The Lake on Tsentarrek part 4
i. Ten Thousand Years of Darkness
We spent our first two days in Tsentarrek in the hypnotic grasp of our new albino friend Tothen. By that I don't mean that we were enamored with him, we were, but that he'd lead us to a sort of safe cave, a small arched room, and taught us the ancient language that was still spoken down below.
Our beautiful host, Tothen, was not the only sentient elf being to dwell inside the mountain, and he stressed to us that this was a bad thing. He was a kind of half-caste, a mating between the dominant Nottor race and one of the dwindling slave races that were still kept here. He was reluctant to feed our curious minds much detail, but he implied that a whole world thrived here, ruled by the sickness of 10,000 years before and multiplied by the isolation.
Tothen's hypnotic psychic gift was far more potent than that of the
To Be Like GhostsSilent steps, as to not make a sound,
Weaving between dry leaves on the ground,
Shallow breaths, to appear a ghost,
Whispering things foreign to most.
Barely a melody, just so much to say
About how it's all in tune in every way.
Wandering eyes, that would be my voice,
Scour the land for times to rejoice.
No quarrels in self reliance,
Sweet universal compliance,
Begging for the right time to release
What's buried in me; must shed the fleece
Of what was hindering me before;
The old skin sloughs off onto the floor,
With such ease, as if it was supposed to
Keep me silent then reveal me to you.
Until the time of auspicious reveal,
The blues and greens will settle on teal;
And all the colors will dance once more
Painting our footsteps as we explore.
One last hurrah for the sake of us,
Silent steps leaving much to discuss.
March fragrantly into the unknown;
Smell the roses before time has flown.
Silent steps, as to not make a sound,
And leave lasting impressions upon the ground.
Dust and BonesInside your blade made of dust,
trying to form a point
that was never
The clout you seem to believe you have,
has been deflated yet
You reign over hollowed masses,
posion in the air
you told them
You bring death upon their ears,
Cling on to your familial bones,
in your deranged attempt
The blackened tar mold,
of your heart
will never be
You are you're own fool,
but you are unaware
for you are not
You may think you are,
You try to be,
like a beating
When you cause the grass to wilt,
maybe you should rethink
You can't handle the blacklash,
however, this is
You insist upon fighting,
In your world of dust and bones,
people realise you are
nothing, and always will
For all those who received an invitation to participate in this group. Hello. This means that you, interesting to us. So don't be shy and share your arts with us! Accepted any work that you think is best for yourself. I apologize for the Google translator)
For all those who see only the folder Featured. There's more! take a look! pieces two or three ... please use the rest too. otherwise I will decline) good luck