[Instrumental]

So long have I walked in the Shadow Realm, so frail
Darkness, cold and desolation hounding my trail
The last fading embers give no solace to the forlorn
Malevolence now plagues the land, a sickness grips the throne

Seeds of chaos were sown across the land
Malformed scions of the plague hail the withered hand
The last bastion of the light has fallen to its demise
The wardens were burnt at the stake ensuring chaos' rise

As the last of my order, my destiny I claim,
To return to the forlorn keep and end darkness' reign
The tyranny of undeath can plague this land no more,
The last artifact is in my hands thus I shall claim the throne

The Sceptre of Righteousness feels heavy in my hands
The searing pain dwarfed by the power that it grants
I have sworn to seek out the enemy within
The final eclipse is imminent, my path shall be grim


I will strike down the dread that grips the land
I will cleanse this realm, that keeps withering
I am sworn to honour the legacy of the lost light
It's me and my destiny entwined, only void is by my side

As I walk down the Great Hall
The veil begins to fall
The skeletal king awaits
Defiant at the gates

The destined hour is finally upon me, my fate shall be decided beyond this foreboding gateway to the grim chamber at the very heart of this accursed fortress!

I will strike down the dread that grips the land
I will cleanse this realm, that keeps withering
I am sworn to honour the legacy of the lost light
It's me and my destiny entwined, I'll end this war this night

My courage, do not fail me, as I cross over the threshold!

The skeletal king stares at the void, light flickers in his eyes,
I must end this wretched servant of death and grant him his demise
Once a lord of the Imperium so proud in his stance,
His copper crown perched jagged on his ancient head

The clash of swords, a song of woe pierces the silence deep
The hall awakens from its slumber the void swirls around the keep
The gargoyles reanimate one by one, red flames light in their eyes
A last stand against the king, I'll hold out till sunrise


Shadows fall in the wake of the undead king's demise
The first rays of the cold blue sun pierce the hoary skies
The crumbling keep is embraced by the freezing morning mist
A great triumph was sealed by the shattering of the Rift!


And as the beams of cleansing light flooded the ancient halls
and the forlorn realm of shadow was lost no more,
the champion knelt in silence, feeling the last vestige of the undead king
within him, festering in all his wounds.
Mustering all his strength he closed his grip on the sceptre and stood,
he knew his fate is one of exile and loss
As he turned his back on the keep and journeyed north,
to the lands of eternal frost


Destined for solitude
The Bane of Shadows falls
Exiled from the promised land
Salvation by death is at hand

A fate of oblivion
Glory's but a vain hope
A sacrificial pawn
Of chaos and order

A battle eternal
A never-ending struggle
Paid with the blood
Of the forgotten ones

A cycle unbroken
Yet countless have fallen
The multiversal balance
cannot be undone

His fate now accepted
His legacy lost
Craving death
Amidst the frost

He found his final rest
Among the toppled spires
Of legends laying frozen
Deep beneath the ice


And so, my sacrifice condemned me to this icy tomb where I shall remain until the final age of mankind. My legacy borne upon the winds, my land but a distant memory, yet I keep the shadow encased within my ravaged frozen body, and the darkness in my heart for all time

The Storyteller:
A mountain rose up high
from the midst of blackened crags
Hither led the path
the hunter and his wrath

Embraced by hoarfrost
he carries on the way
'til the blazonries of sunset
wither in dismay

The algid bitter cold
now bites down to the bone
a pyre's lit to shelter
the wanderer, so lone.

Before dawn could pierce
the grim obsidian sky
howling could be heard,
a savage primal cry.


Magister Ralibar-Vooz:
I summon thee grim avatar of war,
give me the strength
to withstand these creatures so foul
aid my blade in the task at hand.

I summon thee grim avatar of war,
give me your power
so the Voormis may fall before my might,
my blade shall be painted red with blood.


The Storyteller:
Illusions swirl in the moonlight
Sorcery cast under the veil of night
The high crags are warped as the arcane takes its toll
The grim cries of war fade away,
the fires burn down to coal

Shadows are gathering in the moonlight
Ancient invocations uttered in the dark
The hunter arrives as the power takes its hold
The spell is broken, the conjunction is void


The Sorcerer Ezdagor:
Fool!
The summoning is broken
I waited for a thousand years
You shall be placed under my geas

Journey to the depth of the mountain,
I offer your life, to the dormant gods,
for I waited for a thousand years,
and you are now placed under my geas.


The Storyteller:
Illusions swirl in the moonlight
Sorcery cast under the veil of night
The invocation surrounds the hunter with fell fumes
The grim cries of war abound again,
as he treads towards his doom


Magister Ralibar-Vooz:
O, Elder God Tsathoggua,
Hear my call great Atlach-Nacha

The Elder Gods Tsathoggua and Atlach-Nacha:
Your purpose is not what the Eye foresees
journey forth with another geas

Magister Ralibar-Vooz:
Grim sorcerer Haon-Dor,
wise scholars of the serpent-men

The sorcerer Haon-Dor and the serpent-men:
Seek out the Archetypes,
they may use you for their profane rites


The Storyteller:
The hunter was led to a prehistoric fen
compelled by spell, his mind shaken,
the womb of the world was nothing, but a cruel host
A chance to see Commoriom, the last hope is lost


Magister Ralibar-Vooz:
Hear me out o Archetypes,
primogenitors of mankind

The Primordial Archetypes:
We disown you with indignation,
Your presence here's an intrusion

Magister Ralibar-Vooz:
Abhoth, Lord of Miscreation,
grim primordial abomination

The Elder God Abhoth:
I cast upon you the seventh geas,
Seek out the Outer World and end your pleas.


Magister Ralibar-Vooz:
With the seventh geas cast,
My story shall end at last
The darkest abyss awaits my fall,
From the primal void I hear the call

The Storyteller:
Behold, the warhosts of the Imperium are marching to face the last stand of the barbarian kingdom. The mighty heathen keep towering before them in all its brooding majesty!


Legion captain Caius Septimus:
Encircle the fortress
Until the break of dawn
There will be no escape
These fields will be their graves

The Barbarian Kings
have long withstood our wrath
We storm the gates tomorrow
carnage will follow our path


King Eadric: We'll die with honour by the steel!
Caius Septimus: Unleash fire upon the dogs!
King Eadric: Ancestors, grant us courage and strength
to defeat the Imperial host!


The Storyteller:
Brimstone rain fell
Arrows darkened the sky
Carnage below the gates,
Death the men defy

The defenders stand tall, but
there's no end to the imperial foe
As siege towers draw ever closer
Death was eager to sow


King Eadric:
Do not fear darkness, men!
We're ready to defend our ways
Even if we perish on this day
The bards shall sing our names!


King Eadric: We'll die with honour by the steel!
Caius Septimus: Shatter the heathen dogs!
King Eadric: Ancestors, grant us courage and strength…
to destroy the Imperial host!


The Storyteller:
In the mouldy catacombs of the keep
Lies an ancient altar to the Draconian Kings
Hewn from obsidian in primordial times
It guards the Dragonhorn from unworthy eyes

It is said that in times of great peril
It calls forth the might of the Great Wyrms
Upon the foes of the realm of men
Breathing fire down upon those who threaten the land

When all seemed lost the King delved beneath the keep
He knelt before the altar and let his own blood be spilt
He summoned forth the dragons from their age-old slumber
To wreak havoc in Imperial ranks and tear them asunder.

Brimstone rain fell
Dragons darkened the sky
Carnage out on the fields,
Charred remains, broken shields

The last defenders sally forth, but
there's no end to the imperial foe
The howling war-cries are legion
And Death cared not for their woes

The keep lies in ruins in stillness' frigid grasp
The altar of the Wyrm lies buried under dust
The last of the free folk never stood a chance
The Imperium marches on, the war-hosts advance

The Rune Master, at the apex of his lifelong quest:

…And as the glimpses of legend are revealed in ancient runes upon the scattered shards of the crystal tablets, I witness the gathering of a vast maelstrom sundering the boreal firmament. The blinding cosmic chaos of the aurora begins to converge, revealing wondrous visions of a long-forgotten age. Suddenly I behold a gleaming citadel spire atop a colossal mountain that shimmers through the mystic haze, beckoning me to awake the dreamer that dwells within. Truly the gods are merciful on this day, for at last I comprehend my true destiny! Without haste I reach out in desperation for the realm beyond, that I have seen for mere moments yet with which I feel such profound affinity…

…Alas! Just as the mystical nexus seems at its most potent, the aurora vanishes in a blinding flash, and with it my destiny is left unfulfilled. What dire fate shall become of my master of that mighty citadel now that I have failed him? What cruel manner of divine entity can manifest visions of such majestic splendour, only to seal them away with such haste? My sombre cries go unheard, obscured by the roaring icy gales that soar across the desolate, snow-clad plain. As I steel my heart I reflect upon my purpose. My quest to recover the remaining shards must continue, and thus I shall wander this land until the day I can finally conjure the aethereal nexus once more, and return to that lost kingdom to which I surely belong!