The scarred poet
The last thing that I saw before the Elder Spirit, a sinister shadow clad in a scintillating crimson cloak, hurled away from the Roofless Temple, with a casual wave of his damned hand, the grey hovering sphere where my mind lies, was how the Awoken Maiden reanimated Ardalus.
His shimmering spirit came forth from the Astral-Sarcophagus where his body still slumbered, but something was wrong. Where was the scarred face of a man born to be a mournful poet that she knew so well after endless nights spent together talking? Who was that young warrior?
Under the cold waters of the Darkest Sea, I descend without any hope to reach its foggy surface again. It is too deep and far more mysterious that no one knows, with secret winding hallways bored before the first banished spacecraft of our fading civilization arrived here.
