VIII The Sun & The Moon. Far above, on the pristine marble balcony of Fairgun-Gard, the wind roared ferociously, blowing Vaea’s perfect hair across her nose. She combs strands behind her ears, tapping her fingers in a certain succession. Cocking her eyebrows, she raises her index finger forward. “That’s IT!” she slowly shouted “Oh, I truly out do myself don’t I?” Her cackles occupied the halls of Fairgun-Gard, shrilling through the white hallways like an eerie gust. Vaea turned around, her gown brushes against the stone-floor. Swaying her delicate but pronounced hips, she walks seductively towards Vorago. Whom is laying on a stone-slab. His lifeless arms folded onto his chest, he snores soundly asleep as the darkness seething all around him begins to move with his every breath. Vaea giggles, placing her hand on her lips. “You know, Vorago, you really are just adorable laying there, ever so vulnerable.” After laughing in her palm, Vaea then traces her fingertips on his resting ...
The page you find yourself reading, is the only documentation, the only accounts of a microcosm infected in a state of perpetual terminus. I, Ghloth The Astral, am one of the four, archaic observers, spawned into creation by the grand archaic ones- The Watchers. Three ages have come and passed, the only light that fills the sky, is the hope that some mortal, somewhere, reading this, might just be the next one to light this doomed lands, fading, and hopeless, worldly fire.