Author Topic: The Black Grimoire: Tales of the Masked One, the Hand of Death  (Read 921 times)


  • Mighty Duke
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He has come this far, all the way to this clearing in western Zuhle, this clearing bare and blackened but for one tree.

The tree stands in the middle of the clearing, and it is bone-white and dead, its branches naught but skeletal arms and fingers pointing up accusingly at the cloud-draped night sky, a great hollow in its trunk gaping like a mouth mid-scream.

The night sky is draped in clouds, but there has been no rain in this land in years, and there may be none for years yet to come. All here is dry and dead, even on this side of the barrier.

Caladar hesitates for long minutes, pacing back and forth before the dead tree as his few remaining killers wait in silence but for the occasional scuffing of a boot in the dry and dead leaves.

At long last Caladar sighs, and his head drops to his chest, and he approaches the tree, puts his hands inside the screaming-mouth hollow in its trunk, and pulls out a bundle wrapped in cloth.

Foolish one

Pretending and dissimulating one

Your regrettings and desirings do you think you hide

Think you hide well your hesitating intentions

Your fruitless regrettings they are nothing you did choose

Choose your destiny yes choice without choice

Did you not turn your back upon the dead lands and turn your face to the desert of Kording

The desert of Kording where my word was once law

And shall be again and did you not spill your blood upon the stone

The stone like any other but for the markings

And was the way not revealed

The way on to Firbalt the city once fallen to darkness

The city of Firbalt city of the men who slicked their hair with oil

Slicked their hair with oil and sold their souls and bodies to the daimon kiss

The city of Firbalt birthplace of so many things great and terrible

And did you not enter its black heart

The black heart of the city of Firbalt where it spirals inward

Spirals inward and downward down into itself

Down into itself and down into darkness

And did you not enter the Black Temple of Zraath

You made your choice killer the path is now yours to walk

Not the path of the dead ones they feel not you know this

I was there when he called them the Old Dark One-Eyed One

There when he called them the dead ones that walk and kill

What need have you for experimentations they feel not

Walking upon unfeeling feet killing with unfeeling tooth and claw

That is not your path little killer

You will feel everything

And there will be much killing
« Last Edit: March 12, 2023, 11:45:46 PM by JDodger »
By the way, would love to see you coordinate three realms without having an OOC teamspeak with everyone on it.