The Bard frowned. The same vision continued to trouble her. She prepared her bowl of goat's milk, drew her dagger, and nicked her forearm. Letting blood spill from her Castle lodging, the vision came once more to the Seer. Blades, Blue and Red, clashing. They stop, turning to face a Queen of Darkness, bearing six, glowing purple eyes. As the Queen dies, a Butterfly flies Southward.
This vision refuses to let me see more. Gods have mercy.
The bard shook her head, tuning her song once more.
The bard adjusted her red cap, tuned her lyre, and nimbly stepped out of her room. She pondered whether the "gift" of foresight she had was a blessing or curse, given how it made her obsess over the subjects of her vague, symbolic visions. Then, with a mental shrug, she remembered she'd not be half the bard she was without this gift, raiding the pantry for snacks. She had far more to write, tonight.
This vision refuses to let me see more. Gods have mercy.
The bard shook her head, tuning her song once more.
The Butterfly Knight rode to the North, fighting the chill and flame
The Ashenlands still do they burn, with the might of Worshipper Pain
In this land where demons dwell, fighting for control of the plane,
In a place where no Heroes delve, our Legend went all the same.
Blades of Red and Blue did cross, turning on the nightmarish thing,
Monstrosity of another world, bearing an unearthly sting,
Blades of Red and Blue did cross, turning on the nightmarish queen,
A Knight of Butterflies will rise, of this day we sing!
In the night of the ashland’s might, the land itself has slain,
Many a hero who would have rode and cleaved evil in twain,
The grace of light and the hero’s might was nothing in front of flame,
But with the embers long gone and Darkness set in, the wild cries in pain.
The Ashenlands still do they burn, with the might of Worshipper Pain
In this land where demons dwell, fighting for control of the plane,
In a place where no Heroes delve, our Legend went all the same.
Blades of Red and Blue did cross, turning on the nightmarish thing,
Monstrosity of another world, bearing an unearthly sting,
Blades of Red and Blue did cross, turning on the nightmarish queen,
A Knight of Butterflies will rise, of this day we sing!
In the night of the ashland’s might, the land itself has slain,
Many a hero who would have rode and cleaved evil in twain,
The grace of light and the hero’s might was nothing in front of flame,
But with the embers long gone and Darkness set in, the wild cries in pain.
The bard adjusted her red cap, tuned her lyre, and nimbly stepped out of her room. She pondered whether the "gift" of foresight she had was a blessing or curse, given how it made her obsess over the subjects of her vague, symbolic visions. Then, with a mental shrug, she remembered she'd not be half the bard she was without this gift, raiding the pantry for snacks. She had far more to write, tonight.
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The One True Nat
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11-Jan-2017 22:12:01 - Last edited on 15-Jan-2017 19:45:36 by Lady Airlea
