Wednesday, December 10, 2014


a severed head on a pike, seemed such a grisly trophy to be displayed in the chapel at horadrim;
as time unwinds itself, descend with it, are the truths that were to lay herein.     
amidst the town of horadrim with his sharp sword stood the mighty griswold, son of arkain;
in abashment, bewildered by the unlikely silence that reigned across the town.

he stood for plenty hours, trying to poise the ambience;
he gazed around with ghastly patience, endevouring to hunt for a mortal presence.

foreseeing his courageous attribute, the lord upstairs, griswold faced the sky;
not far from the orchards of horadrim, he met with, cain the elder's eyes.

it cannot be, it shouldnt be, or this ought to be the lord's yearning;
his soul seemed to be resurrected with the dire hopes of saving his town, approached nearing.

with advancing footsteps, that felt like boisterous advancements, Griswold surmised;
that a great evil lingered and haunted this town, yet he couldn’t meet cain's eyes, trespassed.

cain greeted Griswold in astonishment, in wait, in bitter kindness only to fail;
that he narrated to the defiant and stalwart warrior, a tale with vinegary frail.

'not long ago, that king Theodoric, son of Leoric was banished under a curse;
by the dark forces of magi, which shook the kingship to disperse;
into the vast bowels of labyrinth of the dungeon, by the lord of terror.
drawn and by greed, theodric went rogue, slothing his own kins;
without dazedly aware, his son was abducted and betrayed by his archbishop.'

deckard cain stared at the church for a long time recalling days gone by.
i was there he finally said. i was there at the bloodiest battle at the Catalaunian fields;
fighting alongside theodoric and witnessed our own kingsmen savagely die.

"who was it cain, who was it, you were fighting?". asked Griswold that shattered cain's pulses, so old;
deckard cain turned aback to regard Griswold paralyzing him in his old man's stare, then told;

"diablo, the lord of wrath and terror". cain who was considered as one of the gallant townsmen;
trembled with horrifying fear, yet as he continued his tale, a wisp of clouds gathered, as a sign of bad omen.

the church at the end of town had been desecrated;
its sanctity fowled, and dark rituals performed within its sanctums.
the graveyard outside the church spawned demonic forces which now conquered.
"its about to spring, the dawn of a new era"
the light shall diminish;
darkness shall overcome;
shrouds shall replace cloth;
happiness shall be tainted by wrath and sloth.
nothing shall prevail, post the sin war for the time of the mortals has ended.

griswold's senses shivered, yet the strong willed battler, planned to wander into the labyrinth;
where monstorosities were no mere sight, and finally, griswold set foot into the slumber of the church.
the pedestal stone lay on the stairway with unrelenting words, inscribed were;
"the armories of hell are home to the warlord of blood, in his wake lay the mutilated bodies of thousands;
angels and man alike are cut down to fulfil the endless sacrifices;
to the dark ones who scream for one thing - BLOOD."

griswold reckoned, indeed these slaughtering described in the chronicles of sinwar.
with a stout heart and like a swordwraith, he ventured into the dungeons;
scanvening dark creatures, slicing gargoyle's, cutting rammed demons;
griswold fought bravely, in the caverns of the rising moon;
in the chamber of bones beneath the realm of the rising noon.

he treaded the pathways;
swathed new causeways;
made it throught the caverns;
out of ogden's taverns;
slowly tainting the course of the sinwar to the side of light.
until that fateful juncture, where he reached the chamber of bones.
scouting for a pedestal book with enlightenment, he came across wailing moans.
shouting "beyond the hall of heroes, lies the chamber of bone;
          eternal death awaits anyone who would seek;
          to steal the treasures secured within this room;
         so speaks the lord of terror, and so it is written."

he contained it all within him, an untainted soul untouched by the devils hold;
a strong willpower, unable by even the archaic priest to mould.
griswold went slaying the dark embedded forces;
atop the mountains, inside the butchers dungeon;
harnessing spells and elixirs as his last sources of survival;
griswold had with him, the very sacred manifests of bible.

some great sorceror of horadrim had once quoted;
"beyond the gateway of blood and past the hall of fire;
valor awaits for the hero of light to awaken".
perhaps, the fateful time had arrived.

griswold entered this gateway that inhabited the very essence of evil;
to encounter the peril he sought to massacre, to slay the lord of devils.
it was as if diablo had foreseen this doom, he was facing griswold for one last duel.
the two rebels got ready for one last stride;
the gateway between the darkness and light;
between goodness and evil;
between fouls and bliss;
was now a battlefield with a sensations of qualms;
conquering the ambience.
they fought for days, pillaging the armouries;
they despised each other, they loathed each other;
and the tilting of the sinwar was in interim;
the fate of the world was bound to this duel.
spellbound by griswold's courage, diablo went for his murderous stride;
only for griswold to stun diablo with his blade that shifted at last, the tide.
he was no more, the dwelling warlord of blood had been defeated;
griswold gazed at the sight of burning inferno until it was incinerated.
silence ruled the labyrinth for a while;
with the boons of the witches not going vile.
the souls wailed in happiness;
they were free and their deaths avenged;
their damnation ended, their souls freed.
this was the tale of horadrim's lone warrior whose name is instilled into the pages of history.

an impossible quest unleashed by the one, whose valor became the villager's chantings. hail, griswoldry.

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