There is one always watching from the shadows disguised as an affable mentor,
one who knows the gifts of the darkness, his words reek o' lies and a power unmatched
no one can sense his ever creeping influence, as he shrouds his ill will from his foes
he knows the young one's passions will overwhelm all the somber vows he has sworn
slithering into his ears, a legend was passed down from the old master to the vile disciple
dark magic, dark desire, unnatural power - see the dead, stop the dying, save the ones he loves
the necromantic powers guised in white,
a noble cloth hides the fetid spirit
a bastard child born of prophecy,
misplaced hope of an age forgotten
his words are like the singing of serpents
songs the color of shadows
he blurs the line between good and evil
a false smile masking the deceit
sensing the young one's power and lust, he grows ever bolder still,
a silver tongue conceals the bile of his nature – he wants to consume the stars:
“sit with me, my child, I know what troubles you, so listen to my words attentively:
become a god, create life – though some might hold these ancient secrets as unholy and unnatural”
"Ecce ops occulta, ops regnare super mortem. Opem celaverunt ab te, verum quidem opem."
