(Over The Moonless Depths Of Night-Dark Seas)



The log of the northern mariner:

The great serpent-prow of my ship, Wave-Render cleaves the nighted

Waters as we voyage across the dark, icy sea, towards the unknown...

Above, the brigth winter's moon emerges from a veil of cloud to cast

Its lucent rays upon us, and a clinging, supine sea-mist writhers upon

The midnight waves, swirled by the colol, whispering wind which

Catches our great sail, pushing us onwards, vever onwards... And

Beyond the tang of the darkling sea, the scent of nights is as strong

And heady as summer blossom. I know not what awaits us at the elder

Isle of Mists... That grim and mistery-haunted place which beckons me

To it's shadowed embrace, swathed in dark legendry and etwined in the

Mantle of ancient sorceries... And yet I must hearken to it's ethereal

Call... For mayhap the gods have decreed this to be my final voyage...