Uskglass (The Whispering Court)

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Bloodgroove

11:45

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(The King's Roads)
I went into the mirror
The place beyond all sanity
To the paths built long ago
The King's Road's, some say
The Raven King that is
His kingdom is mighty
From upon the backs of a sleeping England
Did he build his tower
The center of which must be
The Whispering Court of him and his fey-faeries

In some places overgrown
Deserted and now hushed, as it were
No fey, no servants
And certainly no men but he alone
What are they planning?
And to what is this silence owed?

Twilight shimmers ambient
Paths cross with no wind-rose
Anywhere leads onward
And so on and on and on and on it goes
Forward, down, over, under
What should have been a mile
Ends less than in a minute
Who built these bridges?
And to whom is the title "Architect" giv'n?

Something like Shar rattles my nerves
Kings and Queens of olde, desiring me to serve
Visions of the wilde, whispers in those halls
Flashing along the trails, as yester-year beholds

(The Dark Tower)
Shadow spirits assail
The fey don't like to haunt
These are what's left of Uskglass' Favored Souls
What feast could they crave
Lest they all be Wraiths?
To dine upon my bless'd blades?
Tis all that they shall taste

Puffs of blackened fog disperse
Cold and damp as the earth
The tower stands before me
Of height and length and girth
No door, no window, and as dull as a Ghast's eye
How could this honor befall me?
Is this real, and would my host be nigh?

The door appears, like a gaping maw
The very same expression
Vampyres make oe'r their thralls
Whispers reach my Elven ears
But tidings to no being I know
What woes snuff out the light!
I'm addled in the dark

(The Court)
And though the whispers reach my ears
I cannot speak the tongue
For terrible and menacing
Are the speech of every one
I am no Favored Soul but know why they were lost
My sanctity and sanity, in every word accost
The court is now in session
And speaks of dire transaction
The lives of men everywhere
Are now its next obsession

The feelings such a burden, its weight is misery
Words of lies and lunacy inflict my very being
Pulsing, pounding, to hope against submission
I conjure up a Door, But alas! No recollection

The whispers are growing coarse
Give rise to voices and a cry
A gurgling, a spattering, it sputters, and it dies
The rattle of the breath, seems but an arm's breadth
To face the mirror of his affliction
I'll come into mine own

(The King)
Where does darkness abide
But in the King's home?
Where would you have us, Lord
But groveling 'neath your throne?
Would you look upon your kingdom
And see that it would last?
Who is like the one once called
John Uskglass?

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