Forward to the mountains. Beyond the peaks I climb. Through storm and blackened winter, No respite from the sky. The stars have fallen black. No moon to guide my path. It's as if the heavens never were conceived.
The ruby stone upon my neck directs me on my way. It fears the Gate to Eschaton like a fledgling falling prey. A porphyry of sorcery it's plain to see my jewel from the Ebon Vale glows hellishly.
And forth I go, its glow governs the way. It's known the brutish force that Eschaton purveys.
Four-hundred years, the stone has sat in wait. Away from its yearning master, I take it to its grave.
Time is nothing but a hollow blur to me now. I have no sense of days that pass on this frigid journey. The hair upon my face is traced in thickening frost. I cannot tell if I am close, but I will die soon if I'm not. I left Milan with nothing but my winter garb, which is now caked in ice and snow leaving me with numbness I have never known. I lose my footing and I fall to my face, I've lost the strength to stand again.
Is this my death?
My eyes grow heavy, as the snow weighs me down. I'd come so far, yet I never made it there. As I look up one last time, while the blizzard fogs the night, I see the entrance there, the Gate to Eschaton.
A flame erupts within my soul, I will not die this dreadful night. I hoist myself up from the ground, and rip the stone from its necklace chain. Sliding the rock into the lock, I take a step back to catch my breath. The ground below me starts to quake. Light bleeds out for the opening doors. The gem disintegrates, and I march into Eschaton.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
