In a cataclysm known as the Nightfall, the worlds were almost completely destroyed by a harrowing surge of darkness.
In the shadows of the ensuing chaos a new group has taken shape. Led by an Aegyl named Kalos, the 11th Hour touts an esoteric knowledge of how to combat the darkness and restore the worlds. They might be the worlds’ best chance at survival; but nobody really knows enough about them to confirm or deny their claims.
On the brink of collapse, the universe holds its breath in anticipation. Of restoration? Of destruction? It is up to individuals like yourself to decide.
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Was going through a couple of my things, and I found--DUN DUN DUN! Poetry I wrote for a AP Class in Highschool! And damn--was I ANGSTY. <3 Anyway, this is my favorite piece...thought I'd share it with you.
With a soil broken with jagged glass My roots, somehow, are soft Sunset pools carnival lights in the shards A silent coloured lightning that slides in the dark Rips shadows and spreads warmth
And I sprout In bad luck, I grow
As delicate as cool steam from manhole lids My green bones grow strong in the dust They incubate in cold, roaming silohuettes Pulsing only on faith like thriving urban heart
and on the darkening pavement A sweet violence blooms Gray buds burst to angry eyes While leaves unfurl shouts of poisons As the largest blossom, a black rose Blots out the stars like a summer thundercloud Veined with a fury to say I will slice the moon with my petals Tower over the dirt and glass And unhinge a dark sky
And I flower For revenge, I ripen
My roots only stretch deeper through the pain I grit my soft fingers in to keep rising And when I'm done, and the city is silenced They will be stilled with my saddness Heard through my voice, danced throug my leaves Leaving only questions of how a fragile seed Could thrust from the edges of sharp rain And touch the clouded edges of dawn
In my morning, I will sway with the wind And warm my limbs in the growing coppers of sunrise High above the broken glass