Lord Scorn DarkTide
Legendary
(Pulled from A Calling, posted by Vaticus)
The harsh, unforgiving weather outside seemed to rock the tinty candle-lit cabin; causing nervous children to huddle closer together, gazing up curiously at an eldery man seated in a rocking chair. The old man seemed at a loss for words, at the moment - still his story maintained the undivided attention of the youngsters. He often told scary stories on such nights, but none as terrifying as this tale of a beast that their grandfather claimed once stalked this very forest. Reaching towards a small table at the rocking chair's side; he placed a wrinkled hand upon a charred, ancient looking chest of some sort. Eventually, he opened the chest... withdrawing the sheet of black silk that encased the treasure within. Clenching the object, he lifted it with a sense of fear, rather than concern for its age. The object, apparently, was a large portion of a skull. It appeared human, for the most part - the children reacting with a chorus of gasps as the aged story teller held the cruel relict up. Strangely, the skull seemed to house a set of fangs which seemed to be forged of steel; highly polished and dangerously sharp. Steel fangs.. like the creature in the story.
There was only blackness; notions such as 'time' had no meaning. Long since succumbing to the powers that once surged through his blackened heart; he'd paid dearly for his sins against man - swallowed into a watery grave with the rest of his wicked oblivion. It was of no matter to him, for without the watchful eye of Gargauth, he was a beast uncaged; carving an ungoverned swath of destruction across the lands while succumbing to the downward spiral of madness that came hand-in-hand with the powers he once possessed, or possessed him, some might argue. It'd all begun with that blasted priestess that'd managed to seduce him into betraying his master - feeding his hungry imagination horrible lies of deceit and favortism cast to others over he. His betrayal had been forgiven, and redeemed just the same, having sworn himself to the task of obliterating the fabled Avalon, and drinking from the blood of Alysera herself. Such thoughts lead to a storm of hatred thrashing through his warped mind; burning stronger as the decades passed. He knew he would be summoned eventually. He heard the drums of war pounding in the distance. He could taste the power that damned him - oh, how he lusted for it.
Somewhere, in a darkened corner of a dirty Tavern; his piercing stare could be felt tearing asunder the otherwise peaceful state of mind of some random drunk. Soon, he would be powerful enough to step forth from the darkness that mothered him, and finish his task of bringing the realm of Ayenee to its knees; blanketing it beneath the wicked banner of the Hidden Lord. Fueled by his hatred, he felt stronger as each day passed, knowing the time would soon be at hand. Others would rise with him; the great day of his wrath would soon be at hand.
The harsh, unforgiving weather outside seemed to rock the tinty candle-lit cabin; causing nervous children to huddle closer together, gazing up curiously at an eldery man seated in a rocking chair. The old man seemed at a loss for words, at the moment - still his story maintained the undivided attention of the youngsters. He often told scary stories on such nights, but none as terrifying as this tale of a beast that their grandfather claimed once stalked this very forest. Reaching towards a small table at the rocking chair's side; he placed a wrinkled hand upon a charred, ancient looking chest of some sort. Eventually, he opened the chest... withdrawing the sheet of black silk that encased the treasure within. Clenching the object, he lifted it with a sense of fear, rather than concern for its age. The object, apparently, was a large portion of a skull. It appeared human, for the most part - the children reacting with a chorus of gasps as the aged story teller held the cruel relict up. Strangely, the skull seemed to house a set of fangs which seemed to be forged of steel; highly polished and dangerously sharp. Steel fangs.. like the creature in the story.
There was only blackness; notions such as 'time' had no meaning. Long since succumbing to the powers that once surged through his blackened heart; he'd paid dearly for his sins against man - swallowed into a watery grave with the rest of his wicked oblivion. It was of no matter to him, for without the watchful eye of Gargauth, he was a beast uncaged; carving an ungoverned swath of destruction across the lands while succumbing to the downward spiral of madness that came hand-in-hand with the powers he once possessed, or possessed him, some might argue. It'd all begun with that blasted priestess that'd managed to seduce him into betraying his master - feeding his hungry imagination horrible lies of deceit and favortism cast to others over he. His betrayal had been forgiven, and redeemed just the same, having sworn himself to the task of obliterating the fabled Avalon, and drinking from the blood of Alysera herself. Such thoughts lead to a storm of hatred thrashing through his warped mind; burning stronger as the decades passed. He knew he would be summoned eventually. He heard the drums of war pounding in the distance. He could taste the power that damned him - oh, how he lusted for it.
Somewhere, in a darkened corner of a dirty Tavern; his piercing stare could be felt tearing asunder the otherwise peaceful state of mind of some random drunk. Soon, he would be powerful enough to step forth from the darkness that mothered him, and finish his task of bringing the realm of Ayenee to its knees; blanketing it beneath the wicked banner of the Hidden Lord. Fueled by his hatred, he felt stronger as each day passed, knowing the time would soon be at hand. Others would rise with him; the great day of his wrath would soon be at hand.