07-19-2017, 08:33 PM
a ghost in the darkness.
The wraith was growing restless.
Each day passes and the shadows call longingly to him, encouraging him to return to their cool embrace. The darkness beckons with a curved finger, speculating. Wondering. Waiting. Still, he bides his time. He knows that glory will come to those that are patient, the reward will be ever sweeter for it. He collects bright minds that hold the same razor edge as he. It’s a vast collection. Monsters that can not never be tamed, bored sorceresses that are tired of the stale minutes of life, the youth who have a taste of power and want to see it grow. They are all so different but they are all bonded by a single black thread. The same one connected to the darkness that calls them forward, reminding them it’s still there. Waiting.
Peace can only last for so long. There is no good without evil, no light without dark. They all know this. It’s the way the world has always worked, always had and would always be long after his bones had crumbled into dust. Peace was but a gray area in a world of black and white. It never lasts. Some had a harder time accepting this but those in his line of work, so to speak, they knew better. The sooner you acknowledge it, the easier it would be.
This new world was not so different from the last. The kingdoms had different names and landscapes but it didn’t change what they were. It didn’t make them invincible. Didn’t make them special or protected. So many rulers were quiet, “so stale” said the whispers in the forest. So many weak, ripe for the picking. Their subjects smiled on the outside but on the inside they were just as restless as the ghost. They waited with bated breath for the next storm to come. They could deny it but boredom does funny things to people. He smiles to himself, soon.
Cloaked by the cool shade of the forest canopy, he drifts lightly between trees. The forest had become familiar to him, not so unlike the Chamber in a way. The ghost doesn’t leave it often unless he needs to pick up another trinket here or there. Needs to place a whisper in someone’s ear. Needs to scope out the terrain, eyes burning brightly with the heat of his great plans.
An insanely patient man, he has waited so long. How many years had he spent in exile, a disgraced Chamber prince? Eventually Kennedy had died and he had returned, the wait had been worth the reward. Again and again, he bit his tongue. Waited and watched. But even he grew impatient now and again. Now his patience was waning. The woods were spitting out so many faces of old, the dark magic emulating from them weaving through the trunks, mingling. The woods are almost suffocated by the presence of such animosity. Their patience was waning too. Soon, he thinks. Soon.
Each day passes and the shadows call longingly to him, encouraging him to return to their cool embrace. The darkness beckons with a curved finger, speculating. Wondering. Waiting. Still, he bides his time. He knows that glory will come to those that are patient, the reward will be ever sweeter for it. He collects bright minds that hold the same razor edge as he. It’s a vast collection. Monsters that can not never be tamed, bored sorceresses that are tired of the stale minutes of life, the youth who have a taste of power and want to see it grow. They are all so different but they are all bonded by a single black thread. The same one connected to the darkness that calls them forward, reminding them it’s still there. Waiting.
Peace can only last for so long. There is no good without evil, no light without dark. They all know this. It’s the way the world has always worked, always had and would always be long after his bones had crumbled into dust. Peace was but a gray area in a world of black and white. It never lasts. Some had a harder time accepting this but those in his line of work, so to speak, they knew better. The sooner you acknowledge it, the easier it would be.
This new world was not so different from the last. The kingdoms had different names and landscapes but it didn’t change what they were. It didn’t make them invincible. Didn’t make them special or protected. So many rulers were quiet, “so stale” said the whispers in the forest. So many weak, ripe for the picking. Their subjects smiled on the outside but on the inside they were just as restless as the ghost. They waited with bated breath for the next storm to come. They could deny it but boredom does funny things to people. He smiles to himself, soon.
Cloaked by the cool shade of the forest canopy, he drifts lightly between trees. The forest had become familiar to him, not so unlike the Chamber in a way. The ghost doesn’t leave it often unless he needs to pick up another trinket here or there. Needs to place a whisper in someone’s ear. Needs to scope out the terrain, eyes burning brightly with the heat of his great plans.
An insanely patient man, he has waited so long. How many years had he spent in exile, a disgraced Chamber prince? Eventually Kennedy had died and he had returned, the wait had been worth the reward. Again and again, he bit his tongue. Waited and watched. But even he grew impatient now and again. Now his patience was waning. The woods were spitting out so many faces of old, the dark magic emulating from them weaving through the trunks, mingling. The woods are almost suffocated by the presence of such animosity. Their patience was waning too. Soon, he thinks. Soon.
Gryffen