Post by Zucriy Amsuna on Mar 30, 2016 8:23:20 GMT -6
Here's a gothic poem that I think would fit with the Castlevania and Bloodstained theme pretty well. The setting is ages after my very unfinished book that I'm not really writing at the moment. I might use this poem in there, actually...
This poem is inspired by the Lordaeron throne room Easter Egg in World of WarCraft (which I have never played =P) that references a scene in WarCraft III near the end of the human campaign. The Exordium (chapter 0) of my book is inspired by that scene, so this poem is a sort of Easter Egg itself that references my book.
I think it still needs a little polishing, but it'll do for now.
Phantoms of the Past
Moonlight shines in through stained glass,
Vibrant colours on the floor.
Dust moves slowly in the air
And outlines rays of light galore.
The ghastly gleams illume the room,
Large and empty all around.
Here lies hist'ry long erased,
But hints and warnings can be found.
A sigh is heard against the wall--
A whisper, merely, nothing more.
Alone, he sat upon his throne.
His name had long been lost to lore.
Footsteps echo on stone walls,
Out of sight, but with clear pride.
Ever closer they arrive,
Confidence in every stride.
Clouds eclipse the silent moon.
The echoes fade and evanesce,
Silence spreads across the room
As shadows gently coalesce.
Suddenly some candles flash,
As if to answer all the black,
Their wispy flames so ethereal,
Before a noise was heard--a clack.
The great door opens fast and wide,
But not a single sound is made.
Nothing entered, nothing stood.
All is hushed in clouded shade.
Shadows move in candlelight
And flicker between marble posts.
The moon returns with bright dimness,
Exposing two forsaken ghosts.
The dead king stared from his old throne,
His evil son before him.
A smile hit the prince's lips.
The king's long face was rather grim.
They whisper words, forgotten tongues,
Replaying what went on before:
The king was poisoned by the prince
Who hungered for a gruesome war.
A storm takes hold of skies above,
And naturally the moon it claims.
The wraiths then slowly fade away,
As do the candles' eerie flames.
The haunting voices are still heard,
With chilling fierceness from the prince.
They vanish in the rainy gloom,
As they have each new night since.
This poem is inspired by the Lordaeron throne room Easter Egg in World of WarCraft (which I have never played =P) that references a scene in WarCraft III near the end of the human campaign. The Exordium (chapter 0) of my book is inspired by that scene, so this poem is a sort of Easter Egg itself that references my book.
I think it still needs a little polishing, but it'll do for now.
Phantoms of the Past
Moonlight shines in through stained glass,
Vibrant colours on the floor.
Dust moves slowly in the air
And outlines rays of light galore.
The ghastly gleams illume the room,
Large and empty all around.
Here lies hist'ry long erased,
But hints and warnings can be found.
A sigh is heard against the wall--
A whisper, merely, nothing more.
Alone, he sat upon his throne.
His name had long been lost to lore.
Footsteps echo on stone walls,
Out of sight, but with clear pride.
Ever closer they arrive,
Confidence in every stride.
Clouds eclipse the silent moon.
The echoes fade and evanesce,
Silence spreads across the room
As shadows gently coalesce.
Suddenly some candles flash,
As if to answer all the black,
Their wispy flames so ethereal,
Before a noise was heard--a clack.
The great door opens fast and wide,
But not a single sound is made.
Nothing entered, nothing stood.
All is hushed in clouded shade.
Shadows move in candlelight
And flicker between marble posts.
The moon returns with bright dimness,
Exposing two forsaken ghosts.
The dead king stared from his old throne,
His evil son before him.
A smile hit the prince's lips.
The king's long face was rather grim.
They whisper words, forgotten tongues,
Replaying what went on before:
The king was poisoned by the prince
Who hungered for a gruesome war.
A storm takes hold of skies above,
And naturally the moon it claims.
The wraiths then slowly fade away,
As do the candles' eerie flames.
The haunting voices are still heard,
With chilling fierceness from the prince.
They vanish in the rainy gloom,
As they have each new night since.
yey