Auldbarrow

From LSWiki

Revision as of 13:48, 9 February 2010 (edit) Stairs (Talk | contribs) ← Previous diff		Revision as of 04:04, 22 September 2011 (edit) Megnmax (Talk | contribs) Next diff →
Line 100:		Line 100:
	IA!,		IA!,
	Who drinks your blood serves.		Who drinks your blood serves.
-	Who bathes in it dies.	+	Who [[bathes]] in it dies.
	{{Endspoilers}}		{{Endspoilers}}

---

Revision as of 04:04, 22 September 2011

An antediluvian graveyard of such staggering antiquity, nothing remains for even archaeologists to research.

In the ages of the dawn of the world, the
old ones bespoke themselves thus:
though they knew themselves the masters
of life and form,
they yet wore the weak and frangible shells
of their ancestry.
This they would not abide.  Themselves they made
anew, into shapes architected for their many
purposes.  Those who had known them recoiled
and would have cast them out,
but they had already gone.  Their minds were
worked as new as their bodies, and held now to
dreams and ways that others could not guess.

             o
            ooo
           oo oo
          oo   oo
         oo     oo
        oo       oo
       oo   oo    oo
      oo   oooo    oo
     ooooooooooo    oo

dwelling in the cold wastes, they took
the stuff of life and created for themselves servants
shapeless and formless, creatures which
could assume any conformation that that proved useful
and the old ones ones saw what they had done
and it was good...

         o
          o
           o    ooooo
            o oooo  o
             o     ooo
            o o     o
           o   o
          o     o
         o       o
        ooooooooooo

eons passed and the old ones thrived
honeycombing their cold fastnesses
feasting upon any who disturbed them
until the day came
when their servants grew clever and restless
dissatisfied with their bondage
and rose up against those who had made them
the creation at last showing the creator its true measure
and the old ones went to death and exile

   oo
    oo
     oo                    ooo
      oo                  o oo
       oo                o  oo
        oo                  oo
  oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
 oo      oo
oooooooooooo

The nethermost caverns are not for the
fathoming of eyes that see;
for their marvels are strange and terrific.
Cursed is the ground where dead thoughts live
new and oddly bodied,
and evil the mind that is held by no head.
Happy is the tomb where no cursed ones hath lain,
and happy the world at night whose demons are ashes.
For it is of old rumor that the
soul of the devil-bought hastens
not from his charnel clay, but fats
and instructs the very worm that gnaws;
till out of corruption horrid
life springs, and the dull scavengers
of earth wax crafty to vex it
and swell monstrous to plaque it.
Great holes secretly are digged where earth's pores
ought to suffice, and things
have learnt to walk that ought to crawl.

    oooooooo
     oo
      oooooooooo
       oo
        ooooooooooooooooo
         oo
   oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
  oo      oo
 oooooooooooo

          O Great Devourer
    We are but dust in your eyes.
To you the nameless leave this monument.
     May our death come swiftly.
                 IA!,
     Who drinks your blood serves.
        Who bathes in it dies.