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Poetry News Post #4702

A Poem of Mhaldor and Lord Sartan

Written by: Droch Pirio
Date: Thursday, June 12th, 2014
Addressed to: Everyone


To faraway lands, and to yet farther skies
Red tendrils of fog stroked further upon earth,
For His followers gladly and gladder died,
And with dying breath, sharply, loudly cried,
Heralding the Unholy City?s birth.

O, Lord Sartan, You were kept
For far too long within prison stone:
Cruel red fog Your only means
Of leaving Your Cruel tower,
Yet You waited, waited, slept,
For a land to truly call home,
And Sapience could hardly dream
That It would unleash such power.

And all around were frightened,
As those hapless heathens are wont,
Yet faithfuls gave to the font
That they might be enlightened
To suffer for the Lord
And have His great might restored.
But the whole earth then would shake,
And from stalagmite, power poured,
Caused by the earthly quake
But Lady Gaia could afford.

And rising over the land
The Malevolent One came, wretched
As embodiment of Pain,
Suffering, and Oppression,
He waved a black and white hand
And a pentagram He etched.
And to all was clear and plain
As they watched the Lord?s progression.

Yes, the symbol burned with strength unbound
As to embody all of Hate
And with this he would create,
By carving it into ground
The home of the Damned, He formed
And from all the world?s hate and fear
Did five ominous spires appear.
Lord Sartan the earth reformed,
And, His might having no peer,
The Baelgrim Fortress was born.

And thus Tyrannus Kaelin took power
To found the Unholy City of Pain.
And the five dark Spires, ominous towers
The five great Guilds would contain.
Becoming then the five great Houses,
And the city of Mhaldor yet espouses
To this very unsanctified hour
All the Evils of e?erlasting dark reign.

O, then one day upon an evening dim
Lady Keresis the loyal
Obeying the Lord?s own orders grim
And to fulfill Her promise would toil
To split the Lord asunder
Among the foul thunder
As the wine-dark sea below Them roiled.

And looking upon the Lord was now seen
Instead of familiar, singular frame
Two forms stood where only one had been
And these Divines were, by name
Lord Apollyon, the Suffering God,
With Lord Shaitan, the Horned and clawed.
These two Divines, whose essence was of one mien
Now stood, different halves of the same.

Lord Apollyon, embodiment of reflection
From the Pain of silent Suffering cold,
Pondered the broken wheel in His introspection
Alongside Lord Shaitan, the ever-bold,
Who, both Oppressive and Cruel,
Accompanied Lord Apollyon in rule,
And Mhaldor in open palm did They hold.

O, Evil spread from the isle,
Punishing the idolatrous fools,
To the far reaches of the land,
From the harsh might of the Lords.
And together, They were vile,
Looking down from eye of jewel,
And crushing down with open hand
Did these two Divines guide the horde
To spread Their teachings most hostile
Which those heathens so deplored.

Then Lord Apollyon fell by sword
For a battle was just then won
By Pentharian, Valourous Lord.
Then Lord Shaitan, Oppressive One
The fallen Lord?s essence absorbed
And the Two become One once more
At the end of this unholy war
To look with single, seeing orb
Upon the Evil isle?s shore
As the twain-together Divine
Who rose once again to shine
Over the City of Mhaldor
As Lord Sartan, the Malevolent!

And to this day, the Great Lord rules with might
Interwoven suffering and strength within
And the almighty scope of His almighty sight
Sees all that will be, and all that has been.
And as he reigns with Evilest hand from the sky,
Crushing all who dare oppose His dominion,
And the heathens all fall with sorrowful cry
Before the Cruel Strength of Him and His minions.
O, may this greatest Divine never fall
And His regime extend to eternal length,
And may His Evil influence all
In Suffering and Strength.


Penned by my hand on the 2nd of Sarapin, in the year 657 AF.


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