Cry of the Fallen
So quick to buy the blackened shiny stone,
encased in gold, and anchored to his staff.
The price was set in blood and oath combined,
a binding seal upon his foolish soul.
Through slop and muck they dragged him deep below,
where sewage flows and wicked men conspire.
With rod red hot and arms held taught, he screamed,
as vile smoke rose and left his head besmirched.
Branded a fool, he walked among the dead,
and left behind his zeal for life for good.
Now poor and broke, he had no room for love,
thus gave his soul for magic dark and cold.
Come unto me, oh lady of the night,
that I may spread your wicked, deadly seed
and topple those who cross my leftward path
with sickness steeped in pain enough to scream.
Let the living good stumble to the ground.
May their bones break and twist beneath their flesh,
as loved ones cry and yank their hair in grief.
Empower me that I may reap thy fields,
until the last of ripened crop is gone.
- Rigwyn