O
old.Kal
Guest
Ran into this guy on salisbury with my minst, anyone seen him before ? Anyway got this text off him (not spelling mistakes its typed like this) :
By the moon and the Stars, you! Come to me! I need to confess myself, I need to relieve myself from the legacy of my ancestors! I must...Ahhh, I am burning! He burns me! He is in me! All in me! Yes, may truth be told, I saw it in the stars! He is here once again, full of greed, greed for flesh and blood as never before. But he suffered you see, suffered so much... Sorrow and remorse, cries and sadness on the horizon..
Because the old one is not dead and, beyong the mountains, he watches his prey! Flee, flee before it is too late, his anger overcome your wisdom! Yes, in truth, Camelot the Eternal is no longer...
and the ashes of the arrogant will soon be scattered by the wind... The rose wither now and the Lis will no longer lean against her. Whitethorn et thistle, all they danse to his side, dreadfull gigue, Demonic saraband...
...honour to the spirits of a burning sand under a shameful past... In truth I tell you, the sowed seeds left a dark harvest. And the price the price must now be paid...
The prophet lies down exhausted, out of breath, obviously drained by his sudden burtst of dementia... his confused look seems to stare into terrifying horrors...
Anyone else seen him ?
By the moon and the Stars, you! Come to me! I need to confess myself, I need to relieve myself from the legacy of my ancestors! I must...Ahhh, I am burning! He burns me! He is in me! All in me! Yes, may truth be told, I saw it in the stars! He is here once again, full of greed, greed for flesh and blood as never before. But he suffered you see, suffered so much... Sorrow and remorse, cries and sadness on the horizon..
Because the old one is not dead and, beyong the mountains, he watches his prey! Flee, flee before it is too late, his anger overcome your wisdom! Yes, in truth, Camelot the Eternal is no longer...
and the ashes of the arrogant will soon be scattered by the wind... The rose wither now and the Lis will no longer lean against her. Whitethorn et thistle, all they danse to his side, dreadfull gigue, Demonic saraband...
...honour to the spirits of a burning sand under a shameful past... In truth I tell you, the sowed seeds left a dark harvest. And the price the price must now be paid...
The prophet lies down exhausted, out of breath, obviously drained by his sudden burtst of dementia... his confused look seems to stare into terrifying horrors...
Anyone else seen him ?