Sambar

Words travel on the winds of King Solomon's ailing condition. Purple veins wreath his limbs as though a feverish vine has taken root in the ruler's failing heart. Nary a word is escapes not on the tails of a wispy gasp. The Elders pine for the once-great ruler's return to the earth, and a bloody civil war roots on the shoulders of those that would seek to seize the crown.   Yet, the moonlight seems to cast a contradictory shadow on Sambar's lands. Those that watch the flickering shadows of the royal gardens exchange hushed whispers of a wicked shadow racing along elder ramparts. A shadow in familiarity of the shadow cast by an ageing king, though removed of his frail frame and measured step. Though suspicion of King Solomon's ownership to this figure seen only in the inverse can be dismissed, the corpses strewn in gnarled disposal aver some creature of the night.   Though the rampages of the King's shadow serve as fearmongering blather to the camarilla and retinue, talk of the mad declaration made serve as true presentiment. Though contradictory and complex treaties and idle demands, the illness that has spotted from the kings shadow has woolen his eyes and clouded his thoughts. With the absence of a confidant, the clans push their own agendas through the meandering edict of the royal tongue.   And though conflict seems to end with the rule of law, even the sordid earth finds conflict in these dire times. Prayers once answered find themselves lost in the darkness between the stars, and whatever laughs beyond leaves behind it's twisted spawn: Lusus. Inky fur with scales and eyes of pure white, casting the moonlight in a harsh and twined effulgence. Monsters that once pranced in the whimsical lines of children's limericks now ravage the same children's homes. Cautionary tales once told to protect the young and runit from rivers and wells spring to horrific life in a mangled aping of memory.