By: Agrias Posted on: December 15, 2005
Long ago, in a whispery tale,
Before the Ashtan ships set sail,
As the banshee's down in Azdun wail'd,
And the mists around Zsarachnor veil'd,
To point to darkness there...
With candlelight, and quill in hand,
His history like grains of sand,
That echoed in some far-off land,
Such painful few could understand,
He sat to pen his love.
He penned a note of truth and love,
Signed with the dust of stars above,
And gave his dove a gentle shove,
And watched it fly away.
Two years now, and each passing day,
He still felt more he wished he'd say,
And sad inside that truth he'd lay,
Each day he'd send her more.
He'd met her quite some time ago,
On barren fields, pure-white with snow,
And when he saw here, he did know,
That love's a path that he would go,
He wished he had her so...
"But you are just a peasant lad!
To marry you, I'd soon be mad,
You are nothing but a cad,
My heart has room for one.
You have no gold, you have no fame,
No good shall come from your father's name,
A farmer's son, you'll still remain,
Regardless of your heart's refrain,
I cannot marry you."
But still, he tried, to win her love,
And with each note he sent by dove,
The more her face shone up above,
The more his quill his heart would shove,
He would find a better way.
Long before, in days of old,
A secret lay in Azdun's fold,
To him, the Gracious Aegis told,
A potion of love, wine-red, and gold,
He set to find a way.
A slip of paper told the way,
Where none except the stupid stray,
That hid an evil none could say,
And so to keep his heart at bay,
He struck a fire bold.
Into the cauldron, did he place,
The visage of her lovely face,
The liquid bubbled in its space,
And soon, against the time he raced,
The quest now done, none could deface,
The love he had for her.
He ventured to her castle fair,
She sat and combed her Ebon hair,
He sat the goblet on the altar there,
The prize inside, her eyes did flair,
He sat there feeling cold, and bare,
She asked, "What does this do?"
"I journied into Azdun's lair,
And mixed this with the utmost care,
And rushed it here, so none could share,
This potion veil'd with Magick's Aire,
It grants....immortal life."
She gaped her mouth, in mute surprise,
The victim of her own demise,
She tipped the cup unto the skies,
But I'm not one to critize,
I'd have followed in her stead.
The skies then turned a sickly pale,
Relinquished in torrential hail,
Her face looked drained behind her veil,
The end to such a sorrow'd tale,
Queen Belladona died...
Bittersweet, though was her death,
For as she breathed out her last breath,
He fell unto the ground and wept,
The wind around them both had swept,
She stood herself once more.
She looked at him with eyes of hate,
With sharpened teeth, she sealed his fate,
A feast of blood, for her, she ate,
His love, no soul, could then berate,
They rose again, undead.
Thus ends his tragic tale so true,
That I recount anew for you,
To tell you all what they did do,
They found a thirst of bloody dew,
The same that runs through our veins, too...
They found their love in death.