Whispers...
Elven spells struggling against those of demonic kind.
Only small blinks of light lingered in the vast sea of black chants
As the man,
Shattered in both body and mind, laid there for many moons.
Found lifeless in the woods after the
Tormenting battle with the black monster of stone.
An Elven chantress had dragged him into a shelter
And stayed there beside him as he restlessly dreamt.
The curse of the demon reached deep
And overshadowed the hope of recovery.
But it had not gone the way the Night Demon attended.
Death had waited.
A breath of will, the first true sign of life since the defeat.
The chantress startled in relief.
The spell was beginning to fade, Light was present.
He opened his eyes in disbelief
Waiting for the unholy welcome of afterlife.
The Elf told him everything about the struggle for his life,
The long dark moons and the truth
Behind the Saga of the Black Mountain.
The dragon created to guard and protect the holy Wheel of Time,
A powerful machinery granting its Master
The the way to the past and to the future.
She shivered when talking about the Night Lord,
The Forger of the black sky,
Manipulating the creature with his spells and
Using the Wheel for his own deadly purposes of Evil.
No one was to control the Black
Dragon except him and his minions of chaos.
The man listened in gratitude but didn't care
About any of it, about the past, about the future.
No, his mind was set on only one purpose.
His was a task of blood and death.
He would rise!
He would have his vengeance!