I loaded the gods module

Chapter 65 The Black Calamity Poet

Angelo lay exhausted on the dusty wooden bed. The bard was pale and pressed his shawl tightly, looking very weak.

It's a cramped space here.

The surroundings of the bed are full of rotten tables and chairs, broken wooden barrels, cleaning utensils and other messy sundries, and the old model gas lamp hanging on the wall emits a dim halo.

"There are too many guests in the tavern tonight. This is the only place in the tavern that can vacate seats. You can make do with it."

The burly man with a cigarette leaned against the door frame and sighed: "I never thought that the bard I hired would actually be able to leave his post during work, first yelling, then recklessly knocking over the guest and disappearing... ..."

The middle-aged man with whiskers shook his head: "I've been in the tavern business for so many years, this is the first time I've seen a bard like you, and I have to find you back myself."

"I'm really sorry...Boss Bourne."

Of course Angelo understood how remiss he was as a poet, the young man lowered his head: "I will leave your tavern after tonight..."

"Don't say that, we have already signed a contract, haven't we? You will sing poems and stories in my shop for a month, and at the same time I will provide you with basic food and accommodation."

Boss Bourne smiled: "No matter what, I have to abide by the contract. This is the most basic rule of doing business, isn't it?"

"But my story is empty and boring, not only failed to attract customers, but also brought you trouble..."

"Okay, okay, don't say anything unnecessary, and go to bed early." The middle-aged man waved his hand and closed the door.

The dusty utility room returned to silence, only the patter of autumn rain beating on the roof.

Angelo fell silent.

I...why did I become like this...

He was the best bard ever.

During the long years, Angelo has traveled to countless countries, he has seen too many magnificent stories, and he has recorded too many magnificent and tragic histories.

People were overwhelmed by Angelo's story, and people cheered for Angelo's story.

But up to now, only the extremely boring narrative and his crazy state are left in the bard's mouth.

When did he become like this?
he does not know.

And the only fact that Angelo knew was that the historical story he told... had been polluted.

In the final impression, the people who were engrossed in listening to the epic described by the bard seemed to follow the poet's story into the long river of history.

But at the end of the story, all the people died, and the appearance of their deaths...was horrible.

They melted in Angelo's story...

Only the intact eyeballs fell to the ground one by one, silently staring at the crazy poet who was laughing wildly.

Since then, the legend of the 'black calamity poet' has spread, and the bard itself has become an ominous and treacherous thriller.

"No...no...I can't tell any more stories...I can't go on being a bard!"

In the sudden memory, the young man came to his senses again, and Angelo's eyes froze: "Why do I forget this again and again?"

The black shawl fell off at some point.

"Because telling the greatness of the starry sky is your bounden duty... Have you forgotten your duty? Dragon?"

The slender and knife-scarred eyes on the poet's neck whispered softly: "You are destined to sing praises to the starry sky...you are destined to become messengers of madness..."

"No! No! I am a historical record officer conceived in the abyss... The dragon's vocation has always been to record the past of the world, not to describe and praise the damn starry sky!"

The bard's pupils turned into crimson vertical pupils again, and Angelo knelt down on the ground, covering his face in pain, some kind of crazy force was eroding his thoughts.

"Is it is it?"

The eyes are laughing, the eyes are laughing wildly: "Then come in, come in! Let us walk into the stories and history recorded by you!"

"Sooner or later you will understand... the duties of the dragon are meaningless. One day, you will return to your gluttonous and disorderly nature..."

"This world—only the stars can witness everything!"

At this moment, the gas wall lamp in the utility room flickered frantically, and the dim orange light turned into densely packed shining stars!

The bard still covered his face with his hands, kneeling on the ground in pain, but Angelo's shadow changed in the twinkling starlight.

The huge shadow wings suddenly expanded!
Those huge shadow wings even broke free from the shackles of all the walls, and stretched out unscrupulously.

At this moment, the tavern and the areas on both sides of it were completely shrouded in shadows that engulfed the lights.

If the steam airship in the center of the city hadn't fallen, people standing on it could see the pair of pure black shadows covering almost half of the city.

The dragon from the abyss spread its wings.

The small utility room has been completely swallowed up by Angelo's shadow, turning into a seemingly endless black space, with dots of starlight flying around the bard.

At some point, Angelo appeared in front of a huge book that was extremely thick and nearly as tall as a person.

That was the gathering of all the history recorded on Angelo's wings over the long years.

The white mist filled the air, as if a faintly visible door was outlined behind the books.

The poet gasped weakly, and he saw the cover of the book being flipped open by the starlight.

The first thing that caught the bard's eyes was a line of words that he was very familiar with.

'Don't look at your wings!History has been polluted by stars! '

'Don't go into history!Don't go into history! '

'Don't walk through the fog! '

'Don't come to the king's banquet! '

'Stop!stop!stop! '

'Stop browsing history immediately!You will kill everyone around you! '

That was Angelo's own handwriting.

"Shit... damn..."

The bard staggered and struggled forward, trying to close the pages of the book, but at the next moment, Angelo saw that every word he wrote turned into an illusory eye.

They lined up on the surface of the paper, sending out a sharp and piercing scream!

The poet's figure swayed in this sudden crazy impact.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!!" He covered his ears, but it didn't help. Angelo only felt that his soul was completely immersed in the sticky mud, and he couldn't break free.

He lay on the ground in embarrassment, curled up with his head in his arms, as if he was struggling with something.

But soon, the bard's expression was no longer so painful...

A strange smile hung on his face.

"I... I forgot something... By the way... I remembered..."

Angelo muttered something and got up from the ground: "I'm about to sort out the history I've recorded over the years..."

With a half-mad smile on his face, the bard stepped into the mists of history.

(End of this chapter)