His death was inevitable.
Would it be old age? Would it be by injury, maybe in the war which they waged upon their enemies? Would he die heroically, for his brethern? What would be his sacrifice? Would anyone remember him, think of him after he was gone?
Hemlocke takes a heavy breath as he looks out over the red sand canyon of his home. Perched high atop the cliffs over the Catacombs of which he often slithered. It reminded him of where he was born, in the Blood Valley. A land of outsiders, banished, betrayed.
The war had yet to come. Their enemies MIA, their lust for blood unsettled. They were our there, somewhere and they were not safe. Their numbers had dropped. Their pup, lost. But what to do?
Hemlocke looks with rubied eyes to the heavens. Heavens he may never reach, never see. The red rocks glow, the sun painting a new day as the horizon washed over the lands in red and orange light. By now the hellhound would have slunk back into the shadows of the land.
Not today.
Today he would make a sacrifice to his Gods. A sacrifice for his people. One they may never know the reasoning behind. He opens a dry mouth to fill the new morning air with a voice not heard in months, deep a rasped with stiffness. To the Gods, I sacrifice. For you, Saint's victory. And with the end of his howl, Hemlocke leaps from the rocks.
Would it be old age? Would it be by injury, maybe in the war which they waged upon their enemies? Would he die heroically, for his brethern? What would be his sacrifice? Would anyone remember him, think of him after he was gone?
Hemlocke takes a heavy breath as he looks out over the red sand canyon of his home. Perched high atop the cliffs over the Catacombs of which he often slithered. It reminded him of where he was born, in the Blood Valley. A land of outsiders, banished, betrayed.
The war had yet to come. Their enemies MIA, their lust for blood unsettled. They were our there, somewhere and they were not safe. Their numbers had dropped. Their pup, lost. But what to do?
Hemlocke looks with rubied eyes to the heavens. Heavens he may never reach, never see. The red rocks glow, the sun painting a new day as the horizon washed over the lands in red and orange light. By now the hellhound would have slunk back into the shadows of the land.
Not today.
Today he would make a sacrifice to his Gods. A sacrifice for his people. One they may never know the reasoning behind. He opens a dry mouth to fill the new morning air with a voice not heard in months, deep a rasped with stiffness. To the Gods, I sacrifice. For you, Saint's victory. And with the end of his howl, Hemlocke leaps from the rocks.
hello Darkness,
my old friend.
my old friend.
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