A/N: Quick little Black Arms Oneshot I'm using to clear my head of evil nefarious writer's block. This is inspired by a song by Nox Arcana. This is in the future by the way, so no flaming please.
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The Ghosts of Ebonshire
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Snow fell quietly to the pale ground as the barren trees raked their black, sketetal fingers against the velvet sky, which was alight only by the pale, full moon. The forest was dense, and dark, remnants of a hardly-used trail snaked through the trees like a ghostly serpent; a path for only the dead to walk upon.
One tall, ashen building stood encroached by the newly regrown forests, a tall, ash gray cathedral slowly and silently slipping into destitution and decay. Blood red ivy curled up one of its massive walls, covering the once beautiful stained glass windows.
Yes, the only visitors to this spirit's alter weren't even human, but a pack of creatures long thought extinct. They move slowly and gracefully through the ashen, desolate landscape, their black bodies seeming to twist and writhe within the shadows as they make their way to their only snactuary. Their eyes seem to blaze with the most potent hellfire, and their ethereal vioces echo softly through the forest of Ebonshire, singing their melancholy verses to all who listen.
They disappear for one brief second, and all goes deathly quiet.
The entirety of Ebonshire seems to be waiting...waiting...
Slowly the ghostly, morose verses start up again and they are echoing louder than ever before. The trees and the creatures of Ebonshire appear to sing with them as the creatures gather in the overgrown courtyard of the decaying cathedral.
They twist and sway to their own devices before they gather in a circle, each taking the other's hand before they begin to dance in this melancholy, desolate courtyard.
They spin about faster and faster, slowly losing themselves in their otherworldly music, and the verses grow more pained.
It is now that the creatures reveal themselve to be nothing more than ghosts of things that were thought to be soulless, and their dancing slows, they release each other and dance about in their own circles, forever spiraling, forever singing, forever crooning their desolate nocturnes to the sky and the moon and all who control the heavens.
They scatter, only to show that they've left their mark burned into the once perfect snow, the insignia standing out in a violent blood red as opposed to the paleness of the pure snow.
The leader of the pack croons one last time before it slinks off into the shadows, the rest going their own seperate directions as the pale, morning light begins to seep through the thick branches of the Ebonshire forests, slowly creeping...creeping along the pale white ground.
The blood red insignia disappears as the light touches it, leaving to trace that the ghosts of Ebonshire really exist.
But deep within the recesses of the forest, there is a deep mournful howl that slowly crescendoes into a wail, leaving all who hear it terrified.
And no one acknowledges the fact that these creatures exist, even though they dance in the forest every night, waiting for salvation from their seemingly eternal damnation.
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A/N: Wow it's short. And it's not what I expected. I have a really hard time describing scenes like this in my work, cuz they always seem better in my head. And I know you can't really tell who or what I'm talking about, but they are the Black Arms, but they're only ghosts. This will probably end up wedged in another fanfic of mine, not going to tell you which one...but yeahs. This was only imagery practice and something to force the evil writer's block from my head.