Emorantag

Crimson liquid devours all,
seeping through the clay.
Expelled from the gash of a loathed man’s body .
Cries of despair illuminate the air.
The blood licks the blades, forever there they are laid.
His body of sleek wood, his head of an iron point,
expelled from his love, heaving through the air,
he searches as a ghost for an inhabitant.
Upon finding a worthy component
he lays upon the body, slowly devouring all
life within the mortal’s being.
Their webs previously prepared,
mortals lives conceived by most unlikely women.
By mistresses, three all to take the past,
the present and the future and one, all that may be.
Gemtyn to compose the present, Alvier the past,
and Olpenice the future.
Leuron to create all that may become.
Spinning webs, they guide mortals lives.
Never tempted by the guidance of another.
Creating destinies for the mortals of the world, and two
gods whose ethics mortals bide by.
The god Khyninave to rule o’er the righteous.
Another whose wickedness overshadows
the minds of mortals.
Feeding upon the bodies of men as a plague,
he enters their minds, and seeps into
their nations corrupting all.
Zhirchatove resides in the hearts of all vulnerable men.
Devouring the righteous he drags them down
with him to suffer perpetually.
Between Olpenice’s fingers wrought an unsullied web.
“Fresh blood strewn into being on the eve of Luprial*
Mothers tears to be shed, the culmination of breath.*
The ghost of her corpse shall be submitted.
The king born, son of Meiquer and descendant of
Medagalia.
Emorantag’s kingdom shall extend past Medagalia.
He shall rise and rule over all nations.
Emorantag in two beings, neither dying nor eternal.
Of such a pure fate and a sheer web
all that is in store is the overpowering of another.
The black web shall take the place of an inept fate.
Nevermore shall it only be possible.
Neither of the gods shall rule over his will.
His heart will be consumed, his hatred shall overpower.
Lover’s hearts shall be broken,
mother’s garments strewn with falling tears.
Yet all will not be lost .
His lover, the beauty of nature,
the sole descendant of Vertenia,
and the daughter of an ill father.
Melliel’s inheritance based upon a most desolate death.
Her father, whose dear life passed with each falling
breath.
In the night he had perished, crowning a daughter
with a place for a king.
Another watches her, a queen he by now has.
Her age has grown with time and his realm failing.
The kingdom of Mondeon ruled by Grisom descending.
His queen, Karmala, loathed and unable to conceive.
Four women presiding over all earthly actions.
They inhabit a world their own, a vast dimension.
Delicate structures of threads, woven together,
lives and lovers connected.
All to perish with the desires of the rogue.
Twisting and turning as serpents the webs
flowed amongst Olpenice’s fingers.
All that lay in store are the forlorn destinies
of adversaries and kin.
“Grisom’s covetousness of Melliel shall be broken
with the falling of his legions.
Zhirchatove seizes his chance, he subjugates
Grisom’s meager being.
Zhirchatove uses the man
as an instrument in finishing his will.
Bearing black wings he takes her away,
Nevermore shall her voice ascend as the seraphim’s .
Zhirchatove’s spirit resides within Grisom’s being.
His sword rose, lifted to the heart of Melliel
it swept her garments.
Emorantag watched, his entire being filled with
rage, his heart filled with wretchedness.
Forgetting all else he ran to her,
only to realize in the end she had already gone.
She knew it was done, there wasn’t a future.
She had grasped Grisom’s hand and drove the
sword into her breast.
The lover’s body spewed the rivers of crimson.
Standing forlorn ,never able to rule a nation,
Grisom’s conceitedness blanketed and overshadowed
his mind.
Melleils life diminished, the will of Grisom not foreseen
by Zhirchatove.
No longer had Zhirchatove inhabited Grisom’s being,
Looking up Zhirchatove saw the asinine deed of Grisom.
The only action Grisom took was of his own benefit.
Clasping the blade with the same feeble hand
that lived only to eradicate,
the blade rose and fell on the man whose kingdom had no heir.
The earth now strewn with the cowardly
blood of an inept king.
Fleeing her existence, the lover dead,
the saboteur diminished.”
Alvier’s fingers rewound an old web.
Replenishing it she sees all events past.
“Lying beneath glistening sheath it was drawn,
Luster of the silver shone beneath the sun.
Valliant hand of it’s possessor held it’s body.
It’s fate chosen, it’s will of another.
Though the war wages continuously,
The start of it is all only a vague memory,
a distant past.
Vertenia had no heir, except for the lowly daughter .
Ripe for the plucking Melleil queen to the kingdom.
Her king to be chosen, all seemed so clear.
Her lover to be her king, Emorantag to rule over his vast kingdom
along with hers.
Grisom’s plans were of another sort.
The falling kingdom which he ruled had only been
inherited by the peculiar death of his father to be.
The sole hope he had in the salvation
of his kingdom was to claim another.
Grisom’s war was to be waged by the murdering
of an enemies father, and the beneficial ridding
of old queen to make way for a new one with child.”
Between Leuron’s fingers spins a web of deceit and betrayal.
Nevermore shall Emorantag crave the betrothal
of Mellial, nor the son.
His desire for power shall lead him on a fresh path.
“Ill fated shall this one be, damned, hopeless and ruined.
Condemned never to know the joys of true love.
Glorious in action, and poised in every other manner,
his pride will be the justice he deserves.
Ruling over a nation only to have those whom he rules
perish in their own agony and narcissism.
His kingdom shall crumble beneath itself,
whose only redeemer shall be the begotten
son of their liberator.
Born of ones whose streaming blood
flows as pure as spring rivers.”
Gemtyn’s eyes watched the events unfurling within her webs.
Every moment that passed was woven into Alvier’s hands.
Grisom’s eyes had followed her long enough,
Too long has he endured a hoary spouse,
one who is unable to produce the lone request he had.
Too long has he waited for an heir.
Grisom’s infatuation has obscured his mind.
In the depths of the night he takes his action.
Pursuing his obsession,
fulfilling his passions,
and creating the heir Karmala never wrought.
Lingering in her bed chamber he anticipates her coming.
In the depths of the night his arms embrace her
from behind, his hands in hers.
Grisom’s body slowly moving with hers.
His lips caressing her neck, brushing her skin.
Melleil in such ecstasy sought to see his face,
the face of her beloved Emorantag.
The candle light illuminated the room, his true
character shone before her. Blackened circles lay
beneath his eyes. His body deformed.
His breath drown with a vinous stench.
Devouring all reason with every drop consumed.
That of a vile conceited face was drawn by the flame
of the candle upon her eyes.
Her lips expelled a scream of terror.
His hands left their pleasuring deed,
now clasped about her neck.
His will over hers, his force to be done.
Emorantag had heard Melleil’s screams through
the stone walls.
A glorious blade is drawn to the
throat of a sordid man.
His sword now pressed to Grisom’s neck.
Cowering in the dirt as a worm
Grisom twists and turns,
eyes searching for the justice behind his actions.
His ignoble hands still clasping Melliels
throat as the reins of a worn horse.
His tongue slithers behind his teeth,
poison seeps from his lips.
“It was mine to take, mine, my own.
Of mine kinship to beget.
Over Vertenia no longer shall
incompetent people rule.
An obliging arrangement of a love affair
to twine two influential kingdoms
has emitted nothing but a useless woman
with an unserviceable womb.”
Grisom’s nature has changed, fear left his mind.
He rose, pride dripping from every word.
A vile smile unfurled upon his ignoble face.
The repulsive excuses trailed from his jaws.
“ She is your lover, your dove ,your maiden.
Pray, may I inquire who had the
pleasure of dispatching your father from this world?
Too long had I waited, when the final submission of
my will had corroborated to me that the
splendid deed had already been accomplished.
It was your own dearest who engaged in the slaying
of your father by her very hands.
In the fantasies of the night without a watchful owl,
your lovely Melleil, the whore of Verteneia,
pierced Meiquers skin countless times.
Ecstasy bloomed in her very eyes,
and laughter escaped her luscious lips.
Do you not doubt her?
You remember that cold bitter night ,do you not?”
An old web reborn was cast into the heart of Emorantag.
Alvier allowed him to see the truth behind the
event that still pains him.
The light upon the kingdom had diminished,
The abodes of many occupied with the slumber of mortals.
The delights of the fantasy in ones minds were taunted.
Swaying over her mind, his hands became hers.
The once elegant nature became ravished
with the black claws of another.
Zhirchatove dwelled in Melleils mind, controlling
her every thought and action.
Seeking only one to lead into the damned circles of hell.
From the fabrics of her dress a blade escaped,
caressing her hands it took position.
The blade whose only fate shall ruin an heir.
Not a sound pierced the cold nights air.
Watching as if it were a play,
she persisted the slaying.
She could not stay her hand, nor rid herself of the
happiness behind her horror.
Awakening to the streams of spring sunlight seeping their
way through the curtains.
Grasping the darkness and drawing in the rays.
As a watchful god, the sun trickling through the room,
illuminating every corner of darkness.
The sun fell upon the bed, masked with blood.
In an endless sleep Meiquer laid,
his ivory skin painted with the same red
that once flowed warmly through his veins.
Now as cold as ice, the blood stained a beloved son’s cloths,
mourning for his father.
The screams of terror were drawn from Emorantag’s soul.
Through the pits of hell, unto the halls of heaven they are heard.
Tears upon his garments flow, his father gone,
and the murderer unknown to him.
Rage filled his entire being,
sadness consumes his frail heart.
Marble corridors are host to the forlorn thoughts
of a lost king.
Thoughts of blame stirred in his mind.
Possibilities were amassed,
one mans face shone through his mind as a beacon.
The foe’s previous actions had blamed a dearly beloved
and caused Emorantag to doubt.
It all seemed clear. Grisom had no heir,
his kingdom was crumbling beneath itself, and his only choice was
to expand his kingdom with a fertile womb.
Emorantag’s decision to make , his war to wage.
His lust for power had blinded him.
His eagerness to rule a vast new kingdom with his beloved
did not allow him to see the truth.
Her mask had fallen, and before his eyes he saw a
vile and repulsive woman.
For the first time she had disgusted every morsel of his being.
Olpenice’s webs had taken over,
enabling the mistresses to see
the consequences of the mortals actions
on Melleil who has realized Emorantag’s
love for her had ceased.
Utter chaos has shattered the world inside.
Despair has taken quarters within the swallowed self-pity.
All that has become of the once white dove
who loved a man vastly,
is the deadness of her beaten heart.
Squandering now with the eternally suffering,
wings broken, shattered heart.
All has been tossed into the raging war.
Gambling with lives,
passions and impulses consume,
wounding lovers’ fates that were once intertwined.
Leuron watched the morbid occurrences with disdain.
Within her mind she concocted an idea only Olpenice saw.
Within the night her deeds were done, the perfecting of a
flawed web.
Gemtyn’s eyes filled with the sad happenings
taking place.
Within her quivering hands spun four webs,
The lives of two loved betraying each other,
one a futile and ignorant sister.
The other a seemingly wretched women
whose deeds truly moral.
And the blackened heart of a fool.
Another whose very mind and heart
were wrought with confusion.
Olpenice’s actions proceeding valiantly.
Hidden within the shadows, Olpenice
Watched her creation destroyed.
Melliel’s life rewound, ruined.
Amidst Leuron’s fingers spun deceit, betrayal,
And the ruin of entire nations.
“Her heart shall still beat, her blood flowing
warmly through the veins lying beneath her
porcelain skin, never ceasing by another’s hand.
Wrong was it for her to die, wrong was
it for her to love only one.
Within her heart dwells another .
She fervently embraces him, her
infatuation for Grisom grows.
The child within her whom his spawn.”
Casting a new web in the place of Olpenice’s
Leuron’s actions were stayed.
Leuron’s entire being falls, her heart ceased.
Joining those suffering in the nadir of Hell,
she is to conform to Zhirchatove’s will.
Her frail figure meets the ground, her soul
descending.
Within the back of her corpse rested the
blade driven in by the hand of Olpenice,
She stood above Leuron watching the color
in Leoron’s skin fade.
“You ill conceived, futile being.
You didn’t understand what you were attempting”
Dragging the desolate body of an inept mistress
across the soil, Olpenice watches as the flames
lick the skin of Leuron.
They rest upon her hands and pale lips.
They devour her entire being, leaving only
three to rule over all.
Gemtyn’s webs continuing, Olpenice finding all
to be finished and Alvier‘s abundant with all passing times.
From the black abyss his ascension is seen.
An eclipse of black leathered wings outstretched
before Emorantags eyes.
Terror pulsated through his entire being.
Seeing Grisom as an imprudent imbecile unable
to accomplish such a noble deed,
Zhirchatove usurped his control.
Rising to earth to claim his throne.
His only task to slaughter Emorantag.
Each wave of his wings through the arid air
laid poison into every being.
Emorantag knew who and what Zhirchatove had
come to claim.
Grasping his sword he mustered every fragment
of valor within the depths of his heart.
Every body falling to that of a corpse lay ruined
with each passing of Zhirchatove.
Before Emorantag he stood, his hand slowly extending.
For with one touch the sad makings of
a king would succumb.
The thrust of Emorantag’s sword vibrated with
every strand of strength he possessed.
Upon contact his very being burned with the
malevolent nature of Zhirchatove.
Wounded, pride and body, Zhirchatove descended
to his fortress.
Never had a sword pierced his skin.
The valiant nature held by Emorantag at the moment
of all acclaimed loss had been the only power
able to wound such an exalted demon.
Webs unraveling, fates falling
The screams of innocents ringing
within ones ears.
All had failed the test. Only
one was left to create a more pure world.
Emorantag’s name transformed to that
of his eternal being.
The first man made from Emorantag’s very
hands and the woman wrought from
the ribs of Adam.
Again creation and all existence shall
thrive upon the earth.