#blackblademaliketh

[black-blade-maliketh]

[black-blade-maliketh]

O DEATH

Gurranq slumbered in his temple, his claw scratching into the ground, turning the stone in his hand into fine sand.

He twitched in his sleep, dreaming of happier times twisted into painful visions of failure and starvation.

His stomach’s growling could be mistaken as a beast in and of itself, and his hand clutches his gut tightly.

But then suddenly, he awakens. His violet eye twitched as he began sniffing. It was as if death itself exploded in a… celebration?

He can hear their song now, singing of a prince of death.

Prince?

Death?

It couldn’t be. Gurranq refused to believe it.

He is dead. His very soul was extract from his body like a deathroot, and banished, never to be found again. But it is found.

Gurranq closed his eye and began communion. Through eyes of beast and man alike he searched, until he found one.

A beast eye quivering madly, as if it was searching, searching desperately.

He looks through this eye. He sees.

A hallway. It wasn’t the smith. It wasn’t the girl who raised spirits to be strong.

A door. Locked. He sniffs instead. Death. Death. Death.

He’s had enough of this. He sits in a meditative pose. Gurranq was needed here no longer. There is a matter of utmost importance to attend to.

“Eye of Beast, let me see. Claw of Beast, let me touch.”

He already begins the process. The sight of his sanctuary begins melting away.

“Take me to Death, take me to Death. Show me way, to Death, to Death!”

He lands on his hands, claws suddenly scratching into the hardwood floor. Little bits of reddened ash fly about as a towering beast clad in brown robes and rope manifested himself in the deathbed companion’s room.

He looks down on her with a single violet eye, barely visible as he huffed and snarled.

That’s when he saw him. Even changed, even devoid of the color he carried in life, Gurranq couldn’t help but tear up slightly at the sight of his long lost nephew.

“Prince Godwyn? You live?”

@deathblightprince