Creatures of the night,
they abound around me,
at his dead of hour,
at the dead of night,
they awoke me, I'm sure,
to let me know I'm not
alone, yet surrounded,
by the wholesome of
them,
They are legion.
They are everywhere.
Some are cold,
and distant, eerie
like the morning sun at this
time of day - suddenly appearing
giving life to shadows, life to things,
like me, they ar Things,
humans and more then that
sometimes...not most of times, though.
sometimes we are people,
we are around like people,
but we are not people,
we are not even human to
begin with, for we are,
we always have been -
a pageant of creatures,
not fro m this world,
not from here, never
from here. Elsewhere,
we'd been born,
at pages of never
published books,
never illustrated pictures,
never written words -
we are there, we have
been born there. Before
time, before space, we have
always been around,
a novel yet to be written -
about a man who are not a man,
but somehing else entirely,
like Her, the Sunspear
maiden, the unhurt ladie
of Wrath, vengeance,
and fury itself, all in one
human being, that has
never been a true human
to begin with...he was
somethiing else, felt
like something else,
all his life, and now he
knows why - and won't deny it
He is sha, killer of the night
terror in the mists
death to many,
too many.
That other one, he's
a future king, the only heir
left of a long lifeline of true
warriors and sages,
long ago, hey were all slain
by a group of unnamed
soldiers, unfaced men-
he's been loking for them,
and won't give up till
the deed is dine, the vengeance
occurred, and the divine wrath
been shown, to those arrogant fools
show them how it's done
with this firece warrior,
his shining helm, dented
ad twisted,
yet to be broken,
he uses it like Sage Ol' Rip,
uses his whip, uses like a living
thing, an extension of his very
arms, his very own hands,
he uses that dealy whip,
like he's benn born with it,
never been apart from it,
just like Sean and his longsword,
so many foes slain, so many
lizard men, dead at his
feet, dead or dying, done
by a thrust or a cut,
from his very own longsword,
named after his Father
who collapsed and fail,
not too long ago, in a
battle of the ages, a battle
of races, fellow Horsemen
against the might of the Dragons,
And here I am, amongst them
looking for a scrap, looking for
a reason that will justify
so many killings, so dreary war,
a war of the Races, a war between
Races, bulls and horns, hooves
in the night, a silent fox approaches
speaks to me, tells me that
the other's side is lost, gone
forever and ever, I look, for
survivors throuth the might
and sword, the morningstar and the
lance, I look for him, I don't see
him, I can't find him, can't find
his companions, or battalion,
moaning corpses, soon to be fed
to crows, a miriad of crows,
all I got is a bag of loot,
a couple coins, a fading hope
that'll ever find him ever
alive again, not after this battle,
not after this scuffle, I have to run,
I need to find him, but all I see
are corpses of jaguars, and other
felines, the nighty Horsemen
delivered a decen apocalypse
of heir own...I seach, and call,
in vain, I sense, in vain
no way I'll ever see him again,
mangled corpses, magled bodies,
mourning mothers ad fathers,
they see what I see - a dreadful wasteland
where the battle took place.
a few men wander aorund, sellswords,
splitting their loot, fighting for naught
I came her looking for him
but I won't find him, not alive,
not at all - not on this wasteland
of dreary corpses, awaiting the crows,
awaiting in silence, eerie silence,
wher the swords clanged and metal shone,
where so many lay dead, or dying,
no use to try finding,
for him, he's gone.
Dead and gone.
I know ti, I feel it.
He's dead, I'm alone,
once again, alone
it the midst of so may
dead bodies,
alone,
waching their corpses,
lying around in defeat,
I curse and plead,
no use for me,
he's dead and gone,
and I'm left alone.
