In Haeth

III - Tale

One ancient tale,       washed from times past.

A Land to the Northward,       where lone-wolves roamed.

Far from the Capital,       county of fear,

Forged with ichor,       frozen with death.

The home of the wicked,       wanderers of hatred;

Or saints of delusion,       seeking to cleanse

A state forgotten,       of souls banished;

Where gods been slain,       sinners govern.

Caverns of ghouls,       ghosts of the catacombs;

Fortress of men,       makers of frauds; 

Woodlands of elves,       exiled with woe;

This land, honor falls       as sick-minds rise.

And here he rose,       harbinger of the past.

Prophet of a lost-god,       a preacher of ambition;

Seeker for power,       savage and ruthless,

Masked with benevolence,       master of deception.

This ancient tale,       ageless in brutality;

Of a conqueror's rise,       for the cosmic god.

In the Land Northward,       where lone-wolves roamed.

Far from the Capital,       county of fear.