Nathrangking

Week #4 Poem #4

Battleground of Remembrance 

Vibrant tongues leap into the air and grab at the heights of the cosmos with a grip that will yield to none. Dirtied light paints the walls of a city at the edge of a vast forest under siege by divinities born of wrath. Sundered earth scorched by insatiable hands bears witness to once mighty splintered chains that held back those who sneer at the work of mortal hands. All that might once have flourished in this realm has been utterly consumed. A silent anathema ruddy in the blood of slain enemies gazes upon that which they would demand as tribute from those who still live.

Onyx clouds hang over all as though they are hooded demons born to drag all into desolation everlasting. Atop the cracked towers of this last mortal bastion, warriors drained of nearly all vitality hold trembling weapons in hand. Eyes that tear flesh and drain humanity until all that remains is a wasteland unfit for even the damned twinkle with a twisted joy. If not for the screams of those who are lost and the chorus that is the prelude dirges there would be impenetrable silence. Only a being neither warrior, nor infernal king, nor even monster could bear the stain of the slaughter to some.

Humid stillness combines with the flames that have begun to destroy from within this last defense of mortals to create the summoning that call cautious carrion from where they hide. Sounds that shake with wild abandon the ground to the very depths rips away all warmth from the blood of those who hear its bestial growls. These noises call back the dead so that they may for a second time know the embrace of life’s final labored breath. Rulership is meaningless when deities turn on each other shredding supposedly immortal flesh and setting loose horrors ever worse.

As though the eyes of the heavens carry the weight of sadness, torrential rain begins to fall at the moment when there are few who will remember the events of the moments to come. Cleansing blows strike fast reducing the growls to whimpers that are lost to the drums of the sky. Those who have risen are chased back to their slumber and those who called them are cast violently aside and broken before primordial warriors who attack from above with brilliant spears. Vanished are those who consume memory. Those who were forgotten rule once more.