Post by vammy on Nov 15, 2016 12:15:30 GMT -4
Dark and twisted much like the walls of Hellmoth.
Hellmoth, the place where hope dies the second you enter its doors.
Hellmoth, the land ruled by Andnoraxs and Issisam brothers and kings, victors and champions their horns made of black ivory and their skin made of leather and painted with the blood of lambs.
Hellmoth, the land where the beasts walk on two legs and wear armor made of bone and gold.
Hellmoth, home.
A man travels across the burning countryside, sword in hand and his eyes obscured by a large brimmed hat. His steel boots cause the ground to shake with every step, causing deep cracks in the desert beneath him.
Soon he leaves the countryside leaving a large crater in his wake, coming out of the crack is a black hand sharp with obsidian claws climbing out of its hole with a vicious ferocity.
With every hand it manages to pull out it lets out a roar, guttural and rough.
The man is challenged. Never fearless the man sprints back to the countryside causing the land to break apart freeing the hand.
The claws pulled themselves up revealing their true size, a beast of thousand pounds and as tall as oak tree, red eyes with no pupils seemingly glowing at the man.
"I fear no beast!"
The man charged blade and courage in hand, the beast fought bravely but fell to the man much like many beasts before it; a sword in all of its shadowy hands rendering it impossible to move.
The man put the sword into its sheathe and walked back to his home far from the countryside.
As for the beast; it screamed three times. Once in pain, once in sorrow and once before its death.
Hellmoth.
(I plan on this being a series of short stories)
Hellmoth, the place where hope dies the second you enter its doors.
Hellmoth, the land ruled by Andnoraxs and Issisam brothers and kings, victors and champions their horns made of black ivory and their skin made of leather and painted with the blood of lambs.
Hellmoth, the land where the beasts walk on two legs and wear armor made of bone and gold.
Hellmoth, home.
A man travels across the burning countryside, sword in hand and his eyes obscured by a large brimmed hat. His steel boots cause the ground to shake with every step, causing deep cracks in the desert beneath him.
Soon he leaves the countryside leaving a large crater in his wake, coming out of the crack is a black hand sharp with obsidian claws climbing out of its hole with a vicious ferocity.
With every hand it manages to pull out it lets out a roar, guttural and rough.
The man is challenged. Never fearless the man sprints back to the countryside causing the land to break apart freeing the hand.
The claws pulled themselves up revealing their true size, a beast of thousand pounds and as tall as oak tree, red eyes with no pupils seemingly glowing at the man.
"I fear no beast!"
The man charged blade and courage in hand, the beast fought bravely but fell to the man much like many beasts before it; a sword in all of its shadowy hands rendering it impossible to move.
The man put the sword into its sheathe and walked back to his home far from the countryside.
As for the beast; it screamed three times. Once in pain, once in sorrow and once before its death.
Hellmoth.
(I plan on this being a series of short stories)