About: Excerpts from Sorba's Journal

Description
Metadata
Settings
- owl:sameAs
- Inference Rule:

About: Excerpts from Sorba's Journal Sponge Permalink

An Entity of Type : owl:Thing, within Data Space : 134.155.108.49:8890 associated with source dataset(s)

"I have seen Darkness; from therein, staring back at me amidst the nefarious denizens of sin was none other than Sorba the Cursed. Adorned with the radiance of the damned, a diadem of scorn askance on his brow, he stood as I stood, peering into the Darkness and seeing naught but himself." ~ Excerpted from the Journal of Sorba the Cursed ~ In the low light and this imposed solitude, the shadowy figure writes.

Attributes	Values
rdfs:label	Excerpts from Sorba's Journal
rdfs:comment	"I have seen Darkness; from therein, staring back at me amidst the nefarious denizens of sin was none other than Sorba the Cursed. Adorned with the radiance of the damned, a diadem of scorn askance on his brow, he stood as I stood, peering into the Darkness and seeing naught but himself." ~ Excerpted from the Journal of Sorba the Cursed ~ In the low light and this imposed solitude, the shadowy figure writes.
dcterms:subject	Stories Sorba
abstract	"I have seen Darkness; from therein, staring back at me amidst the nefarious denizens of sin was none other than Sorba the Cursed. Adorned with the radiance of the damned, a diadem of scorn askance on his brow, he stood as I stood, peering into the Darkness and seeing naught but himself." ~ Excerpted from the Journal of Sorba the Cursed ~ On a bench in the library of Northshire Abbey sits a lone figure, quiet and reserved, as though darkness itself had chosen him as champion. His left hand is wrapped with a linen bandage; he is still bleeding from his palm. On the bench to his right is a small bottle filled to the top with his blood. In his right hand is a simple bone, flattened at one end and sharpened along that edge; dipping the end of the bone in his blood, he writes in a tattered and worn tome. The tome itself is not large, bound in thick leather it has gold-gilding on the edge of its pages. The words he pens are in a language unknown to Azeroth. His hair is long and dark, and braided over each shoulder; he has a neatly trimmed moustache and beard that are the same color as his hair; there is a circular scar on his left cheek that looks like the wound has never properly healed; on a finger of his left hand is a ring made of dark green stone with peridot laced through it like veins through flesh. Those few that notice him shrink away as though they had found their deepest horrors made real. In the low light and this imposed solitude, the shadowy figure writes.

OpenLink Virtuoso version 07.20.3217, on Linux (x86_64-pc-linux-gnu), Standard Edition
Data on this page belongs to its respective rights holders.
Virtuoso Faceted Browser Copyright © 2009-2012 OpenLink Software