The Devil's Soliloquy
The Devil’s Soliloquy in Grey
The mists do not rise by chance; they obey. They are the exhaled breath of my boredom, Curling around the jagged peaks of the Balinoks, Choking the valleys in perpetual twilight. I sit upon the high throne of Ravenloft, A needle of black stone piercing an anemic sky, And I look down upon the chessboard of Barovia. The peasants below, shivering in their hovels, Call me "The Devil" when they think the wind isn't listening. Fools. The wind is mine, too.
I remember the warmth of the sun, vaguely, Like a story told by a grandfather I never knew. I traded it for this: cold stone, eternal hunger, And the awful clarity of endless time. I traded a brother’s blood for a crown that never tarnishes, A pact sealed in the amber shadows of a forgotten temple. Now, I am the Ancient. I am the Land. My veins are the rivers, running deep and cold; My eyes are the wolves that watch from the timberline; My spies are the bats hanging like leather fruit in the eaves.
And then, there is Her. The maddening, beautiful cycle. Tatyana. By any name, the same soul, the same doomed visage, The one bright jewel I cannot keep in this sepulchral jewelry box. She returns to me through the generations, A tantalizing phantom just beyond the stained glass. Does she know, this time, in her village beneath the shadow? Does she feel my gaze like a physical weight upon her shoulder? I will burn the world to hold her again, And I will weep blood when she inevitably falls, Only to wait for the wheel to turn once more.
And now, you. The interlopers. Little heroes, stumbling through the Svalich Woods, Armed with holy symbols that feel lukewarm in this godless place, And swords that will dull against my skin. You are fresh meat for the grinder, a pleasant diversion. Come, let me test the mettle of your souls. Let me see if you break with a snap, or bend with a whimper. Accept my invitation. Dine in my halls. Play my game until the amusement fades.
Look up at the spires. Know your insignificance. You are a flickering candle in a hurricane. I am the storm that never ends.
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