Cityscape Torments ©

Ode to the Wicked Witch of the Monday Mournings

2008-03-16T20:57:00.023+02:00

Recommended tune: The Blues Brothers Band - Season of the Witch

A shadow came to blot the sun
Oh woe, how Monday morning came undone
Come, gather, lend me ears
And I shall weave a tale of tears.

I speak of how a day may die
And how a hundred men may cry
For hopes of better times to come
For heroes' aid and swords to strum.

For deep inside the greatest castle
Hidden by the endless hassle,
There lived a fiend wearing a grin
Which cloaked a dire maw of vile sin.

A fiend so meek, if at first glanced,
That no one's fear would have advanced.
But deep below the mellow tree,
Often lies the wicked banshee.

And worst of all haunted the castle
As powerless, in wait, stood the vassal.
For under the curse he was, as well
Trapped within the witch's hell.

Most ravenous this beast became,
As years went on, always the same,
One day a week, the witch's toll,
Lest he who pass, should trade his soul.

But soon the hunger grew too much,
One day a week, in the fiend's clutch,
No longer quenched the thirst for dread
Which helped the witch keep herself fed.

So she brew up another tax,
To mold the fears to living wax.
Four times a season she demanded
A sacrifice to her be handed.

An offering of blood and sweat,
No soul ever to forget,
The meaning of their heart's twitch,
The culling, the season of the witch.

And so beware, you who dare tread
Upon the fears and spirits of the dead.
The shadow beckons you as well,
And none shall ever hear the yell.

And be of Monday what may be
I leave, at last, for you to see,
And act a snitch,
On which is witch...

The switch

2008-01-15T18:30:00.000+02:00

Recommended tune: Massive Attack - Teardrop

The first rain in two months cloaked the city. Naturally, William forgot to bring his umbrella. Actually, he forgot to buy one since, at a certain time, he figured there would be no need. First of all, the forecast said no rain for at least another week and secondly, William used to like rain. But things had changed.

"He should have been here five minutes ago.", muttered William to himself as he walked out of the gas station to take another look. "I can't believe I agreed to this. I could have just taken the cab all the way to the airport."
Ten minutes later a bright red Honda Civic pulled into the gas station and a stout, smiling man got out. William recognized his friend and walked out.
"Took you long enough, Ross." said William pointing to the gray heavy clouds.
"I thought you liked rain." Ross replied raising his shoulders.
"Don't give me that, Ross. I'm not in the mood."
"Alright, alright, get in."
William got into the car and Ross headed towards the airport.
"So..." asked William. "...he's back isn't he?"
"He sure is. He called me last week to make sure his place was all tidy."
"So you're his maid now?"
"Good one, Will. Or should I say... killer"
"Now don't start." replied William frowning. "You know Walter doesn't want me here when he's in town."
"Yeah, I wonder why. You tried to kill his brother."
"I'm the worst shot in history, I know."
"In more ways than one, buddy."
Ross was the quiet type. William was the only one he would talk to for more than ten minutes in one setting. William wasn't too happy about that but although he would never admit it, it did make him feel a bit special. People who don't believe in friendship need that kind of thing.
"How is Tyler?" asked William as he was browsing through the MP3 player's playlist.
"He's good. He's made a full recovery."
"Figures..."
"Why do you hate him?" asked Ross more seriously.
"Because he's an idiot." answered William, visibly irritated.
"You know, for a psychologist, you keep a lot of stuff bottled up."
"Oh, so we're down to job-calling? What was yours again? Oh yeah, Walter's bitch."
"Yet another doctor who hates his job."
"Yeah, it's a big club. We've got pants."
That joke used to make Ross laugh for minutes. It was a stab at him for literally forgetting to put his pants on one morning after a wild night out. He showed up at work in his underwear and the entire restaurant burst into laughter as they saw the manager walking in wearing a coat and his Garfield "I hate Mondays" shorts.
"I can't believe Tyler covered for you." said Ross.
"Yeah, he does that kind of thing."
"So is it true that you got a new job?"
"I figured Walter's going to be here for a while, to take care of Tyler and all, so I found myself a job over there."
"What is it?"
"A private patient."
Ross raised his eyebrows: "A private patient?"
"Some big time gazillionaire's son had an accident and lost it. He's in a coma but somehow is still able to write. The neurologists couldn't figure it out so they called me. He's been writing letters to himself about the world in his head. Really weird stuff. Sounded interesting. Pays great too."
"Well it sounds like you'll have a blast. Won't you miss the city?"
"Hey, don't I always say I want the quiet life?"
"Yeah, but you used to find the city soothing."
"I used to." said William looking out the window.
The rain stopped as the car pulled in front of the airport.
"Here we are, buddy."
"Rain stopped..."
"Yeah. Now get out of here, you know I hate goodbyes." said Ross pushing William out of the car.
"Pussy" replied William over his shoulder.
"Is that your medical opinion?" asked Ross.
"Yeah, now go seek a differential." answered William as he walked into the airport.

"I hope I don't meet Walter while I wait for my flight." William thought to himself as he stared at the flight schedule. It showed his flight was bound for departure twenty minutes before Walter's would arrive. They wouldn't meet. William was safe.

Spring ramblings: "Too lame or not too lame... that is the non-question"

2007-03-13T18:56:00.000+02:00

Recommended tune while reading the post: Whitesnake - Ain't no love in the heart of the city (9 min. live version)

I've been racking my head for the past couple of weeks trying to think of a cool way to portray a few verses. Now the usual blogger with the least bit of poetry in him would just write an entire poem, as lame as it may be, and make it revolve around the specific fragment that he considers the centerpiece. A more inspired one may simply pull out a non-lame piece of poetry, but then again, a more inspired poet would never find himself in such a predicament in the first place. If you haven't figured out by now, I don't fit into either of those categories. Truth is, I seldom find a category that can bear me and poetry really isn't my cup of tea. For some reason though I seem to feel like hitting the veil of existence with some simple verses and should your eyes just happen to be in the way, I should warn you, I will not be held responsible for loss of sight and/or pregnancy.

Ballad for a crimson heart

A mandrake's cry

Will always dye

A moonlit sky
in crimson

Yet few bards dare to sing
And thus their wisdom bring
To honor such self-sacrifice
Lest they should the wrath entice
of crimson

So forth they call
Such words to marvel all
Their tale to weave
Such swords to cleave
the crimson

And so they speak
Their litany strike deep
In ash, hellfire
Called out by Sire
by crimson

"In torment and in pain
With all your wealth and gain
You kings of old and new
Now kiss the cool earth's dew
with crimson

Both restless and amiss
You crawl through your abyss
Yet you will know no fear
When you hear Death's knell near
through crimson

For the glass may be broken
But the shards shall awoken
The sacred mandrake's tear
And your souls shall once more be clear
and crimson"

Meaning? Who knows, who cares? You read poetry looking for meaning? What do you hope to find? Some absolute truth? Some hidden easter-egg? The name of your one true love? It holds none of those. It holds nothing. It holds void.
You see, poetry is like and empty vase, the poet only builds the shape. It's you who puts the flowers in. So I'm sorry to disappoint but there's nothing in a poem except for what you place there the first time you read it...

Upon arrival

2007-02-16T21:57:00.000+02:00

Recommended tune while reading the post: Glenn Miller - In the mood

McDonald's, piss, sweat and the stinking breaths of a thousand people crawling around the train station.
My nose confirms it, I'm here.
To no avail were my prayers that the train make a sharp turn and leave me on a tropical island, or at least Vienna...
Bah, he never listens.

The time spent back home allowed me catch up with my long lost accent which was resurrected with a sharp cursing tongue the minute I got off the train at home and shot dead again when I got off the train here, in a much similar manner, mind you.

...Zürich would have been fine too...

What else did I do while at home, oh yes, I visited my high-school in search of a teacher whose class I could crash but alas, I couldn't bring myself to do it, so I contended myself with making my former principal-teacher miss his. He didn't seem too upset. He hasn't changed. None of them have. That was comforting.

...or Milan...

Until now I never actually realized just how quiet my home town can be. I guess the street racers who passed by my balcony almost every summer night had something to do with that. Traffic is almost non-existent, compared to the iron and gasoline hell that can be found over here.

...I would've even taken Bruxelles...

The people on the street, although few, seemed more open, less insidious, whether upset or content, their expression mirrored it accurately and faithfully. Around here, people are nothing but shadows reflected in a puddle, each one you see on the street, a masked impostor impersonating himself.
Hollows.

...or Stockholm...

Even so, I kind of wanted to come back here. Why? Well, don't ask me why but...

As it turns out, I actually missed this infested, self absorbed, smog snorting, shit bucket of a city.

Yet one more thing I never thought I'd feel; but then again, I guess It's a great thing when you realize you still have the ability to surprise yourself.
Isn't that right, Lester?

Falling down some stairs

2007-02-11T12:57:00.000+02:00

Recommended tune while reading the post: Slipknot - My plague

WARNING

As may be apparent from the recommended tune, the following passages may depict violent behavior and foul language. Fairly warned be ye, Teletubbies. Also we would like to remind you that the characters depicted herein are completely fictional, any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.

BANG
"You're dead..."

I just shot Tyler. The sound of the blast came as a sweet symphony of peace. He's over with. He's dead. He's down in a pool of blood. His brains are all over the floor. It's beautiful... It's peaceful...

"Great timing, ha, bitch?

You didn't see that coming did you, you little presumptuous asshole.
Did you really think for one little second that you'd be right and I'd be wrong? Did you really think that you'd be rid of me. Of ME! Who the hell got you through all that crap, you ungrateful prick? You wouldn't be in one piece if it weren't for me. And you had the audacity to think you wouldn't need me anymore?

You didn't think I had the balls to do it did you? I can see it on what's left of your face. Why so surprised? You must have known how this was going to end you metaphorical, sentimental little shit. What the hell made you so sure you could phase ME out.

You really are pathetic. You know, I didn't think you could stoop so low, after everything I tried to teach you. You little retarded bitch. How many times does this have to happen before you get it through your thick skull? It ain't gonna happen, so get your shit together you fucking pussy.

But it's ok, it's alright. I'll take over for now, so don't worry your pretty little poetic head about anything, because I'll take good care of whatever it is you still call your own fucking self.

So good night, sweet prince.
Go fuck your precious heroes in Hell, you spineless fag."

A very special night with...

2007-01-31T16:34:00.000+02:00

Recommended tune while reading the post: Any slow piano instrumental jazz crap. I know you've got it somewhere so dig it up and put it on.

Good evening, good evening and welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to this night's special. I know you've been waiting a long time for this evening and so have I. The man that is going to delight you tonight has been an inspiration to me and I'm sure to many others as well. His mastery of the piano is only surpassed by his charm and I'm sure he will exhibit both tonight. So, without further ado, It gives me great pleasure to introduce... The master of keys, the one, the only Mr. Walter Rego.

Good evening ladies and gentlemen and thank you for joining me tonight. Let's give a hand for my third foot, thank you Ross, that was lovely as always. You know ladies and gentlemen Ross is still suffering from the divorce. Yes, yes he loved Eloquence and she loved to hate him. But that's life, what can you do.

Now this little number I'm going to do for you tonight is inspired by what I like to call a sober hangover. Yes, a sober hangover. You know, when you wake up in the middle of the night (which in my case is six in the morning) and you can't stop thinking about pretty much everything? It's like your head goes into overdrive. You see, during a normal hangover your head hurts because you can't think anymore, but during a sober hangover it hurts because you can't stop thinking. So many thoughts go through it that it hurts. Which is why I call it a hangover... And yes, Redundancy and I have a very healthy relationship, thanks for asking.

Now this is called "You might have a crush on somebody if..." and It's dedicated to every person who's ever had to drop and give her fifty without her even asking...

Here we go

1st Try

If you started reading Virginia Wolf to better understand women...
...you might have a crush on somebody
If you think Hillary is right and Chris Rock is wrong...
...you might have a crush on somebody
...or your name just might be Bill
If you stopped having wet dreams about Angelina Jolie and/or Jessica Alba...
...you might have a crush on somebody
If you started having wet dreams about Courtney Love...
...you might have a crush on the WRONG somebody
...and get the hell off my blog

Intermission

Now, speaking of Courtney, or as she likes to be called, especially by the guys at the clinic, Courtney Love Cobain (personally I think she's off by a couple of letters on that last one); you have to give her some credit. She's been clean for a good while now, even though she looks worse than Kurt. The only thing more repulsive than her looks is her singing. It so bad, it actually made Elton John spit Bruce Springsteen's cock right out.

2nd Try

If you stopped masturbating to save yourself for "the big night"
...you might have a crush on somebody
If you started masturbating when you read the part about Elton John and Bruce Springsteen
...I don't care who you might have a crush on, get the hell off my blog
If your brain moves slower than Stephen Hawking through a snowstorm
...you might have a crush on somebody
If you think the sky is bluer, the grass greener and the air fresher
...you might have smoked pot
...or you might have a crush on somebody

Intermission

Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to share with you some safety issues regarding pot. There are a couple of things you should know before you decide to jump on a cloud, and here they are..
Do not operate heavy machinery, anything more complicated than an ashtray is off limits.
If your thinking of driving while on pot, make sure you're in the passenger seat, and just to be on the safe side, keep the garage door down.
Do not start a fight with somebody while on pot and make sure you stay clear of drunk people. If you can't tell who they are, stay away from the big purple colors.
Be very careful who you hug and for how long.
Do not fall asleep in the bathtub, that's reserved for drunk people.
And last but not least, keep your fluids inside you at all times.

3rd Try

If you find yourself humming the Moonlighting theme
...you might have a crush on somebody
If you think Scarface just missed a few hugs from that special someone
...you might have a crush on somebody
If you think Rhett should have put up with Scarlett's shit
...you might have a crush on somebody
And finally if you relate to everything I said by now, except for the Courtney Love, Elton John and Bruce Springsteen parts, you most definitely have a crush on somebody...

Thank you ladies and gentlemen, It's been a pleasure. And with your permission I would like to borrow George Clooney's favorite pick up line and say "Good night and good luck".

Walter Rego ladies and gentlemen, give a hand, lift your glass, finish it and order another one...
Have a good evening and enjoy your drinks.

The Angel of the Black Rose

2007-01-22T17:38:00.000+02:00

"Morning Grandpa, what' ya doing?"

The boy asked as he arrived at the garden where the old man retreated every morning. His most beloved joy these days was to look upon his rose garden, the only remembrance of his long lost wife and also, the only thing that remained untouched by the scorching inferno that consumed his house long ago, along with his true love. He would look at his roses for hours on end, he would catch the sunrise and gaze in amazement at the beauty of nature unhinged, as the astral body basked the flowers in light, enhancing their beauty tenfold. He would sometimes count the dewdrops on the rose petals, much to his grandson's delight and amusement.

"What does it look like I'm doing boy?",
the old man asked with a playful but sharp tone.

"The same thing you do every morning since... well, since forever. You really like those roses don't you?"
came the answer from the boy, along with a short sigh.

"Like? Like would be an understatement boy",
he replies while removing a ladybug from a Midnight Blue.

"Oh, Grandpa, I remembered, I wanted to ask you, why aren't there any black roses? I mean true black, not dark velvet, like that one, or dark red like those over by the fountain, but a really black one, naturally black I mean."

"Well why don't you ask your mother? She's the brains of the family, what with her research and all. I think she could explain it."

"I did, but I didn't like what she said. She said it has something to do with their genetic structure or something like that, that they don't have a certain block able to produce the color. Anyway, I think she just wanted to confuse me because she doesn't really know the answer."

The old man gave a slight chuckle and looked at the boy with a wide smile on his face.

"You do, don't you? And what makes you think I would know why there aren't any black roses?"

"Well you spend a lot of time around roses, and this garden has lots, and lots of them, different colors, shapes, sizes, but no black ones. So I figured you'd know."

The old man looked for a suitable place, sat down on the cool morning ground and spoke with a soft voice, as if reciting a sad poem.

"As a matter of fact I do, boy, I do."

"Then tell me, Grandpa."
the youngster said as he threw himself on his back looking at the sky.

"Very well then. I shall tell you the story of how it came to be that there are no black roses any more."
The old man cleared his voice, checked with the back of his right eye to see that the boy was paying attention and continued with his tale...

"I would have you know boy, that in the beginning, at the shaping of the world, roses came in all colors. They were the only flowers selected for this, the only ones given the honor to reflect all nuances of the world around them. And so it came to pass that red roses mean love, white ones innocence, pink ones grace, and so on and so forth until roses covered almost all positive and good meanings. The only ones left behind were black roses, and so it was decided that they would represent death, hatred or dark devotion.

When they were released into the world and man first looked at them he admired their beauty and felt compelled to search for their meaning. All was well for a while, until man discovered the first black rose. Being used to the others, and knowing most other colors, man was instantly struck with awe at the sight of such a dark yet undeniable beauty. And so, he favored the dark rose over all others. Man was so infatuated with the otherworldly charm of the mysterious flower that he begged the Maker to bind his soul to it, so that he may admire it until the end of time. The Maker declined his request and sensed man's inclination towards darkness. The Maker was afraid to lose his most prized creation and so, deciding that they were too dangerous, he struck the black roses with a plague saving only a few and keeping them himself under his lieutenants' watchful eye.

Ages passed and man fell from grace and made his haven on the Earth below. He flourished, and created wonderful things himself. With the knowledge of good and evil imparted to him, man was now able to live independently from his Maker and forge his very own destiny making full use of his now completely free will. He did not forget however, that black rose that struck him so profoundly and often attempted to recreate it, but failed.

Sometime after man took hold of the Earth below, one of the angels guarding the bouquet of black roses felt that, since man now had knowledge of evil and it's meaning, he should no longer be robbed of their beauty so he took one single rose and carried it down. The Maker was infuriated by this and cast the angel down to earth and bound him to the dark flower for all eternity so that he could witness what he has brought upon man. The Maker placed the black rose on the top of a mountain, as remote, dangerous and uninviting a place as he could find, in order to make his point even more clear.

A feeling of amazement and sad revelation passed through the angel as he witnessed how countless people would climb the mountain and face all its perils in order to look upon the rose. But once they arrived at the summit and glanced at the flower for the shortest moment, they were forever enthralled, gazing upon it until they died. After a time, the entire summit became a graveyard yet people still came, as if by fate, to see the black rose. The angel wept for each one as he begged the Maker to take the flower back. But he would not do it, however, he told the angel how the curse could be broken. He needed to find a young girl of pure spirit that would accept the black rose into her heart, and thus, hide it from the souls of men. In doing so, she could take the curse with her, away from the mountain and live in hiding until the end of her days. A time upon which the rose would flourish over the place of her death, luring souls to itself once again, thus causing the angel to call for another. There was one other matter, should the girl ever be seen by a man, he would fall instantly in love and pursue her wherever she went, so strong was the influence of the rose. Once enthralled though, he would unknowingly keep the curse only upon himself for his entire life.

The angel was comforted that at least he could avert the suffering of many towards the suffering of just one, and even though he was not happy to do it, he called for such a girl. To his amazement, he found her. She came and agreed to carry the rose. The angel followed, as the curse would have it, and watched over the girl until she died, when he called for another. He always seemed to find a pure spirit each time. Many wondered alone and lived off the land, others locked themselves inside their houses or isolated themselves somewhere. Some accepted the affection of men and lived quite happy lives together.
And so the angel managed to do as the Maker instructed and keep the rose hidden.

As it still is today."

The old man finished his story and stretched his back with a loud crackle.

"That was a nice story Grandpa. And I like it better than mom's answer."
the boy responded as he jumped on his feet.

"I'm glad you do boy, I'm glad you do."
the old man said with a tired smile.

"Well, I'm hungry. I'm off to see what's for breakfast. See ya, Grandpa"
the boy darted off towards the house.

"One more thing"
the old man added looking at the boy
"Would you like to know the name of the girl who's carrying the rose right now?"

The boy stopped and turned around with an amazed look on his face.
"You know that?"
he asked with childish enthusiasm.

"Of course, come closer and I'll tell you."

The old man whispered in the boy's ear as the youngster's face brightened upon hearing the name.

"Ah, a really good name, fitting too."
the boy said

"Indeed"
the old man replied
"Now you should know to be weary of girls bearing that name."
he added with a slight of jest in his voice

"I will, Grandpa, I will"

And with that the boy disappeared inside the house. The old man remained to look at his garden. His most beloved joy these days was to look upon his rose garden...

Smoke and Mirrors aka RATB

2007-01-22T16:17:00.001+02:00

Recommended tune while reading the post: System of a Down - Toxicity

Now I lived to see this. A foreigner actually came to do some research on an aspect of modern day Romania city life. He said he was a student himself which I find hard to believe since he looked 40 and he was doing a study about the the city's transportation system and, oddly, on the presence and influence of mobile phones and the Internet ( I have no idea what the correlation is but if someone is a sociology major, maybe he or she can explain it better). He was kind, polite and mannered and he seemed very thankful that he found a couple of younger people (for I wasn't alone) who agreed to speak to him since no one over 35 would. I wonder why...
He was in for a psychological ride alright.

The mini-interview/discussion/him looking at us like the Holy Ghost when we actually displayed some foreign language affinity and even some interesting ideas, began with questions about the transportation system. Which sucks infernal ass of course since this whole city is built wrong and over-centralized which leads to hellish traffic and overcrowded buses. Not to mention that the metro system just pretty much circles around the center districts. He found the answer satisfactory and proceeded to ask about mobile phones and Internet to which we replied that we're pretty much all wired up over here and in the better part of the cities as well. He found this development surprisingly fast as he was dumbstruck to find free wireless Internet access the second he got into the hotel room. I find it natural.

The true gem of the discussion showed itself after we disclosed that we were political science students. Then the sociological poll aspect was set aside in favor of a deeper discussion about the country at large and it's general development. He found my pessimism (which I like to call extreme realism) a little disheartening especially after I told him that we would have to go through about 3 generations for the "old and dark" influences to fade completely. He seemed to find our characters hopeful enough though and the "Hellenic Angel" by my side kind of reassured him, as she didn't share my quasi-negative outlook, thankfully.

All in all it was a pretty interesting discussion and we left the Dane to seek out more young minds to probe.

Hmm... a 40 year old Dane "student" doing research about Bucharest's public transportation system and mobile phones? Please.

I wonder what he's really doing here...

Of Losing and Gripping

2007-01-18T20:37:00.000+02:00

Recommended tune while reading the post: Bitza - Vicii (or Linkin Park - One step closer or From the Inside, for the Charles Manson gene inside ;) )

Do you know that feeling you have just before you think you'll lose your grip? You know it, that one shot wonder that your self control blasts for half a millisecond before collapsing into instinct.

I love that feeling

I love it so much I can't wait to take advantage of it even, or especially, as some of my amigos might say, at the expense of a positive outcome. Is it an addiction, a vice? Is it masochistic? Who knows, who cares? as long as it's out there, waiting.

Now mind you, I'm not talking about refraining from God knows what atrocities you're capable of. That's easy to fix. Violent outbursts are no longer cool, sadly. I'm talking about the "other" impulses, the logical instinct. That's a killer, trust me. You know, the course of action that is both logical and simple to undertake as well as fruitful in it's end result. Or so it would seem. The truth is that these kinds of things hit you so hard in the long run that you won't know which way is up. Thus, common sense misleads you, logic betrays you and the instinct takes over. All this happens in a split second, a momentary blink of awareness which if you miss, you just took the blue pill.

So remember kids, if you see Schrödinger's cat with a big sly smile on it's face saying: "Screw you, I'm alive", jump in the first bus and get your ass straight home.

Congratulations, you just defied yourself.

Dawn of Dreams Series 2 Origins Sneak Peak

2007-01-16T22:34:00.000+02:00

Here's a sneak peak at the brand new series from the now famous D&D Campaign Dawn of Dreams, which will premiere at the middle of February. We hear from the producers that some plot twists are inbound as well as the introduction of a new character, which supposedly "plays a big part in the storyline as well as filling in a niche in the party". We should expect a much more action packed season than the last as the prestige classes, next grade items and some redesigned as well as brand new antagonists will kick it into high gear. The role-playing aspect is meant to keep us on the drug as the characters are forced to deal with what they have become and face the path they themselves forged. Finally, this season promises to shed some much-needed light on the main storyline by cementing what is myth, what is real, what has and what is yet to unfold at the Dawn of Dreams.

"The wind's whispers are cold tonight"

The old man said clutching his staff as he raised his chin towards the setting sun. His beard, carefully trimmed, betrayed nothing of his wisdom but his voice was rugged with age. Old echoes of fear and pain could be heard within it, but such insight was reserved only for his much younger friend.

"You always say this"

The halfling replies as she darts off from the ledge of the garrison's stone wall. She walks to her old master's side and leaning on the wall lights a small ivory pipe.

"Did you not hear me? I know I'm small but I can be heard when I want to."

"My dear girl", he replies with a soft patronizing tone accompanied by a smile

"I hear everything"

*

The sun sets over the desert. But no ordinary one, for the moonlight betrays its slight azure hue, as a thin, low mist stretching in all directions can be seen. The halfling checks her compass, looks on and points towards their destination.

"There, that way. I'm sure of it, the mist is thickening."

"Very well", the champion answers "Onwards, we mustn't keep our host waiting..." he continues, unsheathing a dark sword with bright crimson runes engraved deep within the blade.

"Come you two, time to go." the priest adds holding his hammer, wreathed in a righteous blaze, over his right shoulder.

"Surely, we wouldn't miss it for the world, would we?" The elf asks sending a wink in the monk's direction.

*

The Glass Citadel unfolds in the valley below glowing blue in the moonlight, just as the sands beneath it. A magnificent structure of familiar yet original design. It's outer walls seemed forged out of pure silver glass but it's appearance showed a great weight to the structure that did little justice to the outside impression.

"Only during the night can we enter or leave.", the halfling says "For during the day, the crimson sandstorm entraps the palace. Be quick about it, we mustn't tarry, or it's our lives for sure." she continues looking at the others.

"Oh, and please don't break anything" she adds with a jest in her voice "...they might break back" she adds with a more serious tone.

The party descends carefully.

*

A dark room

A sound of rattling chains

Black feathers on the ground

A voice

"Imprisoned for an age"

of pain

"Banished from my kin"

of sorrow

"Mocked and tortured"

of anger

"Entombed in hatred"

of despair

"And now, you dare enter MY haven?"

of wrath

"YOU ARE NOT PREPARED"

of

fury

*

All creation first exists as nothingness...

2007-01-16T00:52:00.000+02:00