- last post: 01.01.0001 12:00 AM PDT
The Weaver came to the children of apocalypse and spoke through them, massaging their hatreds, easing their angst with promises of blood.
"You've been cheated. You died as a martyr, and they push your legacy aside. You are a forgotten whisper of their past, they know not nor do they care of the torment you are sentenced to. You rot in this world, invisible to them, they ignore you. Go forth, prepare to bring apocalypse to the world of mortals."
Peering down from the scorched mountain, Excommunicado gaped in horror as an old man preached to hundereds of wispy minions, sending them to destroy the world of men.
To destroy the last thing Excommunicado held onto. The tattered remnants of hope he held for true rest at last...
"How ironic", he thought to himself. "To save myself I must save those that sought to destroy me absolutely, erasing my wispy soul."
Death came with no reprieve, only with a true objective to bend his energies on. "This world is inherently self-destructive."
Looking down on the mass of moving spectral beings, Excommunicado thought, "Why am I not one of them? I've shared the same lucid fate. I am as bitter as they."
His new war was with fate itself.
[Edited on 7/28/2004 9:42:53 PM]