Joined: Wed Jul 23, 2008 5:07 am
The man with the diamond scar sits on the throne of the conference room in the underground castle of Irundar, humming a haunting yet cheerfully quiet tune to himself. His legs are raised and rested comfortably on the thick layer of dust and muck, that adorn the long, aged and tired conference table. The room remains embalmed in a pitch black.
"Righteous fire's burn yet another foe, such a dim-witted and scatter brained fellow... He chants. His chapped and flaking lips curling to form a weak and putrid smile. "Another one", he thought.
"The prophecy lives still!
As do I..."
Leaping from the chair, the diamond scarred man begins to march backward and forth, matching the length of the conference table. Patting each chair on the head on passing, he takes a few short moments to perform a solo waltz . Muttering muddled words, he waves a scar faded finger in the air as though to conduct an orchestra, or command details at an army to the same effect.
"Thee once powerful Verdazar, sucked into a thousand of the oblivions... The Temple cries and lies no longer, this seems to be clear!
...The Dar'krest have truelly fallen, with the death of their dear leader, oh! so dear..." the man proclaims, before taking a moment to sob sarcastically to himself.
"The damned, hath no fear! Mr. Gray, he's here!..."
Coming to a halt at the centre of the table, Gray leans in with both hands and glances over the many empty chairs.
"The throne belongs to us! uh??... Heh...
Narguns army shall conduct the fray, eh!!?"
Whipping his ragged hair back, a manic laughter spews from Gray. His darkened and glazed eyes narrowing then to a cold and blank stare.
"Blood equals blood..." He whispers to the dark.