Blood Bath

Bathed in blood, a moonlit glow coats the backs of the fallen. Liquid red anguish seeps from the deepest recesses of the broken spirit, onto the worn patchy grass stained anew.

Crimson dew is strewn, painting a picture of slaughter baked into the weeds that lie beneath it. Contrasting white motes illuminate red coated swords and spears of soldiers fuelled and felled by hate.

Death and decay spell the miserable fate of those left in vain. Forever wandering wherever the siren song of their fellow slain may lead.

Solemn silence sits like an unsprung coil. The atmosphere foments the sullen senses of those that lie in its wake and those that stand, ready to start the tension anew.