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Murkweald forest damp trees silence death blood the remains of warriors knights soldiers shileds torn asunder weapons broken swords axes spears blood bodies ravaged torn to shreds blood gore carnage innards fluids bile loss macabre and yet not a single bone found skeletons bodies flayed eviscerated disemboweled entrails no bones night dark dank foul gruesome cracking sound crunching of bones creature monster they had sought out to slay the monster upper body was nude the form of a well-endowed woman like forked tongue sharp teeth fangswith long flowing hair her breasts abundant below the monster waist was like that of a great serpent with a tail that ended in a large triangular spear shaped stinger the monster's left arm was large ending in a large wickedly sharp pincers like that of a scorpion the right arm was normal yet ended in dagger like sharp claws, the visage beautiful alluring and alarming at the same time slitted eyes and long venous fangs full lips blood smeared face and torso feeding on the bones and marrow of the fallen the monster was an aberaba vicious evil cunning sadistic death lost lives fed on the bones and marrow of man and beast alike pincers stinger venous paralyzing its prey sharp strong pincers tearing through flesh armor with ease saliva like acid liguid fire

In Murkweald's grasp where shadows lour, The trees stand sorrowed, drip and cower, Amidst a silence dense, profound, Where echoes of the past resound— The knowing shivers in the air Betray the horrors hidden there. Beneath the shrouded canopy, The remnants of a felled army, Their shields and swords in ruin lie, While shattered spears and axes cry A mournful tale of courage lost, Of valiant souls that paid the cost. Yet blood and tissue merge with ground, In gruesome carpets spread around. No bones define the fleshy pool; A mystery both dark and cruel— For warriors brave, once clad in might, Were flayed beneath the cruel moon's light. The night itself quakes, tremors deep, As cracking echoes where creatures creep. A form emerges, vile and old, With lips of crimson, eyes so cold. A creature born of shadowed fane, Her beauty hides malicious bane. Her torso, lovely, greets the eye, A woman’s guise, a tempting lie. Yet serpentine from waist below, A tail with stinger poised to sow, Her left limb ends in wicked pincer, While right hand's claws, in darkness, glimmer. Her feast upon the fallen sprawled, With fangs and forked tongue uninstalled. In macabre banquet, lips do part, To taste the marrow, devour heart. Aberaba, mistress of dread, Crowned with the fallen soldiers’ thread. Death saunters in this teasing guise, Within the glow of slitted eyes. No honor here, no hero’s praise— But dancing shadows hide the day's Lost lives, as entrails seep and blend, In Murkweald's heart where nightmares rend.

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In Murkweald's grasp where shadows lour, The trees stand sorrowed, drip and cower, Amidst a silence dense, profound, Where echoes of the past resound— The knowing shivers in the air Betray the horrors hidden there. Beneath the shrouded canopy, The remnants of a felled army, Their shields and swords in ruin lie, While shattered spears and axes cry A mournful tale of courage lost, Of valiant souls that paid the cost. Yet blood and tissue merge with ground, In gruesome carpets spread around. No bones define the fleshy pool; A mystery both dark and cruel— For warriors brave, once clad in might, Were flayed beneath the cruel moon's light. The night itself quakes, tremors deep, As cracking echoes where creatures creep. A form emerges, vile and old, With lips of crimson, eyes so cold. A creature born of shadowed fane, Her beauty hides malicious bane. Her torso, lovely, greets the eye, A woman’s guise, a tempting lie. Yet serpentine from waist below, A tail with stinger poised to sow, Her left limb ends in wicked pincer, While right hand's claws, in darkness, glimmer. Her feast upon the fallen sprawled, With fangs and forked tongue uninstalled. In macabre banquet, lips do part, To taste the marrow, devour heart. Aberaba, mistress of dread, Crowned with the fallen soldiers’ thread. Death saunters in this teasing guise, Within the glow of slitted eyes. No honor here, no hero’s praise— But dancing shadows hide the day's Lost lives, as entrails seep and blend, In Murkweald's heart where nightmares rend.
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