Gods of the Night

A fronting the figure in shadows clad
All else in the room on bended knee
Or with screams and high pitched complaining make their way out
The lone man stands with bottle in hand
A glass not quick enough to deliver his poison of choice
“How doth you stand in calm posture and without a frown or worried crease”
The shadow bellows to further draw fear from the fallen crowd
“A bottle was the barman’s gift, a broken heart given by unfaithful wife”
The drunkard speaks with barely a raised tone or respectful hint
“Now a figure dark and drawn of shadows begs I give him that which whores and merchants bestow on lesser men”
The shadowy figure raises a fireball in left hand, in the right a vengeful fist
“I am the flame in hellion stare, the sharpness that pieces flesh, you will…”
But with disrespecting interruption, a shocking act, the drunkard speaks
“Well, sounds like you’re pissed off and without a date, so join me in a drink”
The figure withdraws his fiery projectile, turns to the barman and says
“Fetch us another bottle, and make it quick”
With a sly grin to the drunkard
“Have you ever seen a rich man work or a princess dance?”
Drunkard merry on alcohol and the high of a false spirit of strength
“You give some of your powers, I’ll show you a rich mans blood, a princess doing more than dance”
And in that night the god of drink was created and the tavern erupted into life
The figure of shadows clad, the god of mischief, a fellow trickster he had found

Talents Pricked from Darker Acts

Talents pricked from darker fabrics of humanity’s edge
Are in their nature a carrier of natural taint
As with every robe of knowledge and grand design
We craft from talents once committed to secret acts
All inherent of the tainted source from which it was found

Never to be forgotten are their twisted roots