Crawling out of the Ocean of Fire
We travelled to the sound of earthquake as if a god had falled slain, in middling fog of Midgard there rested an unsettling mist, beneath two spilling hillsides an opening into the earth with natural bridges of gigantic roots, the spiritual feeling of the magic ancience, wandering down the afternoon light the summer somewhere above, now somehow below the sap of gold and in the earth's bluffs occassional pouring of fires.
A resting spot a traveled place thrown into a pleasant dale near the river of oil and the fires like flowers everyplace, and in the depth a scattering by curious birds, a true summoning of the gods, proof that the skies will raise life from the earth, the magic glows of fire on the rockface, the water boils away from the body rising clean from oil, still forming as we prepare, in great light the Runes of Atlantis, in great readiness the past of peril, there the cambion turned to face us.
As wind grows it burns against the edge of the crater torn open the earth, beneath the cambion her steps calm Dark Water, from the cave at water's entrance a mantle of red glow and fireplace accomodates the shine of reflection at cave river surface, the granite slides to rest at one side the slated entry from nature differing around the Cambion Gate, her clothes attire obediently from the red smoke, silver sand, and black water, approaching dancing with discovery and formations. First in observe allure, to silence assure only hunger.
A fire speaks to the cambion while there is mist from the mountain, in the pleasure of the Forgotten Sea there the footsteps are bells into the water, the madness interrupts, the displeasure of the underground river swallowed by disdain as the mountain began to burn and bury it, now deciding to find the fires of rebirth, seeing the clouds burn for brightened returns, as the Deathpool of Anathema begins to stir and thrash against the burning lava, the tide begins to command the water defend allied with the the cambion, to the audience with the fire, who gives gift of a glass seed.
Grow against lesser days at dusk befallen, winter calls doth whisper autumn.
You are noticed by the Lava Witch, the ground heats and moves, smoke builds in the distance, waters darken in unrest, each in direction to draw all travelers who cannot escape, but smoke can thin, lava become stone, waters rest, for the first travelers met by Anathema here in Midgard.
