Aurion Centris
06-14-14, 01:35 AM
Now these ashes have grown cold, we open the old book.
These oil stained pages recount the tales of the Fallen,
a frayed empire, words without warmth. The hearth
has ebbed, its gleam and life's sparks are but memories
against dimming eyes - what cast my mind, what hue my
thoughts as I open The Book of the Fallen
and breathe deep the scent of history?
Listen then, to these words carried on that breath.
These tales are the tales of us all, again yet again.
We are history relived and that is all, without end that is all.
-from "the Malazan Book of the Fallen," written by Steven Erikson
Closed to Obaral Sung and Garroth
These oil stained pages recount the tales of the Fallen,
a frayed empire, words without warmth. The hearth
has ebbed, its gleam and life's sparks are but memories
against dimming eyes - what cast my mind, what hue my
thoughts as I open The Book of the Fallen
and breathe deep the scent of history?
Listen then, to these words carried on that breath.
These tales are the tales of us all, again yet again.
We are history relived and that is all, without end that is all.
-from "the Malazan Book of the Fallen," written by Steven Erikson
Closed to Obaral Sung and Garroth