Out onto the road of least travel,
Up the jagged rocky path,
Cluttered with twigs and thorn;
A horrid mess of rocks and stones,
Bushes and shrubs consuming the shoulder,
Silently lurking, waiting, preying on passing creatures.
Down, below even the lowest of clouds,
Gazing far across the lands,
Stay the house of Nethed Silvata,
An old man exiled from his home land,
Deemed unfit for society,
A demon in his own rite.
His house was worn, rundown,
Dark, as though abandoned.
It was not.
Once on a blue moon he would leave his home,
Out into the lands he would go and a burning path in his wake he'd leave.
Red would the moon turn, like his eyes and hands.
Indeed an incarnate of evil at its finest,
Old man Nethed Silvata.
Up the rocky path I went one day,
Trekking far from the safety of my home,
Deep into the darkness that shrouded the entrance to his lair.
"Though I walk through the valley of darkness I shall fear no evil,"
I am beyond the choice of fear,
For it is, under me, below my strength of mind,
Inadequate to my insanity.
To the front door of that black house,
Very prevalent, the danger at hand.

Silence

The door slowly creaked open,
A wild chill tore through my body,
Then, a wave of heat, a burning wave of
Hatred and despair, pain.
I could feel his presence as clear as my fleeting heartbeat.
As I gazed into his deep red eyes,
Strained with the blood of many souls gone,
I could feel his anger burning black,
Mixing and entangling itself in my own.
"Yes?" he questioned in a scratching deep voice,
To which I replied and he grinned,
"Forgive me Father for I have sinned.
I do not believe."