Quoth the Raven

The Lunar Listener II

(Continued from D'Sarian Lore, Lunar Listener, January 25, 2005)

The smell of carrion is intoxicating, surrounding this place, the Infernal Citadel, drawing scavengers from far and wide to the bounty of easily gained sustenance. That which is not used by the Infernal is cast off in the charnal wastes, to be set upon by flocks and packs of ravenous beasts - jackels, vultures, buzzards, and even crows. These, amongst the multitude of creatures upon which I hold sway, upon whom I rely to watch the movements of the brood. That which passes before their eyes, through their ears, becomes known to me.

Upon this chilled, moonlit night, the Dark God hath come forth, atop the heights of the Citadel, surveying the view.

I have not forgotten our last encounters, the timultuous conflict which met with no resolution. He, the parody of life, the abomination of Order. An evil incarnate, swathed in regal bearing, with power to seduce, obfuscicate, and enveigle the innocent to corruption. He is everything which I am not, everything which I loathe, despise. The Darkstar, the antithesis of all I hold and define dear. He bears close observation.

Tonight he seems unsettled, staring upon the moon with vapid eyes, speaking to himself. Perhaps he has finally gone mad, a most fortuitous event should it come to pass. His speech of armies and movements is most intriguing, echoing down amongst the uncaring scavengers, whispered within the depths of my far reaching mind.

"Time and tide is on our side. The momentum swings our way. If this battle brings on Armeggedon, then so be it. In the end, ONE shall be crowned king and the undead brood shall stand by the throne at my right hand! THIS I SWEAR!!! " Darkstar bellowed to the unswayed moon, his lips curled revealing the predatory fangs of his brethren, a rabid dog on a mission, surely.

His tirade is cut short by the arrival of his manservant, who like a sheepdog, leads his errant charge back to the depths of the citadel, and out of the chill blustered night.

I sever the connection, leaving my charges to their gormandic delights, cleaning away the stain left by the undead host upon the land.

"He covets that which he may not attain." A crazed voice speaks, echoing about the simple chamber.

"What do you care if the Dark Liege removes the pale poser with but a sweep of his broadsword. Surely the thought of the Beast cut in twain will not prompt tears to thine eyes." A weasilish voice snidely whispers.

I ignore them, as I ever ignored them, my thoughts taking in the depth of meaning of all that which the Undead Lord disclosed. A grin plays across my face.