost mischievous in their manifestations, the sounds of madness stricken laughter and prolonged, pain filled moaning came in nearly unperceivable gusts.

    Syne held his fingertips to his lips, his gaze locked deep within his own mind. Above him, perched on the room's mirror, was Epitath, silently watching him with that eerie white eye.

    The time was approaching. Soon, Syne would have the answer to his plea. The forests of the Nars and the streets of Peltarch had both run red with the blood of his victims.

    He recalled the rituals with a sober amusement. The screams, the agonized pleas, the last, foul, blood tainted breath. A cleansing in blood, the purest form of life, and then the feeding. It would all culminate soon. The anticipation of it was a sweet form or torture.

    While he waited, another thought crossed him. His mind wandered to the small village, just north of the barbarian town of Norwick. Within those walls lay an object of intrigue to his pale green eyes. A spectre that brought him an undeniable hunger, but not like that which he had felt for his former victims. He wanted to taste that flesh, but not to break the skin, that strange blue skin. A color so unheard of in humans he had many times mistaken her for one of his own. But more alluring than that were the eyes. Blood red orbs that held an odd mixture of innocence and fire.

    Epitath was enraptured by them. Of this he was sure, but it seemed that even he would be hesitant to destroy and consume them. He seemed content in simply staring at them, swimming in their untold secrets.

    For the first time since he had set himself on this macabre path, Syne Bloodmist, felt distracted.


  • The darkness is spreading….

    Syne watched his bloodstained hands with hungry facination. The dark, life giving liquid ran down his arms and dripped in thick patterns at his feet. He could feel its sticky warmth on his skin and taste its coppery sting on his lips.

    The young girl's sobs were like a bard's poem in his ears. Her fear filled the room like incense. It was intoxicating. He turned to her, his pale green eyes filled with unnatural desire. He felt flushed, enraptured, and in a state of ecstasy.

    He locked eyes with her, probing, searching deep within her. She struggled and wept as he violated even the most sacred of places, her mind.

    Her name was Ralwy. She had many happy moments in her childhood, she wished she was back there, away from the nightmare her life had become. She had lost her virginity early in life to a boy she loved dearly.
    She wished he was here. She had born a child. A young boy named Durran, her greatest pride who now lay naked and mutilated before her. His light brown hair matted black with his own blood. She felt like vomiting, but she had nothing left to expel. She wished her husband would come home, but knew he would not return until the sun touched the sky.
    She wanted to be dreaming, had almost convinced herself she was.

    Syne blinked, pulling out of the collage of images that flashed in the woman's mind. Such strange thoughts that passed through a person's mind before they died. His lips parted in a broad, charming smile. This new gift had brought an intensity to his practice that he would have never conceived of. He hungered for it with the equal fervor as her flesh.

    He again probed as far as he could go into her, watching the flashes become confusing and erradic as he slowly approached. Her fear became a waterfall for him to bathe in. Her muffled moans and screams were a beautiful, sinister melody. He put the knife to her stomach and made a slow, deep incision, eviscerating her. His mind was so flooded with her pain that he was forced to stop.

    He slowly pulled away and closed his eyes, caught in the embrace of her agony as she slowly died. From behind him, deep in the shadows, a single milky white eye watched the scene with morbid facination and hunger.


  • Syne sat perfectly still, staring off into the stale, pungent darkness of his cell. His breathing came regularly in smooth intervals. The cuts and bruises the dwarves had left him were slowly healing. A cut lip, a bruised eye, and the purple patches of injured skin were all slowly changing back to their normal appearance.

    He sat with his eyes wide open, one pale green, one which turned pale white during this practice. His eyes saw outside his cell, outside his cage, and upon the town of Norwick where Epitath perched, hidden from the sight of the townsfolk, watching, listening, learning.

    He hated this miserable town. He would like to see it burned to the ground by its enemies. Epitath silently flew from its perch and circled, keeping a close eye on all who dwell there. Syne could feel the bloodlust course inside him. He would need to feed after his release. It had already been too long.


  • Syne sat comfortably in the large fur lined chair and stared up at the home's oak beam ceiling. He sat shirtless, his black hair hanging limply around him, his face and torso were stained with crisscrossing splatters of dark blood that still ran fresh down his cheeks and small lips.

    He brought his thin pipe to his lips, took a long drag and then blew the vanilla smoke out in one long breath. His pale green eyes gleamed in the darkness. His delicate nostrils sniffed the air and found the soft aroma of the few small articles he had left cooking in the families kitchen. They were almost done.

    Epitath watched him from his perch on the fireplace. A small shred of gore hung limply from the side of his beak. He had piled all six of their eyes neatly under his claws to be consumed at his leisure, now only three remained. The power his master was seeking lay at the end of a dark and morbid path. His appetite for human flesh and the ceremonies he performed to honor the devils who's teachings he followed were only the beginning of a journey that would probably take them into realms the raven dreaded even conjuring in his awakened mind.

    Even now Syne had whispered a plead during his artistic ceremony with the bodies to be given a drop of hell. A single drop, enough to transform the raven into a denizen of greater power, and greater utility. Epitath was loyal and would not resist such an incarnation, but the idea of being bathed in absolute malice was not something that he looked forward to.

    Perhaps it was his fate. He had helped Syne kill victim after victim over the years. He had fed on dozens of eyes as the master bathed in the blood of the fallen. He was tainted, and it seemed would be further so in little time. The bird looked down at the tasty looking human orbs and began to tear at one with little thought. So be it.


  • _Metamorphosis Within a Cocoon of Stone

    "Now you're lying
    on the floor
    yeah, you can't
    take anymore
    the devil's laughing
    in your face
    give me another taste, yeah"

    -RZ-_

    Hinisi opened the kitchen window of her home to let the cool winter winds course through the stuffy apartment. She looked outside and stared longingly at the setting sun. It blazed behind the city spires in brilliant orange and pink bouncing lightly off her golden locks and clear blue eyes. She wondered what was beyond those spires, closer to where the sun set, a place of mistery she had only heard about but never seen.
    She put one pale, fire scarred hand on her cheek. She had not been raised by caring parents. Her father had been sadistic and cold hearted. Her hand was proof that and would always remain so.

    She sat there until the sun was a thick inky blue and went to close her shutters. As she took each of the small doors in her hands a large black raven landed square on the window sill. It cawed loudly, startling her. She reflexively took a step back and eyed the creature. It eyed her back, one eye milky pale.

    She stepped forward again to close the window but the raven opened its wings and cawed loudly making her reconsider.

    "A beautiful creature isn't he?" spoke a soft voice from behind her. She turned and glared into the darkness of her home but saw no one.

    "Who's there?" she asked, fear creeping slowly into her voice.

    "An intruder, someone here to kill you."

    The woman froze, her eyes widened and she looked around frantically for the sourse of the voice.

    "If you try to run I will make your death an epically slow one. Remain still, I wish to speak."

    Hinisi looked around desperately and saw a cooking knife just beyond her grasp. Just as she reached for it, she felt something prick her neck violently. Soft black feathers struck the side of her head as wings flapped. Small black talons tore into her shoulder and the raven flew into her home. She immediately felt a terrible weakness wash over her. She was barely able to keep herself up.

    "Do not force my hand." the darkness said.

    Hinisi felt her fear mature into horror. "What do you want? Why are you doing this?"

    "Because I was hungry longer than you have drawn breath, and now I must feed."

    "Hun…HUNGRY?" Hinisi's mind became a vortex of terror and disgust. She began to scamper through the kitchen, looking for a way out.

    "I have been gone a very long time." the voice said. "You will be the horn that announces my return....you should be proud."

    Hinisi made a dash for her front door. She heard a sad sigh and the murmuring of a strange verse in a language she did not understand. It was coming from behind her but she did not look back, she ran for her life.

    The house was temporarily lit as hot missles of light sped through the dusk and struck Hinisi with deadly precision. The intruder watched her fall for what seemed like an eternity, enjoying every curve of her body, every flowing hair, every fold of her dress, as her lifeless body floated weightlessly towards the ground.


  • Alina and Asiln both sat quietly at the pond's edge, hearing the waterfall crash on the rocks below, enjoying each other's company. Asilin held Alina tightly in his arms, runnig his hands through her silky red hair. She rested her head against his broad chest, stroking his muscular arms lovingly.

    It was nice to have been able to spend the day together. So many problems the camp was going through left little time for them to enjoy each other. They had decided to leave the cove and walk to the waterfall at the other side of the windy valley.

    Here they had spent the afternoon together, bathing and making love out under the unusually bright sky. They were aware of the Nars being a dangerous place but they were well prepared. Asilin carried his hunter's bow with him and Alina had carefully prepared her spells before walking the windy valley. The day alas was slowly turning into dusk and it was getting time to head back.

    A large black raven landed lightly on a rock just to their left. It let out a loud caw that startled Alina. Asilin looked at the creature, his eyes narrowing. The raven looked back at them, one of its eyes a pale milky white.

    "Hello." it said looking at Alina. "Hello."

    Alina smiled at the raven. "Well, hello to you." said. "Have you lost your way little one? Is your master about?"

    The raven looked up at them and then opened its wings pecking under them frantically and cawing.

    "Oh, I think it's hurt." Alina said rising from the pond.

    "Careful." Asilin said, watching the large raven distrustfully, his hand going slowly for his bow.

    "Don't worry Asilin, it's just a familiar…and besides, I have you to protect me." She grinned back at him.

    Asilin smiled but his gaze never left the raven that had so strangely landed in their midsts. He watched it so carefully in fact, he did not notice the red feathered hawk diving straight for him, its eyes glowing an unnatural red leaving streaks in the sky as it dove, its deadly thick black talons aimed for its prey's tender flesh.

    The hawk struck with deadly precision, sinking its talons deep into the man's right eye and lip, then raking down furiously. Asilin's scream made Alina turn quickly, her eyes widening in horror.

    "ASILIN!" She screamed. She immediately began casting a spell, conjuring arcane energies to slay the attacker. She was surprised when the raven landed square on her head, digging its talons into her scalp and pecking out her left eye.

    A single arrow flew through the air and thrusting deep in Asilin's right thigh. He screamed and tried to swipe at the hawk with his bow, half blinded and in terrible pain. Another arrow found his stomach just under his right ribs. The impact made him double over.

    The hawk, sensing the man was no longer a threat, dove for the woman who had fallen to her knees as if her legs no longer held the strength to support her. It tore great gashes in her chest and pecked furiously at her face as the raven did. Alina was in a storm of pain, flailing wildly, her magical training forgotten in the fog of misery.

    Syne came out from the shadows, his bow held tightly in his left hand. His pale green eyes watched in facination as the two avians slowly murdered the young woman, her flails weakening as Epitath's poison coursed through her. He raised his bow to eye level, pulled an arrow taut, and began walking slowly towards her.