The light of the crescent moon cut through the shades of despair, shed by the winter night, illuminating the darks of 'viraniz' - the forbidden grove.
A cold smog crept inwards, making the depths of the Grove - unsuspecting and dangerous. The winds were unforgiving and listless, and as they carried voices and sounds of the night, an odd growl punctuated the macabre of this odd settlement.
A humongous figure prowled the sacrificial station at the centre of the grove. It kept to the shadows cast by the smog, it's eyes changing focus to adjust to the winter night. The crunch of bones and squelch of fresh blood cut through the ominous silence that entombed the ruin of an antechamber, that once housed the bone platforms for tributes.
The winds got harsher and the smog began to shift in spirals and anticlockwise concentric motions, upending fresh kill and the frozen dead.
In one fluid motion, the stones that marked the boundary of the ruin had cracked, issuing brimstone and burnt thyme fumes into the thick smog, causing the violent nature of it's gaseous constituents to implode and issue lighting and discharge of vile energy.
The noxious nature of the gasses got thicker and more solid, worked into motion and shaped by the energies that had begun to make their play.
For one moment the smog turned and violated itself and the next it had solidified into a staunch glass structure, that entombed the entire ante-chamber and the beast within.
The remnants of energies still traversed the circumference of the glass, releasing copious amounts of sulphur and redwood fumes.
The winds stood their ground, still and calculating.
In all this significant occurrence and it's passage, a fallow raven peeked out of it's hole to examine the new glass structure. It's curiosity had over ridden his due senses of primal instincts.
Tap-tap-tap - the raven began to peck that the highest accessible point, sparks and voices escaped at every contact. Alas, the raven did not care for fire or the sound of shallow men.
Tap-tap-tap - before the next assault of the raven's beak could come, treacherous claws cut through the glass, shattering it all in an explosion of energy. The beast clawed again, this time at the broken stone, since no retaliation came, it bound outward, out side the boundaries of the old ruin.
Finally, the creature of the Grove was free, the spirit of the viraniz bear had set out on it's hunt.
The blood of men and the cries of babes shall reign in it's wake.
The day was - the 7th vigil of the winter past.
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From The Collections Of Rhye
RandomLegends are stories some say, where-as others believe , that they are long lost truths, that wither into song and story. Thus, once in a while, these songs hold truth, and the legends come alive. This tome, is the collection of such truths and song...
