Morgion – Cloaked by ages, Crowned in earth
By three standards of rule, the triumvirate of woe.
Cloaked in black hood, seeking the Three Swords of Nether.
Honed in darkest forges, Netherian Flame. Celestial etchings upon each blade, buried in a tomb beneath a once great city, long forgotten by the heralds of time.
Like a pestilence they had come, delving into the earth, seeking…wanting. Upon a clever cairn they did plunder, mastering the Nether Three once more.
To the East did ride the first, claiming kingdom and rule. One thousand foes he did fell, never did his wounds need mending. Within his keep he lay hidden, watching.. ever watching succumbing to his madness.. thus is the reward of the Nether.
To the West upon a great fleet did fly the second. Upon a great turbulent tide he was carried, until the sea doth opened her mouth to swallow him forever. At the ocean bottom, enthroned he now ponders.. such is the way of the Nether.
To the Great Northern Wilderness traveled the third. Roaming the wilds without food or sleep, five centuries did pass him by. Under a great oak he did rest, never to rise again. Now only the birds sing his tale, lamenting the curse of the Nether.
Countless aeons have the Nether Three been, entombing their wielders in a limitless sustenance. Only the return to their resting, to the Cairn they expire. Now sustenance unwelcome, ignorance is no excuse…
Brave, Courageous and bold.
Long live his fame,
and long live his glory.
Long may his worthless posts be told.