Dew Of The Dawn-Bringer

From the womb of grief and misery was he born. Twisted and crumpled he lie upon the cracked marble floor with nigh a cry or whimper. Slowly he lifted his wretched head up to face the skies. His body grew in strength and size as he rose. His stature once erect was a full score larger than when he had begun to rise and where once loose pulps of flesh strung between bones had been now brawny bulges beneath ironlike skin now reside. Once frail fingers now lethal talons and once eye sockets dark as pitch now began to smolder and glow. The horrid behemoth cut through columns and ranks of men alike with ease. Marble arches falling to crush many a soldier, many of whom were catatonic from what they had witnessed. You may think those few of us that escaped be lucky but nigh, I reckon that the luckiest ones were those that gathered enough courage to flee towards the shore to bathe their lungs at the bottom of the sea's depths. Most of my brothers in arms that escaped that day with their lives have been ill fated. Many drawn to madness or ending themselves. Others, like myself, too cowardly to end our suffering be cursed with visions of that morning each and every day and the questioning of why our lord thought such a creature could be released and contained, let alone controlled. Every morning when I smell the dew of the Dawn-Bringer, a scent I once held beautiful, I cringe and relive that day. Sometimes it seems as if each reliving glimpses of what my mind must have hid behind a veil is cast into light and a new horror is upon my mind.