The Black Sound
A bolt of darkness creeps along the ground
Hunting through the inky blackness
Of the darkling plain
As swift as silence he searches
The Ninth Great Harbinger of Woe
Bringer of the dark despondent dawn
The assassin waits
He strides through dusty halls and hallowed caves
Through the mire and gloam and ooze
For the black sound and the gold of predators
Stalking the mortal coil
He hunts for devices infernal
Annihilator of worlds
Casting a shadow over the light
He follows the tracks of mortal engines
And the suffering in their wake
A mere name placed upon him
By the remnants of the civilisation
He seeks to destroy.
A cowardly race who fear
The glory of battle
The gleam of the sun upon breastplate
The devastation of the Mighty Horde.
He journeyed far
And reached the edge of patience
Calmly striding beyond
Yet when he returned
He found himself the last
And he despised them.
He seethed at the fate of his people
The snivelling wrecks they had become
Who found the very earth itself
So Sarthacus waits
And longs for the coming of the night
That must fall upon his prey.
So he searches
For the substance of shadows
For the sweetness of sleep
And the sound of silence.