Drabble Wednesday returns after the poetry hiatus with three new stories of whispers and war. Enjoy.
The cool night wind stirred secrets across the desert sands, the ancient grit spinning patterns under the stars. Haunting reflections swirled in the languid air, drifting beyond any reverberations of the now. Spirits shifted within time, embracing the lingering echoes, while a faint drumbeat thrummed along the dusky earth.
Voices murmured in languages long forgotten, words of mysticism and entreaty, Coercing the breeze. The sand markings vacillated into symbols, forms to seek the summoning of gods long dead. But only for a moment of creation, an ethereal mirage of what was that vanished as a lingering ghost of the desert…
Battered and crumbling along the edges, the arch still stood, a relic of the war that destroyed the city. Shattered pillars stood in its shadow, a vestige of fire towers that held vigil until the last days, but its grand walls failed to endure, broken into rubble when the city fell, and the stone repurposed over the years.
Yet, the arch stayed untouched, survivors viewing it as a sacred monument. A battle scar, a reminder that they once ruled. That once, they were not the subjugated, the oppressed. That they had been the conquerors, the scourge feared across the world.
The Destroyer, death personified, stood on the battlefield, blood splashed across his black armour and dripping from his sword. Around him severed corpses scattered over the earth, more blood soaking into the dirt, severed limbs and heads entangled in a mess of flesh.
Crafted from hate and the darkest magic into the ultimate weapon, the wizards who created him had but one purpose in mind: Kill our enemies. They laid upon him one ambition, whispered into his ear as he awoke in the gloomy bowels of their tower.
“Kill them all.”
So he did.
Every living creature in his path.