HATHEG KLA
DREAMING OF ATLANTEAN SPIRES
All witches fly to me... I have torn the veil of dreams, Enraptured by (the gleam of) moon-frost's caress, My heart is held in icy thrall, The horned moon's sweet enchantment, The Topaz Throne is beckoning, The jewelled sword awaits my grasp, The dreaming gods now grimly brood in The silence of Atlantean spires. The sky is black with chaos-fiends, Spellcraft rides with witch-storm's wings, Beneath the vaults of time-lost tombs, Sorcerers summon the Shadow-Kings. All witches fly to me! Witch of heather, moor and sea, Come lay with me as twilight falls, Grant me the black Elven sword And the draught of immortality, The scent of night about your flesh, Enfold me in this mist of lace, Your lips grow red by candlelight, My beloved is raven-tressed. The sky is black with chaos-fiends, Spellcraft rides the witch-storm's wings, Beneath the vaults of time-lost tombs, Sorcerers summon the Shadow-Kings. And now the blossoms fade, Lost within your dark eyes (I drown within those ebon eyes) The sweetest tears I taste (glistening upon your lips), This ichor of your kisses... Weave thy dark spells, 'neath the bright moon, Witch-fire is glimmering through Sunken marble halls. The Black Gate opens... Blood sates the Ebon Blade... (lyrics: Byron, Music: Chris & Jonny) SPELLCRAFT & MOONFIRE (BEYOND THE CITADEL OF FROSTS)
Black stone summoning the eternal power of the winter moon... Fen-witch revel in ancient spellcraft, Beneath a horned and waning moon Enchantress, heather-bride a' dreaming, The beckoning gloom enthralls me, The Lord of Wolves haunts the forest, In brooding winter's icy rapture, Hoarfrost glimmers 'neath the moon, Sorcery opens fiend-haunted pathways before me. Black Stone summoning the eternal power of the winter moon... Enthralled by the evil lotus-dreams, Witches' eyes agleam with candle-flame, Nine Elven stones beneath the waves, Whispered spells in serpent-tongues, Gleaming sword in ice enshrined, Chaos-Throne witch-fire entwined, Marsh grasses swaying 'neath the moon, Dark spellcraft summons the Black Gate before me... Icy waters whispering, Tower of Silence hides the shadow-key, Ember-trees haunt my fevered dreams, Moon-Bride, sing thine dark enchantment. The moonless abysses of mid-earth, Black basaltic halls of night, Ghoul-plagued darkness, vale of fiends, Amorphous leige bloats and breeds. Elder shadows writhing before the silvern gate of eternal winter, Dark shapes entwine the mist-veiled cromlech, Dynig torchlight gleams on silent black waters, Fen-wolves sing to the gibbous moon... Arise from dreams, shape-shifting fiends, Dance madly 'neath the moon, To the pipes of bone, anoint the (witches') stone, Beneath the ancient tomb. (lyrics: Byron, Music: Jonny & Chris) A BLACK MOON BROODS OVER LEUMRIA
Dark baleful shades astride the mystic heath, Old land's enchantments, wolf-eyes agleam, The moon slips 'neath the darkening sea, The trees sing enthralling chants as the old gods dream... As a black moon broods over Lemuria, Ebon witchfire enshrouds the gleaming citadels, Sinistrous shadows rise from the vaults of the dreaming elder gods, Ophidian eyes glimmer through the icy whispering moon-mist... Shimmers of black in the massing dark, Moon-frost glistens upon my tongue, The wraiths have gathered beneath the oak, My soul encased in antediluvian steel, The shades of pallid night descend, To the ride the slime-flecked jewelled halls, Enshrined in ice and witches' spells, And silence falls on the marble walls. By the eldritch glow of black moonfire, The forst-shrouded trees whisper of silent paths, Brooding shades rise forth from the night-dark sea, A black tide of fiends erupts from the ebon gate. Shimmers of black in the massing dark, Moon-frost glistens upon my tongue, The wraiths have gathered beneath the oak, My soul encased in antediluvian steel, The shades of pallid night descend, To ride the slime-flecked jewelled halls, Enshrined in ice and witches' spells, And silence falls on the marble walls. Winter moonlight gleams through crooked boughs, The icy caress of night entwines the eon-veiled Obsidian Tower, The whisperings of ancient tongues are borne upon the winds, Dark time-lost spells hold the key to the frost veiled Gate of the Black Moon... And in the dark ethereal mists of winter dreams, The ebon waters of enlightment gleam 'neath the black moon, And the Valley of the Silent Paths beckons... Slumbering upon the throne of moon-caressed ice, I have supped deep the draught of white vapours, Shimmering upon the gleaming garlanded marble, A single strand of glimmering gossamer... Beneath the vaults of shadow-haunted tombs, I see the fire that burns like the black heart of night. In brooding and sombre visions I hear cries, Enthralling cries 'neath the frost moon rising I hear the slithering of forces that seethe serpentine in black guffs, In the dark and silent places... The whisperer in crystal speaks in dreams, Of silken shadows, and the softest breath of dark enchantment. Of ancient cyclopean temples, raising jewelled spires to the stars. The is witchcraft in the moon, And brooding silence reigns over the woods. My storm-forged sword (stained with the blood of a thousand slain foes), Ensorcelled by eon-veiled incantations. Dark wizzards' spells entwine me in ravening shackles, And black roses draw my blood with thorns as sharp as serpent's tooth... I fall into the rapturous embrace of sloe-eyed witches, The moon gleaming upon their ivory bosoms, And descend into the still, icy waters of the lakes. Beyond the veil of North-Winds, I await the emissaries of the tyrant, The wind whispering across the everlasting snows... My slumber is as light as a wolf's. Serpents coil entempled ramparts Of sunken jewelled cities, Wolves of winter's moon are roaming The temples of the heather gods. Great worm whose tail rests in its mouth, The circle-without-end burns bright, Brood o'er the far night's distant vale, And shifting heather hills wandering light. Like snow that falls on the sea, Like smoke that rides upon the breeze, Like hoarfrost that melts before the sun, Now silence broods over Lemuria... Shimmers of black in the massing dark, Moon-frost glistens upon my tongue, The wraiths have gathered beneath the oak, My soul encased in antediluvian steel, The shades of pallid night descend, To ride the slime-flecked jewelled halls, Enshrined in ice and witches' spells, And silence falls on the marble walls. "R'acan Ahalgana chamiabac ahalmez ahatocob tocapa chiamiaholom ahchami." As a black moon broods over Lemuria. (Lyrics: Byron, Music: Jonny) ENTHRONED IN THE TEMPLE OF THE SERPENT KINGS
Ancient cromlech carved of ice, Etched against a glimmering sky, Beneath the pale moonlight, the witch enthralling, (like the sublime) scent of black lotus, Ahiling a black sun with ebon rays, Hailing a black moon as onyx agleam, The dark horn sounds 'cross the nighted vale, Shadows call in this bleak winter's dream. I seize the throne round Dagon's stone, Dark hordes arise 'neath winter skies, Forged 'neath the moon, by Skulthur's tomb, Blood-oath sealed, by frost-veiled steel. White flames dancing on the snow, The witch-fire gleams through Northern skies, The frost of heather upon her tongue, Whispering dreams of Atlantean spires, Ruby lipped, midnight tressed, eyes as black as raven's wing, Flesh so pale as dawn-frost gleaming, Kisses sweet like moon-dew's tears. Deep within the glacial ice-veiled temple, Ancient enchantments Summon the shades of the dreaming Serpent Kings... And the Ophidian Throne once again draws Power from the moon-shrouded crystal... Mystic steel is anointed by the crimson wine of battle, And blood reddens the gleaming snow. Storm-borne bride of winter's fire, Serpent-witch of the whispering fens, Veils of scarlet and sable, Blood spilled in the vault of night, Frost-garlanded, the mind-binding glimmer Of tear-filled ophidian eyes, The gleam of winter moonlight upon black waters, Nighted spells of the enchantress. Scourge of Angsaar, wielder of the Black Sword, Immortal Lord of Darkmere, Serpent-Witch ensorcle me. Black Sun... Black Moon! (Lyrics: Byron, Music: Chris & Jonny) SHADOWS 'NEATH THE BLACK PYRAMID
I hearken to the grisly murmer of nameless fiends, Black jaws drooling blasphemy, Beyond the witch-song, darkly sweet, The wyrm-horn sounds cross Dagon's mere, Shadow-gate (portal to the Black Pyramid) yawns wide, beckoning... Spells scrawled in blood and frosty rime, Squamous god encoils the onyx shrine, (by the bleeding stone) I am enraptured by ophidian eyes. Pungent odour of engorged flesh, Vaults of eon-veiled horror, Embraced by delerium, witches' balms anoint me. Veils of frost entwine me in the haze of baleful moon-cursed dreams, I hear the High Ones whispering ancient spells in the long-dead tongues, There is the gleam of blackened steel in the flickering torchlight, And I embrace the balm of sublime forgetfulness... By the blaze of the burning skulls, Beneath the Well of the Black Flame, In the vaults of the dreaming gods, Shackled to the slime-smeared bleeding stone. Squamous orbs, black sword, drink deep, blood oath. Supine shapes dancing in the mist, (Serpent-tongued) priestess bares her pale flesh, Shadows crawl to the sundered stones, The Eternal Fiends exult in rapture. Tomb-worms bloat on carnal blood, Trickling onto wraith-carved stone, Dark laughter echoes through the vaults, Black-winged, cruel as envenomed steel. In the Well of Black Flame, squamous shapes writhe, A dark tide of shadows follows me, Ravening fiends unleashed to feed, Incantations pour in torrents from my lips... Wraiths and fiends whirl to my bidding... Horrors 'neath the pyramid. (Lyrics: Byron, Music: Jonny & Chris) WITCH-STORM
Silvern skull, sable shroud, ebon tower, onyx crown. Witchfire, black citadel, frost-shrouded steel, moon-veiled spell. The skyqueen of the dead rides forth, black storm-borne steeds, (their flanks anointed by) immortal blood, Hark to the striking of the winds, the moon burns black as slaughter reigns. Witch-Storm! Bright fires agleam through winter's night, Dark spells whispered on the winds, The trees enrob'd in veils of frost, Moonfire entwines the Eye of Khthon. From the moon-swathed depths of winter-mists, Enchantress, she-who-walks-the-night-alone, Sloe-eyed shape-shifting sucubus, Silken veils and slime-smeared flesh. Witch-storm! Storm-Witch, hearken this night, Hone this black blade with sorcery, Battle-spells annoint my flesh, Let blood and steel be my glory. Elder tongues encarved in sinistrous slime-flecked stone, The Obsidian Tower broods 'neath the moon, Winged fiends descend from storm-wrought skies, Black Ring, key to the Shadow Gate, aglow with eldritch spells. Forged in witchfire, envenomed steel, Ensorcelled blade, blood-ravening, Ebon demon's tooth, the bane of Kings, Red rain of slaughter, prow of blood. WITCH-STORM! (Lyrics: Byron, Music: Chris & Jonny) THE RAVENING
Black Legions ravening for blood, Dark Lords hearken to my call, Warriors rise forth from the earth, Battle-spells empower me, The Throne of Kings, the summoning, Marble halls sunk 'neath the waves, Storm-wolves a prowl (beneath) the ebon moon, Immortal hordes, pledge me thine steel! The clarion call of battle sounds, Iron gleams in baleful flame, Slaughter shines from misted eyes, Storm-forged blade drink deep. Stench of carnage fires my blood, My bride of steel sings in my hand, Corpse-mounds piled to touch the sky, Black fury enshroud me! Bleed for the gods of war! Flesh to sate the worms! By this sword I rule! Dreadful fall of slaughter, Raw scent of fresh-spilled blood, Crimson rain falls from the sky, Ravens ride the storm. Black cloud of arrows, red storm of swords, Dark wave of carnage... slaughterfall! By blood and steel I rule! (Lyrics: Byron, Music: Jonny & Chris) INTO THE SILENT CHAMBERS OF THE SAPPHIREAN THRONE
(Sagas from the antediluvian Scrolls) Black winds whispering 'cross the fens, In eldritch coils (jewelled and gleaming) spires entwined Enraptured by the moon's sweet spells, 'gainst the skies of (Bleak and brooding) winter blackly etched. The Topaz Throne of Kings is crack'd, eon'veiled, enrob'd in black, Ensorcelled blade glimmers sunset's fire, saga-spinner, take up thy lyre. "Thus spake the silent halls of Valusia..." Curses borne on vampyre tongues, Elder-fiends, o' nameless ones, Torches glow in silver cressets, In the Temple of the Serpent, Waves enshroud where marble gleamed, Spectral witch-song rides the gale, Black wings above the land of dreams, And silence haunts the nighted vale. Winged dragon coiled in thrice, Bane of flame in shadowed ice, Flooded by the bloated moon, The ivory worm now sleeps entombed. Ten thousand spear-points gleaming bright, Sharp-honed steel in pale dawn's light, Grim-eyed legions wait brooding, 'neath the banner of the Serpent-King. Winged dragon coiled in thrice, Bane of flame in shadowed ice, Flooded by the horned moon, Awake o' worm and quit thy tomb. "Thus spake the silent halls of Valusia..." The Atlantean sword beckons me, And I descend from moon-shrouded skies Into the Tower of the Black Serpent... Tales are told to me now in dreams, Shadowed lyre strings, And sweet whisperings... The grim and glorious battles of warrior kings, (When the earth ran red with the blood of the slain), And the shining realm of Valusia... Carried upon the sweet night winds, Piercing the veil of my delirium, I embrace the rapturous scent of black lotus. (I hear the lament of the Immortals...) "Ka nama kaa lajerama, Yagkoolan yok tha xuthalla!" And lo, I hear the beat of black leathern wings from moonless gulfs, Dark spirits wander the silent halls of the Sapphirean Throne, And in dreams I see the oceans rise to devour the gleaming spires, As the shades of immortals guide me to the Valley of Silent Paths... Black winds whispering 'cross the fens, In eldritch coils (jewelled and gleaming) spires entwined, Enraptured by the moon's sweet spells, 'gainst the skies of (bleak and brooding) winter blackly etched. The topaz throne of kings is crack'd, eon'veiled enrob'd in black, Ensorcelled blade glimmers sunset's fire, Saga-spinner, take up thy lyre. Thus spake the Antediluvean Scrolls. (Lyrics: Byron, Music: Jonny) VALLEY OF SILENT PATHS
BLACK DRAGONS SOAR ABOVE THE MOUNTAIN OF SHADOWS (Prologue)
The Watcher in Stone: ...And I stand enthralled and silent atop the ancient, shadowed mountain, gazing in awe at the stygian, night-cloaked sky, as above me a wondrous flight of ebon dragons soar on vast wings blacker than the darkling heavens... Mayhap I behold the personal war-dragons of none other than the mysterious and legendary Ophidian King himself, majestically riding the night winds to the glorious field of some great and epic battle... By the gods, a more fearsomely splendid sight in this world there cannot be! Lyrics: Byron Music: Jonny MaudlingTO DETHRONE THE WITCH-QUEEN OF MYTOS K'UNN (THE LEGEND OF THE BATTLE OF BLACKHELM VALE)
The Chronicles of War: The vast armies of Mytos K'unn, marshalled by a sorceress of great power known as Zyrashana the Witch-Queen, had been cutting a swath through the Eastern Kingdoms since high summer the preceding year. Empowering her troops with great sorceries, she had seen all opposition fall before the ravening swords of her forces since the first bloody campaign; the invasion of the ancient and noble realm of Delania. The aftermath of the final battle had seen the systematic slaughter of the Delanian royal family, and the torture and execution of all those who had been loyal to their banner. During the ensuing months, more kingdoms and satrapies toppled before the might of Zyrashana's legions, commanded by the fearsome and unswervingly loyal battle-lord Talus Ebonfyre, a man of sublime brutality whom many beleived to be possessed by a demon-spirit from the dark realms. Emboldened by their victories and the expansion of their queen's dark dominion, the hordes of Mytos K'unn began the incursion into the lands of the Northern Tribes, beginning with the grim and brooding territories south of the Snow Kingdoms... the rugged homelands of the warlike clans which had been recently united into a strong realm by the powerful warrior-king Caylen-Tor, a man known to his allies and enemies alike as the Wolf of the North. Thinking the barbaric tribesmen little threat, the Witch-Queen intends a largely unopposed march throught their lands to strike at the wealthy and fertile realms beyond the Mountain Kingdoms to the west... but Caylen-Tor has vowed that a searing torrent of blood and steel shall meet all those who deign to enter unwelcome or drive their standard unbidden into his land... As grim winter slowly yields to spring, the armies of Mytos K'unn begin their march northwards, and news of the advance of the Witch-Queen's forces into Blackhelm Vale, the valley known for centuries as the Gate to the Northlands, soon reaches the highland stronghold of Caylen-Tor. Grimly taking up his sword and spear and donning the woad of war, he vows that Zyrashana shall pay in blood for every league she has dared venture in his sacred lands. Scouts soon return with the information that the enemy is camped at the base of the valley, preparing to march with th dawn. The court shamans forsee rivers of blood and untold carnage, and great battlespells are woven as Caylen-Tor leads his vastly outnumbered Northlander warriors to the misty, moon-swathed expanse that is Blackhelm Vale. Legends say that the blood of many kings has been spilled on the dark earth of the valley over the generations, and Caylen-Tor promises to his grim gods that the earth will once again drink deep this night. With his army silent and brooding beneath the moon, he knows that whatever the outcome, this night shall see a legend of war written in blood and the deaths of men... a legend none shall soon forget... The War Testament of Caylen-Tor (On the Night of the Bloodying of Swords): O' grim gods of battle, empower us this night... Anoint us with the crimson rain, feed our steel with slaughter... Let every blow be a killing blow, grant us victory, or a warrior's death. Come, moon-fogs, Descend to cloak our numbers, the heady scent of battle beckons, My ash-hafted spear feels good in my hands, girt 'round with spells (our flesh gloriously) woad anointed, Ravens awaiting slaughter soar high above, blood-worms bloat on red carnage, I'll carve the moon-wheel in their flesh, as havoc churns the heather! A swirling mantle of mist-magic swathes us, powerful spells woven by the fen-witches of the great mere... Deep night and moon-mist shall be our allies as we surge into the fray! At my bidding, the fog clears for a brief moment, and I gaze down upon the valley to behold the army of the Witch-Queen... great tents arrayed upon the heather, powerful steeds tethered, the light from countless burning brands illumining the night, many warriors standing, weapons in hand... aye, all sword fodder. Entwined in war-fogs... Entwined by war-spells... Blessed in blood as raven-saters, slake the thirst of steel burning bright, Reap the harvest of spilled entrails, we'll return with many heads this night. The death-ravening black fury fills me, The spatter of hot blood seet on my lips, This yard of steel sings a deadly song in my grasp! Cleaving bodies left and right, a head falls with each swing of my blade, A storm of shafts screaming form yew-bows, (through their armoured ranks we shall) carve a path with steel, a blood-drenched swath! And the thirst of the earth shall be slaked with blood at the fields of carnage... A staggering sea of crimson, a towering mountain of ravaged flesh, All enraptured by the searing kiss of steel, All surfeit from supping deep of the grim chalice of battle... Brooding gods of the north, display to these outlander thralls thine ire, Envenom our blades with the death-kiss of a thousand serpents, Unfetter the dread war-wolves within us, That their claws may rend, and their jaws may be reddened. The bloodying is at hand! My spear hammers into the chest of a warrior, and bright blood erupts from his lips as he falls to the heather. I turn aside a vicious swordthrust and my own blade snakes out to cleave the neck of the attacker, shearing through his veins in a shower of dark red. An enemy blade opens my shoulder to the bone, but I sweep my axe out in a deadly arc, its iron head rending armour and biting deep into flesh. Talus Ebonfyre's abdomen yawns open and he staggers back as his intestines spew forth in a pulsing mass. I sunder his head with another blow as he falls and his skull yields to spill its steaming contents to the earth. As I watch, a writhing, shadowy form rises from the smitten corpse of the Witch-Queen's warlord and flees howling into the night... I vault to the saddle of a riderless black war-horse and seize the banner of Mytos-K'unn... for every one of us that has fallen, we have taken five of the enemy screaming with us... the battle is ours! Bright moon, gleam o'er moor and heather, wood and vale, deep fen and lake, Grim mountains crowned with snows, great rings of stones, black 'neath the stars, The storms extol our ancient glory, great mounds feed us, power from the sacred earth. With faith and steel we walk our shadowed paths, our blood runs as fire, swords blessed by sorcery. Wolves of the north, raise thine steel to the skies, revel in the pride of your wounds, Let our victory-song ride the winds of this blood-gorged eve, For on this night of red swords we have wrought a legend, Forged in the fires of our rage, and tempered with the spilled blood of the slain... O' grim gods of battle, empower us this night and always, Anoint us with the crimson rain, forever feed our steel with slaughter... Let every blow be a killing blow, grant us eternal victory, 'til we die a warrior's death. And so did Caylen-Tor turn the armies of Mytos K'unn back from the frontiers of his northern kingdom. Those enemy soldiers who fled the field as the mist lifted and their banner fell, are hunted down and brought to their knees before the king. Summoning a surviving warrior Mytos K'unn, Caylen-Tor gives unto him two gifts with which to return to his queen; one is the fallen, sundered banner of Mytos K'unn, the other is the cloven head of Talus Ebonfyre. The king's words ring out over the blood-drenched moor: "Take this message back to your queen... if ever again she deigns to strike against my people, the slaughter this night will seem as naught compared to the havoc I shall visit upon her then." When news of the defeat and the fearsome message of Caylen-Tor reached Mytos K'unn, Zyrashana's spells of regal dominance waned, and her many courtiers and councillors, liberated from the imposition of subservience, plotted against their queen, 'til soon she was driven from the great royal palace by her own elite guard, her throne seized by an ambitious baron who had won the favour of the nobles and mages of the realm. Evading inprisonment and surviving only by her mastery of spellcraft, Zyrashana fled to the satrapies of the east, and nothing more was seen or heard of her for some considerable time... Lyrics: Byron Music: Jonny Maudling
AS THE VORTEX ILLUMINES THE CRYSTALLINE WALLS OF KOR-AVUL-THAA
Kor-Avul-Thaa... finest jewel in the crown of a realm of sublime glory, greatest city in the Middle Kingdoms, mayhap all the world... Its splendid walls of shimmering crystal could be seen from a hundred leagues distant, kissed by the golden rays of the sun, or caressed by the ethereal fingers of a midnight moon. Its magnificent spires and citadels, built by generations of kings from the resplendent gifts hewn from the ancient bosom of the sacred Crystal Mountains, had oft' times been the bitter envy of rival emperors, and many were the sieges which Kor-Avul-Thaa had withstood and repulsed over the centuries, for powerful sorcerers did weave great spells of protection about the dazzling towers, and none may have passed unbidden through the vast sapphirean gates of mighty Kor-Avul-Thaa... From the Journals of Sage Daelun The Oracle of Kor-Avul-Thaa: The sky rent asunder... black-winged devils surge forth from the void... A maelstrom of crimson fire burns above us... what carnage has thou wrought? Not sword, ballistae, nor burning brand Could e'er these walls aspire to breach, Yet now the city's fall is nigh, As elder rites black fiends unleash. High Lord of the Brotherhood of Dark Elucidation (Keepers of the Forbidden Books of the First Cataclysm): By Klatrymadon and Zuranthus, such ancient secrets we discovered within these sinistrous, worm-worn pages, Etched with darksome glyphs and sigils, bound with fearsome spells, An eldritch tide of stygian sorceries unfettered by the forbidden Tome of Shadows... Now thunderous cataclysm befalls the gleaming Kor-Avul-Thaa (The mystic gate stands open!) The Xytaxehedron held to the stars... the incantation uttered with eager tongues... (What long-shackled powers of the elder dark have our conjurings loosed?) By Klatrymadon and Zuranthus, the vortex blackens the stars above, A vast plague of amorphous horrors descends to rend with fang and talon, (As with torrents of blood the crystalline walls run red?) And in the glooming chambers of our shadowed sanctum, we wait, half-mad with terror, To reap the slaughterous harvest which we have sown... The Chronicler of the Cataclysm: And beyond the vortex, the churning black waters of the void did disgorge the Dwellers in Eternal Shadow, And upon a horde of winged horrors, brandishing swords of ebon flame, they rode out from the Gate... And a terrible silence fell upon Kor-Avul-Thaa... The Echoes of the Oracle: The sky rent asunder, black winged devils surge forth from the void... A maelstrom of crimson fire burns above us... what carnage has thou wrought? The Chronicler of the Cataclysm: The Chronicles of Time speak of only two other instances when the sky did split wide and bleed forth such a torrent of horror as that which assailed Kor-Avul-Thaa... One of those times was the fateful eve when the moon burned black over ancient Lemuria, as a legion of ravening fiends emerged from the Outer Darkness to visit catastrophe upon that realm... And the other... the other manifestation of such a staggering cosmic evil is recorded only in the ancient Scrolls of the Third Circle, a dark collection of terrifying blasphemies which was believed to have been burned by the Order of Kl'aa at roughly the same time as the first Tome of Shadows was discovered deep within the Black Pyramid... These scrolls speak disturbingly of visitations to our earth by creatures from a terrible place known as the Black Galaxy... creatures which were able to span the vast expanses of time and space separating our world from theirs in their great dark chariots, bringing pestilence and carnage whenever they set foot upon the earth... And yet, the scrolls also speak of the Others, known by some ancient, long-dead tribes as the Travelling Ones... beings who did stand against the denizens of the Black Galaxy and wage war with them across the nighted void. It is said that the Travelling Ones sailed the star-seas in huge silvern spheres ringed with a myriad pulsing lights, and that in a great battle they drove their shadowy foes back to the Black Galaxy... but at a great cost... The Travelling Ones were drained of their cosmic powers and cast into a deep slumber, and some say that they remain here still, hidden in mysterious, secret places, awaiting the time of their reawakening. It was ascertained by those mages who found the Tome of Shadows that certain gateways existed linking our world and the Black Galaxy, just as maps carved into the stone walls of ancient tombs displayed the pathway to the terrifying realm through the eternal blackness of the void... and within the sinister pages of the dread book were the arcane keys... the rites to open wide these gates and give the dark wanderers beyond the freedom to roam the earth once again... And the darkling lords did descend upon Kor-Avul-Thaa to claim their splendid prize, and enthrone themselves within the glittering walls... The Echoes of the Oracle: Not sword, ballistae, nor burning brand Could e'er these walls aspire to breach, Yet now the city's fall is nigh, As elder rites black fiends unleash... The Brotherhood: By Klatrymadon and Zuranthus, in Kor-Avuk-Thaa, darkness reigns eternal... Nevermore shall the city glimmer, for now the crystalline walls gleam black... Ever black... And so it was that the bedazzling and splendid Kor-Avul-Thaa did become the City of Shadows, a sinister fortress of elder fiends and fearsome beasts, unleashed by the meddlings of mortals aspiring to dark thresholds of forbidden knowledge and arcane power, a nightmare city shunned and feared by all. And not since the sinking of Atlantis was the fall of a realm so sorely lamented... From the Journals of Sage Daelun Lyrics: Byron Music: Jonny and Chris Maudling
STARFIRE BURNING UPON THE ICE-VEILED THRONE OF ULTIMA THULE
Spears agleam in the dying sun, The blood is spilled, the battle's won, From the icy throne of God-King shall rule, When nine stars kiss the moon o'er Ultima Thule. (Old Northlander war-song, found in the ancient scrolls of Volmyr) The Final Part of Voryn Helmsmiter's Journey to the Ice Realm: Blood drips from my frost-encased sword, forming a crimson blossom upon the ice... My limbs cold, becoming as one with the massing snows... my eyes nearly frozen closed. For how long had we travelled? The memory grows dim, lost in the cruel, searing storm-winds. And now, at last... our quest is at an end. With the blessings of the elders we began our journey beyond the great veil of shadowed glaciers... They spoke of a prophecy foretold, an ancient and glorious legacy, A quest for the realm of legendry lost to man since before even the Star-Lords descended... Now, only I survive, my blood spilling to the ice, turning to crimson crystal upon the deeply frozen earth. Elder sorcery crackles and hums all about me, coursing through the sky, the snow... As grim destiny approaches with the freezing boreal gales and this ancient prophecy unfolds... Predication of the Elders: Go, follow the witch-lights in the northern night sky, beyond the great silvern mountains... Let the sacred moon-crystal be your guide, beware the sentinels at the Caverns of Eternal Mist... Spears agleam in the dying sun, The blood is spilled, the battle's won, From the icy throne of God-King shall rule, When nine stars kiss the moon o'er Ultima Thule. Swathed in moon-frosts, in icy winds our blazon flying, Iron gleaming 'neath the stars, black skies ablaze with astral fire, White wolves (like silent spirits) haunt us, ever northwards, the ice-gem leads us, glimmering, Powerful spells entwine the shrine of legendry, mighty gates of frozen splendour looming, When the moon and stars shine as one upon the snows, the ancient ice-gate opens, the prophecy is fulfilled! Towering, ice-encrusted forms lumber forth from the freezing mist, (Their eyes shimmering with a fiendish, eldritch malevolance...) Our steel is raised against their weapons of gleaming crystal, And the virgin snow is rendered crimson by bloodshed in a searing storm of slaughter. (Wounded, dying, my flesh rent by weapons no human ever forged or wielded, I am beckoned forward by a strange, alluring force from beyond the veil of swirling mists...) Shadows, images form in the glittering rune-carved walls of this glacial chamber, Secrets frozen within the timeless vaults of eternity... The throne of the time-lost ice realm, entwined in the mantle of such searing star-born power... This frozen, aeon-cloaked seat of immortal majesty... (of an empire forged long before the vast seas rose in devouring fury!) What shimmering swords raised in combat once sang with the glorious clamour of steel on steel? What splendid banners, billowing in the icy gales, once heralded the march of these invincible silverclad legions to the blood-swathed embrace of epic battle? The glory of untold thousands of years past... this ethereal legacy of mighty Ultima Thule. The frozen eyes of immortal kings watch me... such a dark splendour! The Guardian of Ice and Shadow: The grim Ice-Gods sleep in these frost-bound tombs, illumined by the caress of lunar fire, And the kiss of star-gleam from the stygian void... All is now as was foretold in prophecy, written in the very ether of empyreal eternity... The celestial alignment is night... the conjunction is at hand! And nine stars illumine the northern heavens, a vast cosmic sigil with the silvern moon at its centre... Blazing argent light fills the chamber, engulfing the hewn walls of elder ice, These ancient carvings in a time-veiled tongue, (etched into the primeval ice countless aeons ago, now bathed in diaphonous incandescence by this storm of lucent stellar power, their mindsearing meaning at last becomes known to me...) their cosmic secrets unfold... The ice-throne is encased by a shimmering wall of writhing cerulean flame, A lambent flame far colder than the frozen surface upon which it dances... And then, enlightenment comes, gleaming down upon my consciousness as the bright moon gazes down upon this auroral vista... From my mind is lifted an obscuring veil, a veil induced by sorcerous arts, and I realize I have been merely a vassal of another's twisted will, a pawn in a game which is entwined in treachery and malign aspirations to thresholds of great power. Such a traitorous web has been spun! The elders of my kingdom bow in obeisance to the vile priests of Xothan'kur, and it is their diseased machinations which have urged me here, to the very heart of the far-fabled ice realm... for they seek to usurp the power of the Conjunction, stealing the vast energies of the Ice-Veiled throne and absorbing them into their own leprous, undead bodies, perpetuating the adoration of their abhorrent liege for countless ages, liberating his vile will and enslaving the realms of the world... Aye, for generations they have plotted their actions, and I was the key to this plot, chosen from birth for this fated journey... for the blood of the ancient kings of Ultima Thule runs strong in my veins, and only once in every aeon may one such as I stand before the throne during the great cosmic alignment, when the sorceries of the ancient Ice-Gods are at their peak, and rightfully wield this power unleashed... And yet I vow that the vile minions of Xothan'kur shall not prevail... Liberating the fettered power of the moon-crystal, I sever the tendrils of their dark conjurings, and their aspirations are at an end, their spells broken by the very power which they sought to usurp! The final vestiges of mortal life flee my body in crimson gouts, and at last I realize what the fates have spun for me, and what is carved in the very ice all about me... My destiny is at hand... The Herald of Enlightenment: And so, enrob'd by tendrils of starfire and the raiments of lunar mist, The immortal liege whose sceptred empire is eternity, Sits enthroned and brooding over his dark realm once more. The last of my life's blood spills to the ice, (as star-wrought destiny is at last fulfilled.) Swathed in freezing flame... The mystic wolves of the frost-moon (slowly, silently) encircle me, Their eyes are blazing azure, and their fur is whiter than the sublime snows. Such power! I am the Chosen... the secrets of the earth and the stars are unlocked before me... I am destined to reign forever... to reign from the Ice-Veiled Throne of Ultima Thule! Lyrics: Byron Music: Chris and Jonny Maudling
JOURNEY TO THE ISLE OF MISTS (OVER THE MOONLESS DEPTHS OF NIGHT-DARK SEAS)
The Log of the Northern Mariner: The great serpent-prow of my ship, Wave-Render, cleaves the nighted waters as we voyage across this dark, icy sea, towards the unknown... Above, the bright winter's moon emerges a veil of cloud to cast its lucent rays upon us, and a clinging, supine sea-mist writhes upon the midnight waves, swirled by the cool, whispering wind which catches our great sail, pushing us onwards, ever onwards... And beyond the tang of the darkling sea, the scent of night is as strong and heady as a summer blossom. I know not what awaits us at the elder Isle of Mists... that grim and mystery-haunted place which beckons me to its shadowed embrace, swathed in dark legendry and entwined in the mantle of ancient sorceries... and yet I must hearken to its ethereal call... for mayhap the gods decreed this to be my final voyage... Lyrics: Byron Music: Jonny Maudling
THE SPLENDOUR OF A THOUSAND SWORDS GLEAMING BENEATH THE BLAZON OF THE HYPERBOREAN EMPIRE
ALTARUS: Gaze deep into the mists with your spirit-eyes, Xerxes... look far, and tell me what you see. XERXES: I see a land far to the north... a vast empire of dark endless moors and snow-crowned mountains... a land of brooding citadels and warrior-kings who hail to grim gods. ALTARUS: Look well, Xerxes, for enlightenment hides within the fog-swathed vales of Hyperborea... The King's Dream: By the onyx sceptre of my forefathers, the air is churning with auguries of dethronement... Impending dread thus prophesized! In a dream I was bade ride the argent-eyed unicorn to the Ring of Stones... There a torrent of viscid slime assailed me, as pipes and horns sang the clarion of my dissolution... And the usurpation of my ancient azure throne. Assassins stalk the nighted halls of my palace... poisoned blades and chalices surround me. I thirsted for a balm, but my thirst was slaked by an envenomed draught. My swordarm shackled by tendrils of sloth... enthralled by the chasmed gloom... Borne upon wings of labyrinthine dread... I awaken! I shall seek the counsel of the sorcerer, keeper of the ancient scrolls of wisdom, and the Crystals of Power... The Words of the Sorcerer: My liege, great and regal king... the mists disclose their secrets... you are destined to wield a great dark power. Drink deep of the potions of the apothecary, for upon thee now I bestow a shard of the mystic Crystal of Mera... sacred artefact of the Atlantean mages, won in battle by our legions. My liege, the Crystal of Mera shall unveil the truth lurking hidden in thy most fever-haunted dreams... The Voice of the Harbinger: The land awash with spilled blood, and viscera torn forth from the sundered dead... Gorge the earth with flesh darkened with the claw and fang of war... rent open the ravenous maws of worms... The King: The Crystal illumines dark secrets, the truth is known... a dire and ancient threat is ranged against me. Hearken, the clarion is upon the winds, now the call to arms is upon us all, Grim warriors, take up thy spears and hone thy gleaming swords. Archers, string thy bows, brave knights, saddle the steeds of war, The glory of battle is nigh at last, our banner shall fly this day in victory! My warriors, a legacy shall this day be wrought by our blades, decreed by the gods, Blessed by the blood of vanquished foes. Our destiny beckons... Lord Angsaar, Dark Liege of Chaos: Come, great king of Hyperboria, march against me with your splendid legions and shimmering swords. I, the Bane of the Atlantean Kings, the Scourge of Lemuria, Archfoe of the Immortals of Ultima Thule, shall Crush you! I shall visit a thousand plagues upon your realm, and wreak untold havoc and bloody carnage until I have your throne... and your soul! ALTARUS: And thus, flanked by the splendour of azure banners, a vast army marched forth from the great walls of the Imperial City of Hyperborea, and at the forefront of the mighty legions, astride an ebon war-stallion, rode the king, sunlight glinting upon his splendid armour... compelled by dreams, and guided by the Crystal of Mera... XERXES: Where? Where did the king's path take him? ALTARUS: The king was compelled to lead his forces to the shadow-haunted Mountains of the Dead, a grim and brooding place steeped in dark and ancient legendry. Alone he rode into the gaping maw of a huge cave hewn into the side of the tallest mountain countless ages past by unknown hands. For three full days and nights he did not emerge from the cave... until, at last, he rode forth from the eldritch mountain once more, a terrible knowledge shadowed in his icy eyes, and bearing in his gauntleted fist a huge black sword, a magnificent ebon blade which no human blacksmith ever forged. Fearsome sorcerous power crackled within the yard of black steel, dancing upon its searingly honed, glyph-scored blade... and its bejewelled, dragon-carved hilt did whisper arcane secrets to the king in a strange, elder tongue. XERXES: But master, what powers did this blade possess? What secrets did it hold? ALTARUS: Many centuries ago, before even were waged the Great Wars between the ancient kingdoms of Atlantis and Hyperborea, Lord Angsaar did rise from his charnel-tomb and do battle with a powerful immortal warrior-shaman over the possession of the elder Crystals of Mera, mystic gems of unparalleled magical potency. Angsaar, his power swelled by forces from the vast Outer Darkness, did smite his foe to the brink of destruction... but, with his fading sorceries, the immortal mystically transferred his life-essence into his great black sword, and scattered the magic crystals across the galaxy, leaving Angsaar with a hollow victory and forcing him to return once more to his dark Chamber of Slumber. The sword was lost for centuries, as were the crystals, until the one gem to remain on this world was discovered deep beneath the northern seas by an ancient Atlantean wizard. And the sword... legends spoke of how its final resting place would be made known by the sorceries of the last crystal only when the blade's power would once again ne needed to battle the Chaos-liege. This was the immortal's final, most powerful spell... upon the reawakening of Angsaar, the sorcerous energies and undying lifeforce encased within the blade would be transferred to its wielder... aye, the one who discovered the Shadow-Sword would be imbued with the power of the immortal, and by the art of elder spellcraft, he would do battle with his ancient nemesis once more... XERXES: Then there looms such a cataclysmic battle! ALTARUS: And so, from his Black Citadel, the Chaos-liege did send forth his Horde of Wraiths to engage the army of the king... THE KING: Behold, a legion of undead fiends meets us upon the field of war. Face me, Scourge of Lemuria, I wield thy bane, the Shadow-Sword... (and darksome sorceries now empower me with thunderous might!) Hearken, the clarion is upon the winds, now the call to arms is upon us all, The glory of battle is nigh at last, into the fray we ride! XERXES: The outcome, master... who left the field victorious? Did the king prevail? ALTARUS: The mists begin to disperse... for now, the images fade. That tale shall have to wait 'til another day... Lyrics: Byron Music: Jonny Maudling
AND LO, WHEN THE IMPERIUM MARCHES AGAINST GUL-KOTHOTH, THEN DARK SORCERIES SHALL ENSHROUD THE CITADEL OF THE OBSIDIAN CROWN
Chapter 1: The Voyage of the Sorcerer The war between the Imperium and the allied Vyrgothian Kingdoms had raged for years. Beginning as minor disputes over border territories, the conflict had swiftly escalated into a full-scale bloody war, a vast series of epic campaigns, fervently perpetuated by the Emperor Koord and the Over-King of Vyrgothia, both eager to smite their traditional ancestral foes and to win great glory and the adulation of their people by seizing victory in battle. Recent months had seen the forces of the Imperium display a staggering degree of tactical mastery and battle prowess, contemptuously crushing the Vyrgothian armies in a series of great battles, 'til at last, following the slaughterous Rout of the Fields of Kai-Vorg, The Empire's finest fighting force, the famed and far-feared Legion of the Ebon Tiger, stood unopposed not five day's march from mighty Gul-Kothoth, the greatest and most ancient fortress-city in all the Vyrgothian kingdoms. The Legion of the Ebon Tiger could not easily count their numerous and resounding victories, and their commander, the legendary warlord Baalthus Vane, made it clear to the Emperor that he was eager to press on deep into the enemy's lands and seize the prize which awaited him; the siege and capture of ancient Gul-Kothoth! And yet the Emperor Koord did not order the Legion to march, for disturbing information had of late been relayed to him by his spies in the Vyrgothian Royal Court... Dire rumours abounded that the Vyrgothian mages had at last discovered the ancient arcane rites which would unlock the aeons-fettered power of the dread Obsidian Crown, a fearsome mystical artefact countless thousands of years old, a black-jewelled circlet believed once to have been borne upon the immortal brow of the legendary Shadow-King himself! And it was written in legend, that should the ancient spells of might entwining the artefact be reawakened, then incredible near limitless ruinous power would thus be bestowed upon any army carrying the Crown into battle... Had the mages of Vyrgothia truly ascertained the time-lost conjurations required to empower the Obsidian Crown, hidden for centuries deep within the marble vaults of its ebon citadel? Eager to know the truth, the Emperor dispatched his most powerful sorcerer across the great Inland Sea to the Court of the Over-King, under the pretence of offering the terms for the Vyrgothian surrender. He was bade use all his sorcerous skills to discover the truth... a truth soon made clear by the disdainful refusal of the Imperium's terms, and the grimly fearsome message given the sorcerer by Vyrgothia's Master Wizard, with which to return to the Emperor: "And lo, when the Imperium marches against Gul-Kothoth, then dark sorceries shall enshroud the Citadel of the Obsidian Crown..." The Wizards of Vyrgothia: Darkly bejewelled circlet of night, Crown of the Elder King, Unfettered at last the Trinity of Might, The sceptre, the sword, and the ring. The Sorcerer: I stand upon the oaken planks of this great ship, (the splendid flagship of the Imperium's navies) Gazing at moon-gleam dancing on the vast, dark sea... (And in my mind I behold) black crystals gleaming... ensorcellment! I am enthralled by this nighted spell... For I know that the slumbering sorceries Of the Shadow-King's crown shall soon be reawakened... And as I return to my emperor (shackled to such woefully grim tidings), My spirit is borne upon the leathern wings of a great sorrow... Chapter 2: The March of the Imperium The Emperor: Call forth the Ogre-Mage of the Black Lake And the Swordmaster of Kyrman'ku, Let them speak the Words Which Unfetter... Enshrined for countless centuries, within its darksome citadel, Five score and ten against the Tiger, (curse) the black crown of the Shadow-King! By all the dark gods, I swear I'll not be dethroned! A seething forest of blackened blades, A churning sea of ebon war-chariots, A searing storm of flaming shafts, All this havoc and more shall I unleash against my foe... Into battle! The Legion shall march... the fall of Gul-Kothoth is nigh! The Legion of the Ebon Tiger... six thousand elite warriors of the Imperium, the pride of the Emperor's forces... Bolstered by heavy cavalry, and a squadron of deadly scythed chariots... further reinforced by the Imperial Frontier Army of one hundred thousand highly trained spearmen and archers... and never has this force met its match in battle or siege... Baalthus Vane: Our banner flies ever glorious, undefeated we stand, steeped in victory. The Iron Phalanx, six thousand strong, our ever-honed blades, the Tiger's gleaming claws. Pride of the Empire, Scourge of the Vraii, Masters at Turonium, and Kai-Vorg. Smiters of the Southern Host, Routers of the Horde, Bane of the Over-King, we march to war! And so, the Emperor himself rides to rendezvous with Baalthus Vane, accompanied by his sorcerous aide. The Legion of the Ebon Tiger reaches Gul-Kothoth at dusk on the fifth day of their march from the fields of Kai-Vorg, halting upon the great arid plan which stretches before the city, the huge dust cloud sent up by their massed arrival obscuring the dying embers of the setting sun. As the vast army begins to make camp, arraying their splendid tents and banners, and assembling their gargantuan siege-wagons, the Emperor stands gazing at the huge brooding walls and colossal cyclopean gates of the city-fortress before him, vowing that a torrent of red slaughter shall befall Gul-Kothoth, regardless of any sorcerous trinkets the Vyrgothians may possess, and that the Over-King shall pay dearly for his sublime arrogance. And twelve leagues distant, an army of five score and ten, bearing the Obsidian Crown, approaches the city... (To be continued in Chaper 3: The Wizards Do Battle) Lyrics: Byron Music: Jonny and Chris Maudling
SUMMONING THE GUARDIANS OF THE ASTRAL GATE
It is written in the ancient legends... that high amidst the moon-swathed peaks of the great Mountain of Shadows, hides the aeon-weary threshold of the Astral Gate... the portal from our world, to beyond... It is said that one who holds the key and knows the empyreal incantation may stand within the ancient ring of stones atop the mountain when the stars are correctly aligned, and unlock the mystic gate, summoning its sidereal sentinels, thereby attaining ultimate enlightenment and wisdom unparalleled... Part 1: THE INVOKING (The Aspirant Reaches The Summit) Keepers of the cosmic threshold, my ascent has been fraught with terror, deathsteeped, storm-hammered. (These grim mountains are strewn with the bones of the ill-fortuned dead.) O' Guardians of the Astral Gate, the spheres blaze at last in trine... I hold the Key! (The trinity of stars shall touch the circle of stones once more...) The incantation of Xuk'ul is known to me, the Orb of Summoning earned with bloodshed! (The crystalline key to the Outer Realms and the arcane rite to empower it are at last mine, Seized at swordpoint from the citadel of the Black Templars. Enlightenment awaits!) Many years ago, the mystic Orb of Summoning was seized by the mysterious Black Templars,a band of sombre, plunder seeking knights from the kingdoms to the east of the Great Sea. They wrested the sorcerous gem from the ancient shrine of Azaimedes, where it had lain hidden for countless centuries, its true power and purpose known only to the dour shamans who tended to the elder place of worship. It is said that the tapestry of slaughter woven that day was unparalleled in its ferocity, and that the marble walls of the ancient shrine were, and still remain, stained vivid crimson with the spilled blood of the Orb's keepers. Ka-kur-ra, I summon thee, Zul'tekh Azor Vol-thoth. Mighty Xuk'ul arise, Kur'oc Gul-Kor, come forth. I hold aloft the pulsing orb, astral spheres, empower the mystic key. Ring of elder stones entwined in prophecy, the Rite of Invocation enthralls thine power. Replete from drinking deep of darkness, black shapes dancing 'twixt the stones, Lucent beams lancing forth from the gleaming, cepheid stars, a creeping mist ensorcells my tongue... A great stillness binds the moon-cloaked mountaintop in glooming shackles... (High above, the myriad stars gleam bright against the night sky, three more resplendently bedazzling than the others, their sidereal auras engulfing the stones...) And the central stone of the ancient ebon ring begins to pulsate with a darksome energy... A thunderous maelstrom ablaze with writhing celestially spawned power then rends the stygian night... (A vast shimmering aperture, a vortex of heliacal fire... the pathway to beyond beckons!) The Astral Gate is open... The Guardians have awakened... XUK'UL: Impudent mortal! You dare summon us? If 'tis elucidation you seek, you shall have it! Such searingly terrible stellar majesty... my sanity is lashed like a vessel on a storm-wracked sea. What price this invocation? Shall the singing stars claim my very mind? To countless worlds we travel, riding the endless black seas 'twixt the stars... the ebon oceans of infinity... flying through a thousand suns, then watching their light fade, as if it were but a flickering candleflame snuffed by the wind. As beings of pure energy we become one with the vastness, transcending the ethereal walls of time, spanning at once this celestial eternity, and yet existing as no more than a mote of dust within the vista of its endlessness... Journeying beyond... The threshold looms, (the star-way between dimensions stretches before me...) The Gate To That Which Lies Beyond yawns wide... Unspeakable forces gibber and pulsate in the Outer Darkness... Elder horrors dwell here, things which were ancient and revelled in sublime galactic malevolence when even Xuk'ul was naught but a bloated cosmic maggot, writhing and suckling at the breast of its amorphous mother... They-Who-Lurk-And-Breed-In-Limbo... the squamous sovereigns of the elder void! Primal terror drags my essence screaming back from the threshold. The ichor of pestilent tongues clings to me, tendrils probing, the ire of fiends! The ravening black worms of madness are devouring the shredded remnants of sanity as I return to my slumbering steel-clad body... but as the dream-veil lifts, I feel my limbs transform, flesh becoming cold stone... enshrouded by a dark mantle of obsidian. And the laughter of the Guardians echoes, carries upon the winds of this spectral eve. Such is the price of enlightenment. And so, a new brooding sentinel of stone joins the others on the nighted mountain top... Standing silently in the ancient circle of truth, standing... waiting, Beneath the stars. Lyrics: Byron Music: Jonny Maudling
IN THE RAVEN-HAUNTED FORESTS OF DARKENHOLD, WHERE SHADOWS REIGN AND THE HUES OF SUNLIGHT NEVER DANCE
The Words of the Forest-King on the Eve of the Nexus: I am the immortal King of the Deep Woods, Servitor of the Old Gods of the Forest... I hear the whispered words of the trees... Such ancient secrets they sing... Swaying serpents ring my oak-hewn throne, Night and shadow are my hunting dogs... Ravenous, they howl to be unshackled, That their maws may be glutted with the blood of my foes. Raven's claw... tooth of the wolf Ancient trees my brooding sentinels, Gnarled branches clawing the nighted heavens. Spirits who dwell in shadow, unfurl thy darkling wings... Awaken, o' elder creatures of this sylvan realm, Stalk once more this ebon-cloaked eve. I hear the whispered words of the trees, Such ancient secrets they sing... I stand now at the anvil, Adamantine hammer in my hand, In thunder-song the steel I smite, A clarion heard throughout this land. (Yawning wide beneath me...) the jaws of the worm... (hearken, the spell is woven...) the call of the worm... Raven's claw... tooth of the wolf Ablaze upon the Altar of Stone, The Sigil of An-rayuth, the summoning! Folk of the Mist, Dwellers in Shadow, The thrice-blessed wand of the Wood-Gods is beckoning! At the aeon-swathed Shrine of the Oak I kneel, O' Oracle of the Great Forest, hear me this night... The Sylvan Oracle Speaks: The gods of the earth and sky are watching, the circle is nigh on complete... the nexus is at hand. But hearken... for a new enemy approaches from the east... an enemy who hide their poisoned blades behind words of falsehood sweetened with the ichors of carrion, to bind men's minds with fetters of deceit. Speak now, o' Liege of the Deep Woods, Master of Darkenhold, and the enemy shall hear you... The Forest-King: Yes... I behold now the face of the encroaching foe... Hear my oath! You, clad in gleaming robes of sparkling saffron, engorged with the mindless adoration of countless thralls who bend the knee in flaccid obeisance... 'neath thine vestments hides the rank stench of leprous corruption! Bring not thine cursed icons into my ancient realm... your words of untruth shall not be heard here! My steel is honed and thirsting for your life-ichors... aye, and with my dying breath I'll spit defiance in your face! Upon my great throne hewn of ancient oak I brood... My mantle, the leaves stirred by the whispering of the winds. The elder gods of the Deep Woods gaze grimly down upon me... My blood courses through the trees and the earth... And I watch in silence, ebon-eyed and raven-winged. From every bough of my kingdom... The Lament of the Trees: Can you not remember? Have you forgotten the magic? Sing to us your spells once more, and the ancient forest shall dance to your words... The Forest-King: I stand now at the anvil, Adamantine hammer in my hand, In thunder-song the steel I smite, A clarion heard throughout this land. Can you not see the coils of the worm all about you? Can you not hear the writhing of the worm beneath you? Can you not scent the breath of the worm riding the wind? Can you not touch the skin of the worm in all that surrounds you? Can you not taste the ichors of the worm upon your tongue? Do dreams of the worm not haunt your slumber? The Forest-King: I hear the whispered words of the trees, Such ancient secrets they sing... Lyrics: Byron Music: Jonny and Chris Maudling
AT THE ALTAR OF THE DREAMING GODS (Epilogue)
Come, dark night... deep night, Sweep away the fading embers of the cruel sun, Let me at last dream 'neath the moon's sweet light, For the quest is over, and the long day's done... (Translation of glyphs discovered carved into the surface of the mysterious Black Altar Stone.) Lyrics: Byron Music: Jonny Maudling
BATTLE MAGIC
Sorcerers and shamans, weave your spells of war, Ensure our mighty sword-arms are the strongest and the quickest. Entwine us with great battle magic 'til we stand knee-deep in gore, And by all the gods, we'll ride to where the fray rages the thickest! The war-song of the Wolves of Caylen-Tor, as heard at the Battle of Blackhelm Vale. Lyrics: Byron Music: Jonny Maudling
NAKED STEEL (THE WARRIOR'S SAGA)
Legends etched into the ancient stone dolmens on the Dark Moors... THE ORACLE OF WAR: The crows will pick your bones clean... Never sweet the kiss of cold steel. THE EXULTATION OF BATTLE... THE WARRIOR: Blades aflame with witch-fire burning, Bright swords blessed by nine king's blood, The elf-witch weaves war-spells upon us, Neath the wolf-moon's gaze we shall slake our steel! THE WARRIOR: Battle Magic empowers my thews! THE ORACLE OF WAR: The crows will pick your bones clean... THE WARRIOR: Red-Tooth thirsts to smite and slaughter! THE ORACLE OF WAR: Never sweet the kiss of cold steel... THE SHAMAN'S DECREE: Born beneath the thrice-cursed cromlech (destined for deeds of greatness), Three stars aligned to assauge thine newborn cries, Foretold, the hilt of Red-Tooth awaits thine hand (kingdoms shall fall before thee!), And in the Nine Scrolls thine death prophesized. THE WARRIOR: The clarion of battle beckons me... Red-Tooth crackles with searing spectral energy. Aye, emperors and kings shall perish beneath my blade! The head of the Eastern Chieftan adorns my spear... I've a throne to usurp! INTO THE THICK OF THE FRAY! THE SHAMAN'S DECREE: This heart that pounds like a hammer, This heart that pounds so strong, This heart that pumps a great warrior's blood, This heart will pound for half as long. THE WARRIOR'S VOW: By all the gods... I swear the ireful edge of dwarf-forged steel shall meet all who dare stand against me! My destiny awaits... I shall carve my path in carnage, and inscribe my saga upon the scrolls of legendry in the spilled blood of slaughtered kings! THE ORACLE OF WAR: Carnage! And the crows shall feast upon the eyes of the slain! The final dolmen of the Dark Moors is mysteriously missing, believed removed thousands of years ago by troll war-bands as a trophy of battle... Lyrics: Byron Music: Jonny MaudlingA TALE FROM THE DEEP WOODS
The ravens are on the wing! My scramasax is red (stained with the blood of many Mercian warriors), The ravens are on the wing, By Offa's decree I am an outlaw, Branded wolfshead by my own king. (The orm-garth awaits me, darkly astir with ophidian malice...) The ravens are on the wing! Ash for our spear-hafts, Yew for our bow-staves, Oak for our deck planks, Oak and elder our shields. Hail, o' great liege of the ancient woods, ruler of the deepest forest... you, who were reigning o'er your time-veiled kingdom centuries before the arrogant men who proclaim themselves kings of this island ever supped of life's bitter-sweet draught... I give you my hail, I give you my blood, I give you my life, O' sylvan liege. My life bleeds forth unto the earth (from many deep and dire wounds), To slake your roots, great old king... (as I rest my battle-ravaged body against thee.) The ravens are on the wing! Ten leagues ride on lathered steed, Gold in hand to a sword-for-hire, A blood-eagle carved by Saxon steel, And two score slain earns royal ire. Gwynned lies two days westwards, Still further south, the weregeld calls. Mayhap with All-Father Woden's favour, My deeds may yet inspire the skalds. Litha's moon gleams high o'er the tallest oak, Ancient king in this sylvan court of elm, ash and yew, The wood-spirits watch from gnarled bough and bole, As I pull two Mercian shafts from my bloodied thews. The ravens are on the wing! I give you my hail, I give you my blood, I give you my life, O' sylvan liege. Beneath the oak, I rest, bone weary, Thirsting for a horn of ale or jug of mead, And yet how could a heathen man wish for any more, Than the healing balms of English trees? The ravens are on the wing! Lyrics: Byron Music: Jonny Maudling with Chris Maudling
RETURN TO THE PRAESIDIUM OF YS
I was spawned deep beneath the Pre-Cambrian sea, the scion of a far distant sun... I have traversed the endless stars, and journeyed to a myriad galaxies... The dimensional gates of the multiverse are mine to voyage effortlessly beyond, Cosmic infinity is naught to one such as I... I am as one with celestial eternity... Clad in gleaming pentlandite armour, on a whim I may reshape entire worlds, Or extinguish the blazing light of a sun... and I remain forever enchanted by sylphs... I have seen demons lick your ivory hands, And watched you ride naked upon the backs of fire-dragons... Your eyes sparkle clear as hoar-frost, And yet they are thrice as devoid of warmth. Wielding this power cosmic, the omniverse is mine to conquer! Our progency shall rule the very cosmos itself! Arcane power lances from my fingertips, Life withers before my baleful gaze. The proud citadels of great antediluvian empires Have been razed to the ground by my zircon blade. Your invocations unleashed the great worm Which compelled the devouring seas to Atlantis... Riding the screaming crest of fettered lons, I shall bring my crystalline chaos where order reigns! Return with me... beyond the stars... Rule with me... a thousand worlds... The Galactic Nexus has empowered me (I am gloriously, eternally omnipotent!) And as a god I shall return to the Praesidium of Ys! Lyrics: Byron Music: Jonny Maudling
CRYSTAL SHARDS
I stand engulfed by the moon-magic of a winter eve's dream, Enraptured by bloodlust, and nine fire-gems ablaze, I am beckoned by sylph-spells and the jewelled sword a'gleam, As the great war-fleet of Ys sails the crystalline waves. Lyrics: Byron Music: Jonny Maudling
THE DARK LIEGE OF CHAOS IS UNLEASHED AT THE ENSORCELLED SHRINE OF A'ZURA-KAI (The Splendour of a Thousand Swords Gleaming Beneath the Blazon of the Hyperborean Empire Part II)
ALTARUS: You must learn to control your spirit-form, Xerxes... for by mastering the art of traversing the mists you may effortlessly travel to many places, and many times. Countless secrets will be unlocked for you, and great enlightenment shall be yours. XERXES: Yes, master... and yet, there is one realm which intrigues me above all others, one era which occupies my thoughts unceasingly... What of the clash between the Royal Army of Hyperborea and the Wraiths of the Chaos-Liege? ALTARUS: Ah, yes... command the mists, Xerxes... gaze into their limitless depths... compel them to show you that martial vista which you so fervently seek. XERXES: Yes... I see the massing forces, the battle is imminent! How splendid the Imperial Army looks as it fronts the foe... into the fray they ride! Chapter 1: The Bloodying of the King (The Armies of the Hyperborean Empire steadfastly engage the Horde of Wraiths) THE KING: Imperial Cavalry... advance! RIDE THEM DOWN! In to the fray! Demonstrate unforgettably the art of Hyperborean warcraft! Spearmen, form into Omega Phalanx. Archers, notch arrows, prepare to loose. Warriors, stand ready... Sound the clarion! Hearken, sons of the glorious Empire... Here we stand upon the Field of Blood... Though this day we may die, Our legend shall live forever. ALTARUS: And the armies met upon the Field of Blood which stretched lifeless before the aeon-veiled citadel which men called the Shrine of A'zura-Kai, a mysterious and foreboding place steeped in ireful omens and legendary dread... Aye, the carnage of that first clash was phenomenal. The Hyperborean Cavalry tore gloriously into the foremost rank of the shadow-warriors, the enchantment of the Crystal of Mera rendering the squamous pseudo-flesh of the wraiths fully vulnerable to the steel of the royal legions. The king himself rode at the forefront of the onslaught, his ensorcelled ebon blade hewing ten to the left and cleaving ten to the right, his grim eyes gleaming beneath his shimmering horned and plumed helm. The momentum of that first charge threw the dark ones into shrieking disarray, and the vanguard of Chaos fell back before the thundering resolve of the Imperial attack. But the baleful, poisoned blades of the wraiths took their toll upon the Hyperborean horsemen. Raught by leprous swords and spears, men and mounts fell screaming to the dusty earth, where they were mercilessly rent and devoured by the slavering jaws of the Chaos-Liege's minions. Aye, glorious was the courage of the royal warriors, admirable was their mettle... for every Imperial Knight felled by the dark ones, five wraiths met their deaths beneath the slaughterfall of royal steel. And yet it was not enough. Like a slithering tide, the shadows engulfed the cavalry, and the bloodied king ordered the Hyperboreans to ride clear and regroup. Then, with volleys of shafts as their herald, and the Battle-Prayer of Hyperborea upon their lips, the Imperial Guard marched into the ravening embrace of the melee, and never in the grim and sanguineous history of battle was there a clash to rival the slaughterous magnitude of that awesome engagement... THE ARCH-WRAITH: Minions of Chaos, rend their flesh, crush their bones, devour their souls! Chapter 2: Havoc at the Shrine of A'zura-Kai THE KING: Onwards with our spear-heads gleaming, Meet them with cold steel a'cleaving, Fall only when our hearts cease beating, Men of Hyperborea. ALTARUS: At the King's command, the clarion was sounded to move the battle-hardened veterans of the Seventh Fen-lander Army into a flanking position to unite with the remnants of the Royal Cavalry. Like a purifying storm the allied Imperial forces clove into the wraiths to deal righteous pattern-welded death unto their nighted foe. But at that moment, black terror descended screaming from the twilight sky... howling swarms of winged fiends, hurled forth from the malignant bosom of Lord Angsaar, soared razor-taloned into the fray. Beseiged man-to-fiend upon the field, and harried from above by the shrieking horrors of the Chaos-Liege, the Hyperborean Army began to falter, and to fall. And lo, beholding the carnage, the King raised high in his left hand the ancient Crystal of Mera, and in his right gauntlet he brandished the Bane of Angsaar, the dread Shadow-Sword once wielded by the Chaos-Liege's immortal nemesis... and he spoke aloud the terror-fraught and aeon-swathed words of invocation which he alone had been audience to deep within the shadow-haunted Mountains of the Dead... THE KING: By the darkling powers of the Shadow-Sword, I call forth the fury of the storm to rend the massed legions of Chaos! ALTARUS: And at the sound of his baleful Words of Power, the sky split wide in fury, and searing tendrils of ruinous lightning lanced inexorably forth from the heavens to rake and reave the massed hordes of Chaos... XERXES: The fearful spells he had learned from the Mountain... did their casting win the battle for the King's legions? ALTARUS: The fiends were dealt a staggering blow by the sorcerous incantations, the power of the spells inexplicably magnified by the enchantments of the Crystal. The Wraiths were routed soundly by the elder magics, fleeing the field howling their anathemas and maledictions against the King, and the winged horrors fell seared and burning from the enraged sky. But the twisted machinations of insidious Chaos had prepared for the King one final blow in this dread confrontation... aye, the Chaos-Liege had reserved his most heinous perpetration 'til the last... Chapter 3: The Awakening of Chaos LORD ANGSAAR: Fly, my winged sentinel of the night, Deliver unto me the Ninth Crystal of Power, That I may at last be free once more... Come then, mortal! Test that cursed blade of black steel against me if you dare! O' great king, your pitiful army shall be swept away before my wrath! 'Ere the dawn, ten thousand shall die! THE KING: For the eternal glory of Hyperborea! ALTARUS: Striking from the swift darkening sky, Angsaar's Arch-Wraith, which had been watching the battle with gleaming inhuman eyes, leaped to the attack and smote the King, engulfing him in its ebon wings and driving its steel-rending talons into his golden armour. And yet it was not the life of the Royal Scion of Hyperborea which the fiend sought to take on that fateful eve, but rather that which the King held tight in his gauntleted fist... the Crystal of Mera. Wrenching the glimmering antediluvian jewel from its keeper, the Arch-Wraith unfurled its leathern wings and soared into the deepening gloom with a cacophonous cackle of victory, leaving the King to roar his ire after the fleeing wraith. XERXES: But what did Angsaar want of the Crystal? I know he battled his immortal nemesis over possession of the mystic gems many aeons ago... but what use would just one of the jewels be to him? ALTARUS: After rising from his Chamber of Slumber, the Chaos-Liege's power was direly depleted... and he was unable to venture beyond the obsidian walls of his Citadel of Shadows, being compelled to control his wraiths and fiends to undertake his diseased schemes on his behalf. When he ascertained that the wizards of the Royal Court of Hyperborea held in their possession the Ninth Jewel of the Galactic Confederation of Mera, the most powerful of all the crystalline keys to the Psionic Epsilon Matrix, he began to formulate an elaborate scheme which would gain him the gem and facilitate his liberation, sundering his fetters and allowing him free reign to spread his vile influence across the land once more. Utilizing to its fullest extent the dark art of sorcerous mind-control. Angsaar succeeded in placing spies and traitors within the King's Court, and thus set into motion a dark chain of events treacherously crafted to bring the Armies of Hyperborea to battle at one carefully predetermined place... the Shrine of A'zura-Kai... an ancient citadel built over the site where, many thousands of years ago, one of the Galactic Confederation's galaxy-spanning star-chariots was cast forcibly to earth by the tempestuous skies of a powerful cosmic witch-storm... a place where resultantly, the star-born energies of the Prime Crystal would be magnified tenfold, if wielded in unison with the correct arcane incantations which Angstaar alone knew... XERXES: Then the battle, the defeat of the wraiths, all that had been merely a ruse... a scheme implemented by the Chaos-Liege merely to realize his ultimate ambition of the sundering of the mystic shackles? ALTARUS: Aye... the Shrine would act as a portal, a gateway opened by the power of the Crystal, a yawning aperture in the dimensional barrier through which Angsaar could escape the incarceration of his Citadel at last. And as the Arch-Wraith soared the night-winds on its return journey to its malign master, the Prime Crystal clutched in its bloodied claws, the King knew as he watched the Shrine of A'zura-Kai begin to glow with a great and ominous sidereal luminescence, that he had on that battle-fraught eve defeated one dreadful menace on the Field of Blood only to unleash an infinitely more terrifying foe... But the Chaos-Liege had reckoned without the power of the one thing he feared the most... the one thing which had the merest glimmering hope of thwarting his dread scheme and restoring order to glorious Hyperborea... XERXES: Yes, the only chance... the last hope for victory... ALTARUS: The Shadow-Sword. Evident once more was the fearsome extra-dimensional intelligence linking the sword and the gem, the same crystalline sentience which had guided the King to the mountainous resting place of the ebon blade, and had shielded the presence of the sorcerous immortal weapon from the dark one until it had been brought into play upon the field of battle, that magical link placed within the Ninth Gem by the Immortal if ever again the power of the Shadow-Sword should be needed to bring to bear against Chaos! And with the Arch-Wraith disappearing into the massing dark, that yard of fearsome black steel spoke once more to the King in the same long dead tongue it had burned upon his mind deep within the Mountains of the Dead, the essence of the Immortal mystically encased within the blade instructing the Scion of Hyperborea to commit himself to one final, cataclysmic deed... a deed which would end the aspirations of the Chaos-Liege forever, or plunge Hyperborea and the kingdoms of the world into an endless abyss of eternal suffering and a ravening maelstrom of limitless carnage and galactic terror... XERXES: What was that deed? What could stop the Chaos-Liege? I must know the outcome of this confrontation! ALTARUS: The vista begins to darken... the mists once again weave their spell to withold their timelost secrets. Practice your art, Xerxes... hone your skills, and the final outcome of this epic tale shall soon be made known to you... Lyrics: Byron Music: Jonny Maudling
WHEN RIDES THE SCION OF THE STORMS
Dover, England: September 1594 (the recollections of a war-weary mariner) Hearken boy; for I would tell thee a tale before we set sail for the Bay of Biscay on the morrow. I was not always called by this name, you know... To you, I am Caleb Blackthorne, battle-scarred master of an English galleon, survivor of a score of sea-fights, cheater of the notched blades of many an over ambitious Spanish pirate... the Scourge of Medina Sedonia! But to many others over the countless centuries since my first birth, I have been known by a host of other names... so many that even I begin to forget all but the ones distinguished by the most vivid deeds... for I hide a wondrous secret, boy... a secret some would call a blessing, but which others would deem a grim curse. Aye, it all began a very long time ago... Memories of death and life... For countless thousands of centuries I have walked the earth... I have seen endless battle, And untold centuries of slaughter. I am reborn once more! The same grim spirit once again given flesh... O' to be ravished by the seductress death... The Scion of the Storms: Dethroned 'ere Atlantis fell, haunted by a dark queen's curse, My son's soul shackled by this spell of endless death and grim rebirth. Fly, o' skyborne steed of Lyonesse, ride the tempest's wings, I am the scion of the vengeful skies, a god to warriors and kings! Reflections on lifetimes of carnage: I have been slain by Roman gladius, And by Norman spear dealt a mortal wound, The threads of my ensorcelled destiny Endlessly woven on some unknown cosmic loom. I have lost my life to longbow shafts Fighting for the English crown, And mayhap I'll end this mariner's life A good three score fathoms down! I marched with vast armies 'ere gleaming Atlantis sank beneath the waves... I reddened my blade against Caesar's legions long ago... I stood beside Boudicca at Colchester... I dealt honed steel death from the ranks of Arthur Pendragon... I slew and looted gloriously at Lindisfarne... I slaked my scramasax at Maldon... I crossed blades with Brian Boru at Clontarf... I slaughtered left and right with Harold at Hastings... I dispatched Norman swordsmen with Robin of Loxley... I wielded a Claymore at Stirling Bridge... I was in the thick of the fray beside Henry at Agincourt... I spilled blood for the White Rose at Bosworth Field... I captained a galleon against the great Armada of Philip II... I have witnessed the rise of corrupt religions, but my heathen blade was red countless centuries before their flaccid laws were ever carved in stone. They call me the Scourge of Medina Sedonia... my ship sails at dawn, and may our English steel ring gloriously against the cutlasses of the outlander pirates! Aye boy, it is a strange tale indeed. I know not why I am destined to live and die in this way, my soul moving from life to life, ever dying and being again reborn, with every memory of my past incarnations intact. A whim of the gods? An ancient sorcerous spell? Some cruel machination of fate, mayhap? Or is it all for some mysterious, greater purpose? Sometimes I feel the gaze of inhuman eyes upon me, and fragments of some past existence which I cannot wholly recall flash before my mind's eye. And time and time again I know precisely when I am to die in the fray, for always 'ere the fatal blow is struck, I see him... grim and noble astride his great winged steed, gleaming spear crackling in his grasp, beckoning me onwards to the next life... to ever more slaughter and carnage... Yes, adour and brooding spirit he is, and in his burning eyes I see a great secret which I must discover, a powerful mystery I alone must solve. I cannot speculate as to what strange destiny the fate! s ! have written for me in the stars... but the gods have decreed that this is the path I must follow, and I am sure that my adventures are far from over... Lyrics: Byron Music: Jonny MaudlingBLOOD SLAKES THE SAND AT THE CIRCUS MAXIMUS
Thoughts of an Iceni gladiator, awaiting the opening of the arena portcullis: Memories of rebellion (Carnage at Camulodunum): Iceni Messenger: Hearken! The Ninth Legion has been put to the sword! The war-Chief of Queen Boudicca: Onwards to Camulodunum... wet your swords! Redden the earth with Roman blood! I remember the carnage at Camulodunum... The glorious clash of Celtic sword against Roman gladius, The pride in the eyes of our war-queen As we hacked down the Imperial Eagle, And the severed heads of centurions gaping atop our spears. Bloodshed and Battle: 61 AD (C.E.) They had gone too far, these invaders from the east, with their imperial eagle which they dared to drive into our sacred soil... pompously claiming our island as their own. They who marched across the world expanding their empire all for the greater glory of their succession of debauched emperors, reclining upon their ivory thrones in the heart of sweltering Rome. Aye, they had gone too far... After their brutal annexation of our sovereign Iceni lands and the vile rape of our Queen Boudicca's royal daughters, the Romans had the sown the fields of carnage and they would reap a grim harvest of slaughter, without doubt! They had enraged the Red Queen, and by the gods, they would pay! We certainly taught the arrogant invading dogs a lesson, at any rate. The omens and portents spoke of vast bloodshed and great carnage, and after our slaughterous victories at Camulodunum (the Temple of Claudius burned wonderfully!), Londinium and Verulanium, the cursed Romans finally dared to meet us honourably upon the field of war at Mandeussedum. They sent fifteen thousand legionaires, their armour gleaming like gold in the sun... but it would still yield to our swords and spears, no matter how it sparkled. The Roman scoundrel, Governor Suetonius Paullinus, battle-scarred from his campaigns against the Druids, was able to choose the ground upon which to make his stand, and so it was that he selected as the battlefield a narrow valley, fronted by a flat plain, with dense woodland at its rear. Aye... Mandeussedum, "the place of the chariots"... I remember it vividly. The Governor's army looked unnerved as wee took the field. I'll never forget that, iron Roman fortitude or not! We were one hundred thousand strong, infantry and cavalry, both men and women warriors, as is our Celtic custom, in the ranks together, all annointed with woad, all roaring oaths and vows to our ancient gods, who were surely grimly watching the epic confrontation from their great thrones and vast halls. Our war-chariots thundered up and down the Roman front, the charioteers screaming abuse at the grim legionaires, decurions and centurions, and hurling spears and other missiles which clattered against the Imperial shield wall. And not one Roman javelin or pilum was hurled in response, not one arrow was loosed in retaliation. They were disciplined, I'll give them that. We were swelled by our victories, empowered by our noble cause, enraged with the battle frenzy; thirsting to take as many Roman heads as our bright blades could sever! And yet we were perhaps somewhat overconfident that day... Abducted from the Iceni: In the aftermath of our defeat at Mandeussedum, I was captured by Romans with a veiled intent... (though three of them died at my hands in the attempt!) Nero was growing bored with the gladiators, slaves and lion-fodder at his great Circus, and so had requested Suetonius Paullinus to provide the citizens of Rome with new entertainment... The Emperor had heard much of the wildness and fighting spirit of these barbaric Britons who had brought such woe to his far-famed legions; these painted, pagan tribesmen who had resisted the Empire's iron fist where the glorious phalanxes of the East had not. "Agents of the Imperium... hearken to my words", Nero had demanded. "Bring to Rome some of these tribesman for the Games. Let us pit them against our most ravenous beasts and our greatest gladitorial champions." And so I was taken in fetters aboard a Roman trireme, the blood of slain legionaires still crusted upon my thews, I was taken far from the fens of my beloved homeland, to tread the sun baked sand of the Circus Maximus... to fight for my life in the Imperial Arena. Arrival at the Circus Maximus: The Circus Maximus was certainly a splendid sight, I'll admit. A vast colosseum with great stone columns and tiers, huge ornate arches and mighty statues of grey marble. Countless people filled the seats surrounding the sandy floor of the Arena... and in his opulent royal enclosure, flanked by gleaming guards and grovelling lackeys, sat the great Emperor himself... Emperor Nero: Fight, barbarian outlander! Please us, and mayhap Mars will smile on thee this day! Iceni warrior: Bah! I do not hail to your Roman gods, and you are not my emperor! By Cernunnos, the blood of my enemies shall stain the sand of this cursed arena red this day! The Combat Commences: They unleashed the lions first. Hunger maddened beasts, goaded into a frenzy by the cruel point of many a pilum... And yet my own hunger, the hunger for revenge, was greater, and my honed steel was sharper than bestial fang and claw. And so they ranged their finest warriors against me. Three more iron gates around the arena yawned open, and they strode from the colosseum tunnels amidst a cacophony of cheering from the assembled Roman spectators, urged on and showered with martial adulation from the massed arena crowd, who howled their bloodlust without cessation. I studied my opponents... there were two trained gladiators, champions I was told, who had never met defeat in the Games... and then there was another like me, a captured warrior forced to fight for his life. This one was a towering reaver from the Northlands with a bright yellow beard, hefting a crude axe with a single iron head. I lifted my iron bladed Celtic shortsword with its bronze hilt (the same sword which, mere days before, had been slaked with Roman blood... and its blade would soon be red once more with the blood of my captors, by all the gods!) and nodded to the reaver. An understanding passed between us... we knew we were here simply as sword-fodder, and we knew we would both fight these Roman dogs to the death! The first gladiator moved towards me; he was a giant of a man, standing nearly seven feet tall and clad in dark leather and bronze armour from head to toe. His full-face visored helmet was set with ornate metal fittings and encrusted with jewels of various hues, and a vast black horse hair plume rose from the metal crown. Strapped on to his forearms were two black vambraces, to each of which had been secured twelwe inch serrated blades, and they gleamed brightly in the hot afternoon sunlight. He began to circle me slowly, his eyes hidden beneath his great helmet. To his left, I saw the second gladiator begin to close on the Northman. The yellow-bearded axeman's opponent was a huge steel-helmeted Nubian, wielding a wickedly pointed trident and carrying an embossed iron buckler with a great spike jutting from its polished centre. Far above, upon his great dias, the Emperor gave the signal for the combat to begin, and with the battle-lust engulfing me, with the red mist swirling before my eyes, I vowed to my northern gods that I would show these leering Romans the fighting spirit and battle prowess of my people... I would leave the arena littered with the bloody corpses of my opponents... I would cast off the imperial fetters and return to the fens! Aye, I would escape, and make all Romans fear my name, and compel Nero to rue the day Julius Caesar had first ordered his legions across the grim grey sea to my ancient island... BLOOD FOR BOUDICCA... CARNAGE FOR CERNUNNOS!! To be continued... Lyrics: Byron Music: Jonny MaudlingTHWARTED BY THE DARK (BLADE OF THE VAMPYRE HUNTER)
The contemplations of Joachim Blokk: As my sword drips black now with the unclean blood of another slain fiend, it occurs to me that history will most probably record me a fanatic... as for more years than I care to remember I have dedicated my life to the caseless pursuit and destruction of the loathsome undead. Indeed, it was long ago that I commenced with the wreaking of my grim vengeance upon the denizens of the dark, and by the blade of my sorcerous katana, Fiend's Bane, I vow they shall all pay for taking my beloved from me! Fanatic? Mayhap. But by all the gods of vengeance, I'll leave a fearsome legacy 'ere I die... a legacy wrought in retributive bloodshed and screaming terror! Drowned in the icy lake of tragedy, Forged in the fires of revenge, Driven by the winds which compel a man to destiny, Haunted by the whispers of the dead. Blood is black in the moonlight As it was when I pierced the heart of my betrothed, Blood is black in the moonlight, Her undead gaze gleaming ire upon me. Blood is black in the moonlight I held aloft her head to my grim gods, Blood is black in the moonlight (Now I am eternally bonded to my blade) And ever I am thwarted by the dark! Gods of wrath, hear my vow... sate me with revenge this night! Come to me, darksome fiends, taste the edge of ensorcelled steel! Night has fallen, the hunt begins... Vengeful carnage 'neath the moon! And as I put brand to her pyre, I swore then to my gods that those vile creatures who tore the life and hope from my beloved's breast and replaced it with that unspeakable sanguineous ravening would repay a hundredfold in slaughter and bloodshed for their misdeed... I would hunt them to their worm-ridden tombs, wherever they crept or slithered upon the earth, and wreak my honed steel revenge ceaselessly unto my own grave. Such was my vow! Aye, this bride of Masayuki steel, ensorcelled by wizards at its forging... to me she is as pure as the newly fallen snow, kissed by the breeze at dusk... and yet she has supped deep of the ichors of many men and fiends alike. Shadow spawned demons ravening for my blood, Yet the thirst of my blade is greater! Aye, all they shall feast upon this night will be cold steel! I hear the slither of scales on silk, Fiend's Bane replete with undead slaughter! I am the scourge of the devils who dwell in darkness... (but the darkness writhing in my own soul is so much deeper...) Their flesh burns at the touch of my blade of searing vengeance, And I cast their malign spirits screaming into limbo! Darkfall, and the autumn moon glimmers on my steel... Now it is time to hunt and slay once more, For the night has come! Lyrics: Byron Music: Jonny MaudlingAND ATLANTIS FALLS...
And lo, I witnessed the vast seas rise forth like a great ravenous beast, a devouring maelstrom of cataclysmic fury; and the gleaming spires and citadels of proud, ancient Atlantis were consumed, to gleam no more... save in the dreams of sorcerers and warriors... aye, and poets and kings. The astral testimony of Altarus the Traveller Lyrics: Byron Music: Jonny Maudling
PROLOGUE
In 2104, lithological excavations at the Fourth Mars Colony unearthed an artifact of unknown, seemingly non-human origin; an icosahedron of an unrecognized, non terrestrial metallic composition, inscribed with strange, indecipherable sigils and glyphs. After long months of intense study, epigraphy experts on Earth ascertained a tenuous parallel between the unknown language on the icosaherdon and certain obscure Aztec hieroglyphics, and thus were able to extrapolate a meaning from the unearthly inscriptions. The translation spoke of a legendary repository of ultimate knowledge known as the Empyreal Lexicon... a codex of alien origin said to contain incredible cosmic secrets; arcane words and psionic waves of power which were the keys to unlocking a network of cerebral-transferrence portals linking the myriad galaxies of the multiverse, and also the means to transcend the boundaries of the space-time continuum, enabling corporeal beings to travel between dimensions and traverse at will the unknown realms which lay between universes, tapping into the limitless energies which permeated the sidereal fabric of the cosmos. The translation of the Mars icosaherdon also hinted disturbingly at a great pangalactic conflict which was waged over the possession of the codex between the mysterious cosmic beings who had appointed themselves the keepers of the Lexicon and some terrifying shadowy foe mentioned only fleetingly in the alien text. The final battle in this cataclysmic power struggle was apparently fought in Earth's own solar system, and the Keepers of the Lexicon, their power depleted and teetering on the verge of defeat, shattered the codex into a myriad shards, scattering the fragments across the star system in order to prevent the secrets of the Lexicon from falling into the hands of their darksome nemesis. According to the Martian artifact, several fragments of the Lexicon were hidden on the third planet from the sun, the Earth itself. One fragment was secreted in ancient Atlantis, another in Lemuria. Further pieces of the cosmic codex fell to earth in Ys and eon-veiled Mu. Still further fragments of the Lexicon were said to have been hidden somewhere beneath the frozen surface of the bleak moon Callisto, and on the other mysterious orbs Hyperion and Titan. Lastly, the alien artifact spoke mysteriously of something hidden beneath the cratered surface of Earth's own Moon. Ascertaining co-ordinates from the Mars icosahedron, an expedition embarked immediately from the Epsilon IV Moon Base and began to excavate the lunar sphere. Thus was a veiled warning unheeded, and no one could know what to expect as the machinations of humankind breached the ancient surface of the moon's Mare Imbrium....
The Awakening Of The Stars
With but a gesture of my incorporeal hand I illumine the heart of a new-born sun, Revelling as its searing stellar radiance engulfs my ersatz form. Gazing out across the limitless, stygian cosmos, I hear the whispered voice of destiny echoing within the solar winds... No small task, to awaken a universe from slumber.
The Voyagers Beneath The Mare Imbrium
Words gleaned from the Crystal of Memory: From a time beyond time, we come. We, who once crested the waves of the great astral sea... and who now must strive again for the domination of the stars... Entreaty of the Fourth Moon's Keymaster: Awaken... awaken! Tellurian sphere! Awaken! Beckon the moon... Tellurian! Resurgent... beneath the moon... Ephemeral... Dreaming forever... The Prime Voyager: Dreaming forever! Zurra: The great lunar seal is broken... we are free... free to rule! It is time... it is time! The Prime Voyager: For more than ten times a thousand years have we slept beneath these cratered, lifeless stones... The Lexicon's crystalline core has at last been reactivated... We have heard the sighing of a thousand souls... now at last we shall hearken once more to the siren call of the cosmos. Zurra: Fools! The Darklight Portal has grown strong. Only one moon remains in orbit. The mewling ape-spawned humans have discovered the icosahedron and the Lexicon's call can once again be heard throughout the stars, beckoning my ireful brethren to return to the slaughterous embrace of the fray! We have won! The orb azure is ours... ours to enslave! The Prime Voyager: You! You who have embraced the insidious manipulations of the Terran Lords of Chaos... You who pledged your devotion to our darksome foe... Be gone from my sight, traitor! Come, fellowship of weary travellers... the war is far from won. Cast off the shackles of slumber... the galaxy whispers our name. Entreaty of the Fourth Moon's Keymaster: Awaken! Beckon the moon! Resurgent... enslave the stars! Zurra: My power is absolute... greater even than that of Angsaar himself! I shall crush the Tellurian sphere, and the flaccid lickspittles who strive in vain to safeguard it! Yes... The dreaming is over! Now, let the vengeance begin!
The Empyreal Lexicon
The Keeper of the Ninth Shard: So cold are the spaces between the stars... For blackened suns are the only legacy of worlds long dead. Zurra: The key word of Transcendence! The key word of Transference! I shall liberate the rightful owners of the Lexicon... the true rulers of the cosmos! X'atham-ry'aa! Tha'zai-tonn! Darker than a score of hells, Wherein astral horrors dwell, Macrocosmic realms aflame... Prey of fiends that have no name! X'atham-ry'aa! Tha'zai-tonn! Darker than a score of hells... Where astral horrors sublime dwell, Macrocosmic realms aflame... Bow to the gods that have no name! The Keeper of the Ninth Shard: So cold, at the heart of a frozen star... Stay thy hand and thy tongue, slave of the Outer Darkness.... Surely you are not foolhardy enough to dare awaken the dire titans of Z'xulth! Zurra: Hidden within the blazing core of this sun is that which I seek, old one. Do not seek to thwart me, lest the horrors of oblivion be a balm to your time-addled mind. Behold the cosmic codex! The tome of the astral abyss! The Keeper of the Ninth Shard: Such diabolical evil... sublime macrocosmic malevolence! Zurra: Fear is the power... Terror is the key! X'atham-ry'aa... Tha'zai-tonn! I am replete with sovereign mastery! The portals to the Outer Darkness yawn wide once more! They-Who-Lurk-And-Breed-In-Limbo are free! Kur'oc! Gul-Kor! I have won... bow, yield, kneel! Darken the sun... Narra, Gorra, Kaasha! I arise... bow, yield, kneel! Parhelion dies... Narra, Gorra, Kaasha! I can taste the sweet ichors of omni potency upon my lips... Let it begin! X'atham-ry'aa j'aiigh! Tha'zai-tonn nax'a-gorrha! The Keeper of the Ninth Shard: So cold, the spaces between the stars... Zurra: X'atham-ry'aa... Tha'zai-tonn... The Keeper of the Ninth Shard: Such carnage wrought with your malevolent tongue, dark one... What unfathomable horrors dwell within the lightless corners of your cursed soul? Heed not the voice of the Lexicon... lest its whispers drive you mad!
Of Carnage And A Gathering Of The Wolves
Somewhere in the lightless, labyrinthine depths of the Darkenhold forest... Voice of the Night: Who are you, wanderer? Wandering Spirit: I can't remember... Voice of the Night: The wolves are gathering, the stars are shifting... come, join us in the hunt. The Sylvan Oracle: What arboreal augury be this? Has the Realm Verdant at last seen the countenance of the scourge born of prophecy? What is thy scheme, Zyl-Zyn-Horhuz? Voice of the Night: Who are you, wanderer? Wandering Spirit: I have the scent... Voice of the Night: Gaze into the mists... feel the earth thawing beneath your feet. Come, bring down the prey. The Sylvan Oracle: The wolves are gathering, The stars are shifting, This spectre at the feast, This nectar of the vine. Voice of the Night: Look at the power you possess... See the might which you wield! You know who you are, do you not? Wandering Spirit: Yes, I am the scythe in the field at summer, I am the thunder that awakens the earth, I am that which gives the night air its chill. Voice of the Night: Who are you, wanderer? Wandering Spirit: I am far beyond the ken of men... my gaze shall make the night tremble! The Sylvan Oracle: So dour a mien, let all night's fulgors flame. Behold, the ghost of a king as yet unborn! He is the scourge, the thanatos, the cleansing fire, the purifying storm... he is the cataclysm given corporeal form! Be wary that your progeny does not consume thee, Zyl-Zyn-Horhuz... the Voice of the Night! Voice of the Night: Who are you, my son? Wandering Spirit: Father... I am annihilation incarnate!
Callisto Rising
Zuranthus: Earthbound, a star falls to my tongue. Come to me, Hyperion's child... come to me, spawn of Titan. Condemned Souls of the Brotherhood of Dark Elucidation: Callisto rising! Glory ascendant! Hearken Zuranthus, kin of Klatrymadon... your brethren are free once more! The rogue godling, your brother Zurra, has cast his virulent majesty upon the cosmos once again! Begot of the thunder... Spellbinder! Zurra: Break the sidereal seal, brother! Open the astral portal! Give me the Lexicon... give me that which is rightfully mine! Destroy the guardian-light... Kill! Zuranthus: Earthfall... the firmament weeps for this fallen star. The cosmic ebb and flow... Behold my splendour, progeny of Titan! Condemned Souls of the Brotherhood of Dark Elucidation: Callisto rising! Goddess ascendant! Hearken Zuranthus, kin of Klatrymadon... on a whim you may devour the luminous sentinel which binds this crystalline fragment of the Lexicon to bleak Callisto... Empower your renegade sibling... free our souls! Bestriding the tundra... Mistweaver! Zurra: Unfetter yourself, brother Zuranthus... bestow upon me the shard which I seek... give me my godhead, or I shall condemn your flaccid essence to a dimension of unparalleled pain! Kill! Zuranthus: Do not seek to threaten me, wormcast. My tenure here is preordained... and I will suffer your arrogance no longer, little brother. The power of the Lexicon is not destined to be possessed by one such as you. Be gone! Klatrymadon: How bewitching... so poignant in the shadow of death. Where did you send the renegade whelp? Zuranthus: Far beyond. In this dimension, velocity itself is no longer limited by the speed of light. Condemned Souls of the Brotherhood of Dark Elucidation: Bipolar nebula! A falling star! The gate yawns wide above eon-veiled Mu... Zurra: V'aan-ayth'ultaa, No'maal-pha'guus.... Damn you, Zuranthus... You will pay dearly for this outrage, I swear it by the blackened maw of the sacred Z'xulth! Zuranthus: Stray not into my darksome embrace, lest I grind my jaws on your soul. Condemned Souls of the Brotherhood of Dark Elucidation: Spare us your wrath, great one, we beg thee. Begot of the thunder... spellbinder. Callisto Rising! Zuranthus: Behold my godhood... and pray!
The Scourge Of The Fourth Celestial Host
Uatu: They possess power unparalleled... ageless, remorseless. Without pity or conscience. Manipulators of evolution on countless worlds. Gods of the stars... the Celestial Host! Norrin-Radd: Zenn-la! (My homeworld, denied me by the whims of Galan of Taa! I vow that another world shall not be taken from me while I live!) I beseech thee, great ones... spare this insignificant planet... this earth. The Living Tribunal: Humankind, behold your creators... behold your destroyers. Arishem, Exitar... Judge and executioner! Uatu: They who sow the fields of the stars... They return to reap the evolution harvest. Arishem, Exitar... Judge and executioner! The Infinity Watch: Time, space, soul, mind, reality, power... Norrin-Radd: I am the last scion of Zenn-La, Never more to embrace Shalla-Bal. I was born to soar beyond the stars... Uatu: And lo, the Exterminator, the Destroyer of Worlds, the Purifier of Galaxies... Norrin-Radd: The edge of oblivion beckons... (the blood of countless billions stains these silvern hands... but I must... I will endure!) I am the protector of this world! I wield the Power Cosmic! (Behold, from the Realm Eternal my ally speeds to lend his might and the power of his Uru hammer to the fray!) Arishem, Exitar... Judge and executioner. I shall scatter your atoms to the four cosmic winds! The Infinity Watch: Time, space, soul, mind, reality, power. Hail Arishem! Hail Exitar! The Star-Gods have returned! Norrin-Radd: The vast sea of stars stretches into infinity before me... I am the last scion of Zenn-la, Never more to embrace Shalla-Bal, I was born to soar beyond the stars. "Paradise unearned is but a land of shadows." "The Scourge Of The Fourth Celestial Host" is based on characters created by Stan Lee and Jack Kirby
Behold, The Armies Of War Descend Screaming From The Heavens!
The Disciples of Zakumakura: Since before mankind hurled himself squamously from the sea we have awaited the awakening of great Zakumakura! Now... the Dragon-King shall at last rise to claim his earthly throne! Cast your gaze to the firmament and know fear, for His forces fill the sky! Behold, the armies of war descend screaming from the heavens! The Order of Kl'aa: Your legions will fall as wheat before the harvest blade. The long aeons of tyranny are at an end... now, let the Ninth Millennium begin. The Disciples of Zakumakura: The Ritual of Ascendency is complete. Now is the time for trenchant steel and the massed throng of battle! Cry havoc! Crush them, kill them, destroy them all! The Invocation of Zakumakura: Kaiju, Dragos, Gojira! Kaiju, Dragos, Gojira! The Disciples of Zakumakura: You have lost the game, fools of Kl'aa! Your attempts to thwart our will have come to naught! You are guilty of dire crimes against His Ophidian Majesty! The charge is high treason against the empire... you will bear this punishment with praise on your lips! The Invocation of Zakumakura: Zakumakura Es-iaah! Zakumakura As-aaoh! The Order of Kl'aa: High treason against the empire... Bah! A thousand curses upon the coils of Zakumakura! The power of Sentinel Omega shall be brought to bear against you! The Disciples of Zakumakura: Invoke the Dragon-King... and let the great serpent rise to devour the world of men! Hearken... he rises, he rises at last! Behold the celestial majesty of Great Zakumakura!! We are all entwined within the coils of the great galactic worm! The Aspirant to Sentinel Omega's power: Elemental disarray... chaos beyond the Tellurian cloudscape! The galaxy burns! I am the receptacle of the ultimate power... the power of Sentinel Omega... I am the vessel of his greatness! I am the One! The Disciples of Zakumakura: The galaxy is their battleground... the stars are their arena! Let mankind despair in the knowledge that this day did see an end to his insignificant dominion... and the birth of a new era of glory for the servitors of the Dragon-King! Sentinel Omega: I feel it... the omniverse exists within me! Every molecule in my body is ablaze with cosmic fire! I have forsaken my humanity forever... I, who now walk with the gods amongst the endless stars!
The Thirteen Cryptical Prophecies Of Mu
Zurra: The Callisto shard denied me! I have been cast across the myriad intersecting tendrils of the great web of space and time... And now, I gaze once more upon the orb azure! I have given proud Atlantis to the sea, shattered ancient Lemuria beneath my fist, and razed the arrogant spires of Ys to gleaming rubble... Now, a crystalline fragment of the Lexicon awaits me here in this primitive land... this realm of Mu. The High Priest of Mu: He is here! The one spoken of in prophecy! The death of all there is! The Children of the Telluric Nexus shall safeguard the shard of illumination. Zurra: This is the end of your world! I shall remake all creation in my image! The Chief Cultist of Zurra: You have come, master. We, your loyal servitors have waited a thousand years for you to bless us with your divinity! What is thy bidding, o' mighty and omniscient Zurra? Zurra: You dare address me? I was ancient when your ancestors were naught but protoplasmic slime! The Chief Cultist of Zurra: In the sweltering swathe of Zurra's sword! Kill, kill, kill! 'Fore the matchless might of Zurra's wrath! Die! The High Priest of Mu: The storm comes. On the katabatic winds rides ravening doom. Yasa-mega... Yasa-giga... Yasa-tera! May Klatrymadon preserve us! The Keeper of The Thirteen Cryptical Prophecies Of Mu: And be it known to the Children of the Telluric Nexus, that the day of the Great Purification is at hand... as it was written long ago, in the Thirteen Cryptical Prophecies. Become one with the shard, progeny of the Nexus... embrace its power... embrace the glory of immolation! Zurra: Mankind, how ignorant thou art. Yes, death glides silently on gossamer soft wings, but her touch is harsh! The Prime Voyager: Your folly ends here, Zurra! The Empyreal Lexicon has been made whole... and its power is lost to you forever! The foe has been cast back into the Outer Darkness, but your treachery must not go unpunished! Submit to our judgement or face eternity in the limbo of Z'xulth! Zurra: I would sooner suffer damnation a thousand times than bend the knee to you! You and your sublimely arrogant ilk, who strode the primordial surface of Pangaea and watched with disdain as life evolved in the boiling oceans... You have won nothing! My power is born of Chaos... it sustains me and courses blackly through my ersatz veins! Now face the true potency of the power you seek to destroy, and behold in awe the true nature of the universe! The High Priest of Mu: Ascent to ecliptic! Mu and Poseidonis! The Chief Cultist of Zurra: The Emperor commands... Uroboros to rise! The High Priest of Mu: Ascent to ecliptic! Mu and Poseidonis! The Chief Cultist of Zurra: The Emperor commands... Uroboros to rise! The Chief Cultist of Zurra: In the sweltering swathe of Zurra's sword... kill, kill, kill! 'Fore the matchless might of Zurra's wrath... die! In the sweltering swathe of Zurra's sword... die, die, die! 'Fore the matchless might of Zurra's wrath... (Bless us with your withering touch, o' great one... may the earth tremble at your tread and may your ireful gaze bring purifying cataclysm to the debauched hives of mankind's iniquities!) Zurra: Ah, the Alpha and the Omega. As all life was created from Chaos... so shall it be DESTROYED!!!!!
Epilogue
Xerxes: Such devastation, master... A mighty civilization destroyed in the blinking of an eye... decimated by the madness of a rogue demi-god... Altarus: Indeed, my young apprentice. Ancient Mu was annihilated utterly... cast to the same shark-haunted grave as would one day embrace Atlantis, Lemuria... and even proud and noble Hyperborea. Xerxes: And what became of the treacherous one... the Chaos-dog Zurra? Altarus: He was consumed by his own darksome power, young Xerxes. A splinter of his consciousness was returned to the prison beneath the Mare Imbrium, while another echo of his being was dispersed along the filaments of the space-time matrix to a period before the first battle in the War of the Lexicon was even fought. The primary facet of the black-hearted Zurra was condemned to a limbo of such unimaginable tortuous magnitude, that it made the horrors endured by dread Angsaar himself seem like naught but a lover's caress in comparison. Xerxes: Such power as was wielded by Zurra corrupted his heart, master. His quest for the Lexicon was not a desire born of the eternal search for cosmic enlightenment, but rather of a vain hope that such elucidation would allow him to understand the horrors which blighted his own immortal soul... Altarus: You may yet one day understand the intricacies of the sidereal web, young apprentice. Come... the mists once again cloud the great cosmic eye, and the vista darkens for today. But rest assured, my youthful neophyte... there are many more stories in this vast, eternal saga yet to be told...