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Description
Raven Rain

Silhouetted cityscape give way to flashes of white as the rain falls, lighting clashes with the steel city below. Every show of nature force gives image and form to the otherwise pitch night. No light in the city can match the battle in the sky, the city sleeps for now.

The Rain falls hard like a curtain falling on the last act of the day. The city gleams and shines with each cleansing gift from the heavens.

The earth and sky meet again and again with white hot moments; again giving shape and glimpses of the city and its form.

It is at the peek of these forms that something stirs within the black. Ebony wings flick off moistened fall and beading wash. The Raven caws out to the sky in attempt to match the sky’s call to battle.

Alone the Raven is not, though in the darkness there are many. Raven among Ravens hundred folds perch the stony peaks of sky grasping tower. There they stay, there they wait as the rain slams against pitch feather.

Among these flapping cawing forms sits another. His form is tattered and drenched with the wash of night, head hangs low as the rains taps a rhythm against his crown. Blackened tendrils of hair drape and mask the face of the form. There he sits, there he waits…but for what I can not know.

A leather tattered fabric hugs his hunched and doubled form, but beneath the folds something stirs again beneath the black. Forcibly and suddenly a jutting form pushes against the leather’s drape. The man’s form does not move but stares blankly at the fall of each drop from his brow. From beneath the folds a form pierces Leather.

A battle strike gives light to that which emerges, and its birthing cries echo against the stone and metal.

A caw reaches the night air, a raven is born from the man’s own chest but still he does not move. With the birth if new kin the ravens gather. The envelope Tattered form and dripping tendril, and one last battle blow give crescendo to an image if a cocoon of ravens about the man.

The sky falls silent…

Description
Raven Rain

Silhouetted cityscape give way to flashes of white as the rain falls, lighting clashes with the steel city below. Every show of nature force gives image and form to the otherwise pitch night. No light in the city can match the battle in the sky, the city sleeps for now.

The Rain falls hard like a curtain falling on the last act of the day. The city gleams and shines with each cleansing gift from the heavens.

The earth and sky meet again and again with white hot moments; again giving shape and glimpses of the city and its form.

It is at the peek of these forms that something stirs within the black. Ebony wings flick off moistened fall and beading wash. The Raven caws out to the sky in attempt to match the sky’s call to battle.

Alone the Raven is not, though in the darkness there are many. Raven among Ravens hundred folds perch the stony peaks of sky grasping tower. There they stay, there they wait as the rain slams against pitch feather.

Among these flapping cawing forms sits another. His form is tattered and drenched with the wash of night, head hangs low as the rains taps a rhythm against his crown. Blackened tendrils of hair drape and mask the face of the form. There he sits, there he waits…but for what I can not know.

A leather tattered fabric hugs his hunched and doubled form, but beneath the folds something stirs again beneath the black. Forcibly and suddenly a jutting form pushes against the leather’s drape. The man’s form does not move but stares blankly at the fall of each drop from his brow. From beneath the folds a form pierces Leather.

A battle strike gives light to that which emerges, and its birthing cries echo against the stone and metal.

A caw reaches the night air, a raven is born from the man’s own chest but still he does not move. With the birth if new kin the ravens gather. The envelope Tattered form and dripping tendril, and one last battle blow give crescendo to an image if a cocoon of ravens about the man.

The sky falls silent…