Dark Ages: Fire
The Book of the Dead
The Book of the Dead
Historian, where hast thou been, book burning, gospel of science, executioner, spearing boars, the train of consequences or dancing on rivets in the streets…dining on slaughtered cherub, double, double toil and trouble. Lauding idols seeks ye well, darkness by the clouds, capable jester, lummox avid, lo, learner, ashes does the skeleton fall on hallows eve to the green mist of witches' brew. The intricate love potions, old forest gods not beckoned by trinkets whichever, the incantations of Lazarus rising, words inscribed on hell's altar, the devil's true name, the signs that Valkyrie storm your coven, of gods whom insofar command them, you are food for thought.
Put haste to Stonehenge, holy scribe conduit of planets, thrown upon the sword, buried in cobweb. Arise, move oceans with your hand, bloodsport, rumor, ending nigh, avast, buried alive. Shelves but no walls, echo, excelsior, nothingness, the mysteries of time, suffer judgment, to the ends of time, spake of leaders, steps across the water, even research from the future, Reich and Dynasty become. Sacrifice, push from plateau over cliff, remove all doubt, masquerade, vicarious, return to the earth in a dream, spy, entreat, beyond the boundaries of this realm, mage with smoke and mirror, possibility, any world before your eye, destroy, and draw from immaculate magic, hang the heavens of your choosing for shelter.