The Lost Fang

[Monktrus]

https://youtu.be/QR28G204z5k?t=11

Amidst a land of rolling mists and grim men, there slept a corpse. It was not of the rotted sort, swollen with decay and the vermin so often found in final rests...It's  skin was flush with stolen blood, bringing pallet to a feral and inhuman face. The corpse's lips twitched as it dreamed it's grave dream...One that had come to it every time the scorching orb made it's ascent. It dreamed of a ruined citadel that once again stood raised, with corpses like itself filling it's walls in defiance of that infernal light... under the guidance of...And how the corpse shuddered even in slumber, in ecstasy, at the remembrance of it's vanished lord and master. It hoarsely muttered a name, trickles of blood dribbling from razor fangs.

"Cavitius...Cavitius..."

[Monktrus]

The visions had changed as the weeks stretched on, plots and secrets flowing together into a communal bowl. It was no longer alone...no longer left to wander sacred dark on lost and aimless wings. The creature could almost hear a whisper in the sighing of the branches, an edict in the howling wind of mountain passes..."Come to me. Past all things, come"....It spent it's frenzy upon the green cloaked and the gold cloaked, feeding on their faith as much as upon crimson vitae. Kermauk knew in frozen heart that the night would soon arrive when all answers would at last be laid bare.