Number Four: Celestia

Blinded by the darkness
How could I ever see the light again
In any of your faces,
Your bright smiles now erased

And the flowers, the trees
That once bound me are fled
From my crooked, petrifying,
Horrific gaze

My fangs dig deep into the souls
Of the damned and the forgotten
The wretched, the wicked
As I am become now

The pull of the darkness
Tendrils tying me down
Until I give in to this
Madness, this spiral of anger

It pulls me deeper and deeper
Into this black abyss and whispers
Into me, the future, past, and present
Until my sanity drips from my veins

Cut me open, and let it bleed
More and more until there's
Not enough evil to fill my body;
My heart, my soul -

Or perhaps the worst punishment
Is the mercy of it all;
To let me live with this insanity
Every. Single. Full moon.

Losing Grip

What do you want me to tell you?
That my arm shook as I kept myself
From grabbing and pulling all of you
Into my life?

That my skin could not bear life,
Without your electric touch again?
That the daemon who held my soul
Only amplified my want to hold your hand?

That I almost lost control of myself
From being in your magnetic presence;
Your lies and expressions telling
What I wanted to hear whispered within?

You read me like a book on a shelf
To you, the shiniest, newest, brightest novel
You'd ever seen before you.
But did you even hold the key to anything,

Or was it just to my most primal wants;
Imagining your hands up and down my waist,
My back, my hips, and your tongue
Telling me all I'd ever want to hear from you?

Are other people truly just a game,
A conquest, a vague interest to your shallow mind?
And once you had won me over,
Would you have set me on your shelf of lies?

Love and Cold Winds, Part 7: Finale

    Darkness as thick as a curtain surrounded them as the dim light behind them was shut out and the doors ground back into place. It was not long before lights from high above turned on with a loud click and revealed the shape of the room.
    A grand arena of sandstone blocks formed a high wall to rows of empty stone benches, with sandy floor space broken up by massive pillars and several foot high walls of wood.
    "Reminds me of somewhere, only bigger." Vort said, the dragonborn close to his side snorted.
    "Not very nostalgic considering there's a vicious monster in the room somewhere." Garn replied.
    "I found the monster." Norra said, pointing at the other end of the arena where the shadows shifted.
    From the dark stepped a figure no smaller than a child. He was dressed in dark purple robes with ruby red thorn patterns spreading across the shoulders. The hood was pulled up but they all could see the glowing yellow eyes peering at them. Although said robe seemed to be far too big for the thing it was quite disarmingly cute.
    "This isn't what I expected." Lym broke the silence of the collective staring match.
    As if to prove a point the wee being waved his hand in a conjuring sort of way, and the shadows among the edges of the room pulled themselves toward the boss wizard, sharp edges cutting their way into three dimensional space and weaving a body.
    The amalgam of shadow shaped itself into a towering 8 foot tall humanoid with glowing red eyes and a battle axe equal to the malice in the monster's glowing red eyes. Topping this visage literally born from shadow was the magic user, somehow emanating an aura of smugness from atop his new seat.
    "Well that's a little more of what I expected."
    "Scatter!" Shouted Norra as the beast charged toward Lym.
    The party broke their formation, Lym sprinting in a semi circle as far away from the approaching monster as possible while Norra took cover behind the closest pillar. Garn strode forward to face the monsters back with a trigger happy mage shadowing him.
    "Think I can harm something made of shadow?" the dragonborn asked, almost stumbling over his feet when he felt Vort's hand brush his.
    "Well, now I think you can," the mage said, as the edge of the warrior's blade began to shine with magical current. "I'm right behind you."
    With no time left for a reply Garn rushed forward, a huge grin on his face as he prepared to strike. His smile was turned rather quickly as a bolt shadowy flame grazed his side and calve.
    With a grace far beyond its size, the shadow giant's axe whirled towards the warrior's body in an attempt to vertically slice him in two. Once again despite his stout frame his reflexes put the flat of his blade between  him and bloody death. Instead he found himself sailing though the air with a pair of numb arms and a bruised spine as he landed ungracefully in the sand.
    Norra covered their prone dragon born with a hail of flaming arrows, taking cover as the return fire came from its personal magic turret of a hat. The bard had found a place to hide with decent acoustics as his magical songs kept morale (and hit points) up. 
    "You alright?" Vort called out, slashing runes into the air as energy crackled around him.
    "Fine," he pushed himself to his feet, catching sight of the three bolts of electricity that striking the chest and arms of the giant, knocking it off balance. Norra took her chance and fired a flaming bolt into the little wizard, and following suit Garn found the strength to charge.
    With a battle roar he charged, gouging ephemeral chunks from the thighs and shins of the giant, and the collective effort toppled it to a knee. The wizard, now a foot closer to the ground, summoned up a geyser of black fire that shot into the air, raining little spheres of death across the whole arena. Garn swore as he felt the flame graze his scales, sword raised to block the larger fireballs that were making most of the terrain around him difficult to get through.
    The axe blade coming to vertically bisect him from behind was conveniently out of sight as the weapon made of shadow was rather quiet while tearing through the air. He did see and feel the lightning wreathed mage push him out of the way. He once again felt his feet lose touch with the sand, flung backward as  he saw Vort deflect enough of the blow to keep himself in one whole. But it wasn't enough to stop the blade and the splash of blood as momentum sent the smaller body the same direction.
    Many things ran though Garn's head as he hit the ground and rolled himself to his feet. Vort crumpled nearby, robe torn and increasingly blood soaked. Blood and battle wounds were not unfamiliar companions to the dragonborn in this and his old career, nor were others getting injured around him.
    But the feeling of shock, heartache, and unbearable torrent of violence welled up in his chest at the sight of the fallen mage. Such passion for one known only for a short time was not uncommon in the adventuring world, as their kind made fast friends and bedfellows due to the work. But Garn had gained something not even he presently comprehended, the natural evolution of a crush to full blown infatuation.
    And to quote a overused saying on the emotion in question: it makes one do crazy things. And so as the giant haltingly rose to its feet, the warrior charged in once more, battle rage allowing a brief window of clarity to spot Lym running toward his fallen friend with potion and bardic magic in hand. And while his enchanted blade cut another ghostly chunk from the monster's shins his true attack was rapidly building within him.
    As an aside for a brief biology lesson of the Great Swamp Dragonborn, all dragonborn have a breath weapon based on their scale color. Being of green scales, Garn's breath was quite poisonous to those who inhaled it, but due to a unique strain of passive algae that their main staple food consumed, their breath weapon gained the rather unique mutation of being quite flammable. 
    And whether or not Norra knew this rather obscure tidbit, she fired another volley of flame tipped projectiles into the thick Green cloud Garn had spewed into the monsters face and chest. The gas erupted into flame and set alight the mini mage. The blaze made Garn step back as the high pitched screaming rang though the arena, and it was a good five minutes before it fell silent along with the shadow giant evaporating to leave behind a treasure chest.
    It was ignored in favor of cauterizing Vort's wound.

                   OXO

    "Honestly its the biggest scar I've ever received, but not the worst." Vort cheerily spoke from the confines of the towns medical building, which was conveniently located a block from the dungeon's entrance.
    Garn smiled and refrained from asking a follow up question to the mage's statement. The burly lizard had insisted on carrying the unconscious Vort out of the dungeon along with the treasure chest, and had not left his side since. He had even used a portion of his own earnings to get a private recovery room, and even now he sat at his bedside watching the scarred man gingerly pick at the bandages encircling his bare chest.
    "I'm glad your feeling better," Garn said, "The doctor said another day of bed rest and you're free to go."
    "Good, I owe my avenger a drink."
    Garn smiled and shifted awkwardly, words dying before they could get past his teeth. After a few breaths, his self confidence came back, and the thought that this shouldn't feel like a boss fight pushed him to look into Vort's eyes.
    "Actually, if you don't mind could we... Get dinner together?"
    Vort's mouth slowly morphed into a sly grin, "Why. mister Garn, are you asking me out on a date?"
    The big man sputtered and stumbled over his response, which in turn made Vort chuckle and pat his scaly knee. After a breath of his own he beamed at him.
    "Of course I would like dinner, but if we end up at a pub I expect at least one show of strength in my name."
    "It's a date then," Garn returned Vort's grin. "Don't be surprised if there's more just one show of strength." 

October

The wind as chilly as it blows
Cuts deep to the bone
Sharp and steely against my cheeks
Hair in every direction

Shadows follow right behind
Without the sun's light to cast
Grass and leaves crunching round
In time with my footsteps

No costume to show
Soft, fleece sweatshirt and blues
Boots as high as my friends
Tied hastily to be alone

The aura calls the soul
As if it belongs there
The dead whisper my name
Calling to the wandering heart

Tombstones hidden behind trees
Knocked over by disregard
Barely visible to the human eye
Gray and shining before me

Hard and cold, yet welcoming
My body rests on nature's dead
Eyes closed, ready to go
But somehow wanting to stay

Mist awakens the others
Eyes fly open, waiting for rain
Faces, transparent, white
Watching me watching them, smiling

Earthy, dying smells in the air
Beauty overtakes tears in my eyes
Forms of night alone before me
I am afraid, but only of the end

Damp and cold, never more warm
Darkness looming, warming me
Rain dripping through the trees
Reminding me of walking

I remember the sun, the sky
But the stars are so much prettier
And the moon so much wiser
Why would I ever leave?