By: Kitarel Posted on: November 13, 2009
Late one dark, moonless night
I came across a man.
He looked at me through bloodshot eyes
And told me he had ran.
I offered him a seat to have
And gave him bread and ale.
His wrists were raw from rubbing
He could pay me only with his tale.
He told me of a city great
That spanned into the skies.
An island covered in thickest fog,
Battlements and spires.
His tongue, in half, had been split
His back was stooped pain
His fingers were long and gnarled,
His mind was driven insane.
A place, he said, where evil rules
And good all shy away.
A place whose mark had been cast
On the innocent they'd slain.
The horrors spoken chilled my bones
They ripped my world apart.
He told me of men driven mad
And feasted on beating hearts.
Lords so evil and blades so bloodied
It would make any warrior weep.
A place of servitude and rage
Of honour and of creed.
'Lock up your young children,'
He whispered into my ear.
'No one is safe from Mhaldor,'
'Only evil lives here.'
At that he downed his tankard
And his mouth curled into a grin.
He tilted his head and I saw the scars,
'What is flesh but only skin?'
He offered a quick prayer to his Lords
And before I could breathe again he'd gone.
Strength comes from sacrifice
And Evil is not at rest by dawn.