Do the Dead Arise

[greypawn]

My cold eyes stare into nothing as I lick my lips that have already been blackened by pipe, liquor, and that of Bane's blessing. Now plucked at by a vulcher's hungry beak as the sea gals circle and sing to false gods of nature, I gleam blankly with no cheer. I lay useless on staggered rocks. The banks of Sundren, supposedly blessed by the bitch queen Umberlee, still seem to shine and mock his lords divine presence with that of undead sea urchins seeking nothing but a taste of my bleeding flesh as it pollutes the waters from the these plucking birds. For a moment I wish to bleed faster and to reach his judgement of death which Bane rules over, if not to watch the feasting of the pathetic and inferior servants.

I pull scarlet hair from my skull, balding my already greasy thinning hair even further. Why am I not dead and in his servitude? I must be being punished for continuous failures to that who I serve, the Vigilator Clive Tarsus and his lord Bane. I am nothing but a pathetic servant. I look up towards the land with eyes that slowly blind with tears of blood. Such power the blood God has here but not elsewhere to damn my every reentry I seek to these damned lands. But locality to the God, Bane, Colibrus is nothing but a servant. And I nothing but piss to each. And with such thoughts, I encourage the birds in there work, grinning up into the sky with my wild gleaming emerald eyes.