Darkthrone
Ravishing Grimness
[Moonfog]
(an impression)
A long time ago, wolves ran freely in our lands. Strange beasts roamed the world and you had to watch your back really carefully. At a certain point in time, the wolves started to prosper, because there were a few that inspired the others. These wolves were very much alike, but there was one around them that showed more potential. But still, he was very much like the others.
At one moment though, the wolf came to wisdom, and this particular wolf was not going to be like the others. He was more feral, more vicious and cruel, he outran the pack, people feared him and they talked about him a lot. It seems he went like a blaze in the northern sky, a load of others followed but couldn't catch up. This wolf then walked our fields, he howled under funeral moons, and nourished himself with the blood of living people; a transilvanian kind of hunger. By that time the amount of followers was so big that he got tired of it and he went back to the old ways; he didn't run so fast anymore and he didn't want to, he just wanted to stay a wolf like they were a few generations before. And the others emulated his ways yet again. He wished that his world became totally dead, but it was too late. Sadly he turned his back to the pack and went along, going his own way, the old way. Only once he tried to set a example to the pack, one of ravishing beauty and intense grimness, but he was already old, and tired. The other wolves weren't so impressed anymore but they still respected him for his effort and force of will. But the tired wolf was not his former self anymore, he felt the claws of time and he lied himself asleep. Perhaps one day he shall be reborn, but his early days are over.
© 1999 dwaallicht
A long time ago, wolves ran freely in our lands. Strange beasts roamed the world and you had to watch your back really carefully. At a certain point in time, the wolves started to prosper, because there were a few that inspired the others. These wolves were very much alike, but there was one around them that showed more potential. But still, he was very much like the others.
At one moment though, the wolf came to wisdom, and this particular wolf was not going to be like the others. He was more feral, more vicious and cruel, he outran the pack, people feared him and they talked about him a lot. It seems he went like a blaze in the northern sky, a load of others followed but couldn't catch up. This wolf then walked our fields, he howled under funeral moons, and nourished himself with the blood of living people; a transilvanian kind of hunger. By that time the amount of followers was so big that he got tired of it and he went back to the old ways; he didn't run so fast anymore and he didn't want to, he just wanted to stay a wolf like they were a few generations before. And the others emulated his ways yet again. He wished that his world became totally dead, but it was too late. Sadly he turned his back to the pack and went along, going his own way, the old way. Only once he tried to set a example to the pack, one of ravishing beauty and intense grimness, but he was already old, and tired. The other wolves weren't so impressed anymore but they still respected him for his effort and force of will. But the tired wolf was not his former self anymore, he felt the claws of time and he lied himself asleep. Perhaps one day he shall be reborn, but his early days are over.
© 1999 dwaallicht