They catch the wind, gliding silently;
they havent rested for centurys,
yet they hunt still. gaunt, vulgar faces-
protected by a bone spiked helm; thin angry slits for eyes,
a spine chilling expression portrayed.

No feelings are present, no mercy displayed,
they quickly raid another universe,
then slink back to hell, slink back to their master;
he is all and he is just- in their eyes
their scaley slender bodys, perfect for infiltration.

The thrill of the hunt, their wildest sensation,
if they had hearts they would pound during the chase.
instructions slithering off their serpent-like tongues;
a distinctive hissing of javelins thrown by,
driven by nothing, but a blood lust in their brains.

the darkest of creatures; merciless, insane.
long snarling tails painted black with steel,
necklaces and bracelets made from the skulls of men.
strange markings all over their bodys,
their pale mint skin frightens their prey

Post chase their blood eyes return to grey,
they came down from the heavens at first;
so disgusted by what they saw
 it changed them forever, hunters of the night.
we are the dead ones, we are the lost cause.