The Burning Mist
Dripping with blood, the moon rose over Anzez flooding the ancient metropolis with the light of Akan. Like a wave against a stubborn rock, fog poured into the Elven city and crashed against the Sun God's temple. Reforming into a single focused stream the luminescent spirit drowned the alter and poured down its endless staircase. Eroding the runic scripts of old, Akan's will hungrily pressed on in search of the sacrament.
With panic, Arril awoke to the hypnotic vibration of war drums, as crimson mist danced in the corners of her modest abode. Despite the obnoxious twitch terrorizing her cracked lips, she reached out to the ethereal force invading her slumber. Swiftly, the blood mist lunged out and with a mystical grip gently wrapped around her boney fingers. Warmth, like the embers of a grand fire, filled her spirit and time stood still.
Winter always left Arril's meager form shivering, but as the haze wrapped around her, she quickly went from warm to scorching. The tears that dropped on her cheek turned to steam before reaching her chin, and she could feel the spirit's attempt at comfort. Alien and inhuman, it pierced her mind with visions of what was to come, or perhaps what had already been. The embrace of the floor slowly escaped from beneath her, as her heels tore from the ground. With a final tap to the earth, Arril accepted her fate as the flame tugged her into the air like a child's toy.
Baptized in fire, Arril coughed out parched, dry words, "The Sun is reborn in death. Each morning he is reincarnated by flame through the offerings of his children." Then the splintering flames embraced her, and Arril, as she was, was no more.
With panic, Arril awoke to the hypnotic vibration of war drums, as crimson mist danced in the corners of her modest abode. Despite the obnoxious twitch terrorizing her cracked lips, she reached out to the ethereal force invading her slumber. Swiftly, the blood mist lunged out and with a mystical grip gently wrapped around her boney fingers. Warmth, like the embers of a grand fire, filled her spirit and time stood still.
Winter always left Arril's meager form shivering, but as the haze wrapped around her, she quickly went from warm to scorching. The tears that dropped on her cheek turned to steam before reaching her chin, and she could feel the spirit's attempt at comfort. Alien and inhuman, it pierced her mind with visions of what was to come, or perhaps what had already been. The embrace of the floor slowly escaped from beneath her, as her heels tore from the ground. With a final tap to the earth, Arril accepted her fate as the flame tugged her into the air like a child's toy.
Baptized in fire, Arril coughed out parched, dry words, "The Sun is reborn in death. Each morning he is reincarnated by flame through the offerings of his children." Then the splintering flames embraced her, and Arril, as she was, was no more.
