Post by Nightbane on Jul 6, 2011 0:41:03 GMT -8
content copyright: Sierra Webb
Looking down from the Dawntalon's peak, the land around us seems so surreal, so... Blessed. The trees almost touch the sky, their leaves beautiful oranges, reds and pinks. Their bark is white, the grass where their roots are buried is golden. The crystal clear water of the Winterfang rages through the center of the land, uniting all inhabitants whom desire to quench their thirst. Following the river north, one would find the Shadepaw cliffs, and to the east of it, the Earthhide Plains- Miles and miles of pure golden and green colored grass. In the west were the thicker parts of the land, where the trees grew closer together. We called this the Brambleclaw Thicket. To the south was the Feathermane Ravine, a deep chasm that shone withe purest of minerals and cast strange lights across the sky when the sun was setting. There was a crowned council member that looked over each of these sections of our blessed land, and we all lived peacefully with each other.
Every Full Moon we meet atop Dawntalon peak to discuss things between the clans. This maintains the peace and we all understand one another. However, there are rumors lately of a pack of two-legged creatures making their way north toward our land. Some hope to welcome them into our circle. Others wish to keep them away. I suppose we will have to wait and see where things go from here.
The Prophet foretold war. Fire. Death.[/ul]
Pain.[/ul]
And it was then that the Guardian was Elected.[/ul]
... It was just as the Prophet had foreseen.
When coming here, we all swore that in exchange for becoming residence, we would follow the laws and rules of Eversky. Eternal peace, was all the land asked for, and it was what we received. It never went back on it's promise- Not until fire took to her branches, spreading through the trees and burning everything in the land of Eversky to ash.
Now, looking down from Dawntalon peak, all we see is gray. The once beautiful scape is no more, the bark of the trees is black, the leaves a sorrowful violet. The Winterfang no longer runs clear, but red, and the once gold grass is now a dismal sky blue. The sky overhead is constantly gray, as if the blessed day star has also abandoned us for our Oathbreak. White mists rise and fall like the smoke that once filled our lungs, choking us. It now takes shapes, terrifying shapes that play on one's fear and nightmares. Eversky is no more, and rising up in it's place is Duskwither.
Those who come here are welcomed by the shadows and cries of the ones who once lived here. They are stalked and followed by lost souls, and they are forced to relive haunting memories of what once existed here. And they too are destined to forever walk the mists, their soul now belonging to the forsaken land of Duskwither. They do not wander until their death, no, they are met by the jaw that defend Duskwither, the jaws that the forsaken have granted eternal life, eternal power-
The name?
Nightbane.
A monster of a beast created from the very spite and betrayal of Eversky. When Duskwither was born, Nightbane rose from the ashen ground, his size comparable to that of the average horse. Hs fur was the blackest of blacks, and never seemed to take a consistent shape; no, his fur was like the very smoke of the flames that ended him- ever moving like it clung to him, moved with him. His gaze was redder than the hottest of Hell's flames, and his cry was as thunderous as any storm. He was enchanting, legendary, and incredibly dangerous.
Many say he is a monster. A legend. A myth.
Others say he is a beast straight from Hell, who's followers are the very lost souls of Duskwither.
But who can truely be sure?
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W a r
When Heaven Became Hell.
When Heaven Became Hell.
Looking down from the Dawntalon's peak, the land around us seems so surreal, so... Blessed. The trees almost touch the sky, their leaves beautiful oranges, reds and pinks. Their bark is white, the grass where their roots are buried is golden. The crystal clear water of the Winterfang rages through the center of the land, uniting all inhabitants whom desire to quench their thirst. Following the river north, one would find the Shadepaw cliffs, and to the east of it, the Earthhide Plains- Miles and miles of pure golden and green colored grass. In the west were the thicker parts of the land, where the trees grew closer together. We called this the Brambleclaw Thicket. To the south was the Feathermane Ravine, a deep chasm that shone withe purest of minerals and cast strange lights across the sky when the sun was setting. There was a crowned council member that looked over each of these sections of our blessed land, and we all lived peacefully with each other.
Every Full Moon we meet atop Dawntalon peak to discuss things between the clans. This maintains the peace and we all understand one another. However, there are rumors lately of a pack of two-legged creatures making their way north toward our land. Some hope to welcome them into our circle. Others wish to keep them away. I suppose we will have to wait and see where things go from here.
The Prophet foretold war. Fire. Death.[/ul]
Pain.[/ul]
And it was then that the Guardian was Elected.[/ul]
... It was just as the Prophet had foreseen.
When coming here, we all swore that in exchange for becoming residence, we would follow the laws and rules of Eversky. Eternal peace, was all the land asked for, and it was what we received. It never went back on it's promise- Not until fire took to her branches, spreading through the trees and burning everything in the land of Eversky to ash.
Now, looking down from Dawntalon peak, all we see is gray. The once beautiful scape is no more, the bark of the trees is black, the leaves a sorrowful violet. The Winterfang no longer runs clear, but red, and the once gold grass is now a dismal sky blue. The sky overhead is constantly gray, as if the blessed day star has also abandoned us for our Oathbreak. White mists rise and fall like the smoke that once filled our lungs, choking us. It now takes shapes, terrifying shapes that play on one's fear and nightmares. Eversky is no more, and rising up in it's place is Duskwither.
Those who come here are welcomed by the shadows and cries of the ones who once lived here. They are stalked and followed by lost souls, and they are forced to relive haunting memories of what once existed here. And they too are destined to forever walk the mists, their soul now belonging to the forsaken land of Duskwither. They do not wander until their death, no, they are met by the jaw that defend Duskwither, the jaws that the forsaken have granted eternal life, eternal power-
The name?
Nightbane.
A monster of a beast created from the very spite and betrayal of Eversky. When Duskwither was born, Nightbane rose from the ashen ground, his size comparable to that of the average horse. Hs fur was the blackest of blacks, and never seemed to take a consistent shape; no, his fur was like the very smoke of the flames that ended him- ever moving like it clung to him, moved with him. His gaze was redder than the hottest of Hell's flames, and his cry was as thunderous as any storm. He was enchanting, legendary, and incredibly dangerous.
Many say he is a monster. A legend. A myth.
Others say he is a beast straight from Hell, who's followers are the very lost souls of Duskwither.
But who can truely be sure?
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