When wise to the quarry, they thunder to the fray, their jousting horns whet and stopped by the Keepers. Regard the dragging of the cloven hoof, for it is war-sign, and marks the coming of the prey. The snorting beast of the Umbral Plains, the Nameless, scent the blood as no other. For no matter their vile forms in the Realm of Burning Light in the Domain of Endless Shadow they are magnificent. Under the all-seeing Eye the sullied wretches serve us, carcass and conscience, until their penance in the chains of servitude has been paid. By their misery we are renewed, our hand invigorated, our armies bolstered. We drain their blood, and burn the souls of the infidels in the fountain of Eternal Damnation. They shall see that the false gods of the light-dwellers are but parasites on the tail of the Dark One. Then, they shall know the true meaning of godly power. Even as the kin of the Abhorrent One worship their divinity, we wait, seething, devising our infernal intrigue. When the day of reckoning comes, we shall take their idols and turn them to our fettle. Let them praise their false gods, and croon under their anemic overlords. In the virtuous, the snake of deceit whips a forked tongue. Image: The Gift of Argent (King Novik, Khan Maykr, Deag Ranak, Maykrs, Night Sentinels)įor in purity, there lurks corruption.
#Doom eternal art skin#
Our night will come, and their skin shall blister in our glory. The unyielding fury of hate will turn their shining pillars to dust. Let them indulge in their mechanical conceit, for when we lay siege to their ivory tower, they shall know the truth. What machines of war do they set against us? None that will not be crushed under the foot of the Titans, or ravaged at the inclination of the Dark One.
Their means are paltry, their will feeble. In their avarice, their welcome the Long Night. As the walls fell, he fled the battlefield to canker in his lair, and we feasted on the corpses of his bastard children.įear not the way of the light-dwellers.
Though the Lucent Defiler led their pitiful masses against us, they were no match for our valor. And from it we poured, and we poured, our number uncounted, swarming upon the vile sputum as vultures flock the cadaver. In their darkest hour, we spewed Thaxor, the Great Nest, the Carriage of Carnage, spawned deep in the heart of their sacred grounds. Glory of the Night, did we not set the human world ablaze on the Day of Atonement? Their weak emblems of power were broken and turned to rubble as they wailed. In his betrayal, we shall smelt his pig iron in the fire to forge blade and armor from his carcass, so that he may mark our retribution as tools of our campaign. Payment for his foul deeds will be swift, for the Defiler pays service to the Unchained Predator. But the eye of judgement sees all, and his rancorous ways are known. Even as his realm is consumed by the forces of Hell, his arrogant gait dares walk upon our hallowed ground, dressed in vanity iron and idolizing his own abhorrent form. Yet still, the treacherous nature of the Lucent Defiler is beyond measure. He knows our kind and we of him though the cause be lost. And as the pain takes its irrevocable hold, their cries for mercy are mocked by the true masters. They impudently drink from the poisoned chalice, for their weak minds cannot fathom our plot.
Only through the shadow of the Dark Lords are they enlightened. They seek dominion over all, and see not the limit of their feeble existence worshipping the Burning Light. Yet among their fetid order, they rise through these traits, believing themselves suited and potent. It mulls in vanity, lingers in greed and longs for fraudulent sovereignty. How facile it is, how simple to turn it upon itself. Pay no tribute to the mind of the infidel.
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