From panoramic perch,
See the darkness spilling down,
In blotchy streaks of ink,
To cover daylight's ground.

As plumes of industry rise,
And the machination of gears churn,
The ur'Guard march from their towers,
The enemies of the Taint will burn.

Screams of mandolins grow louder,
The crescendo reaches it's peak,
His Voice guides their notes,
To hearing ears, so bleak.

The Earth! It cracks and crumbles,
Waves of rock and sand,
Do thrust out from the gates in fissures,
To devour all the land.

Slinking, surreptitious, unheard,
But for the steady clink of chain,
Walk the bearers of Illithoid tradition,
Bent on challenging Light's reign.

Last, swathed in darkness,
Demonic thralls in tow,
Flood the guardians of Nil,
Hooded cloaks pulled low.

Crash! Against the battlements,
Unending waves push forth,
To enforce the gift of Transformation,
On the blinded of the north.

And from panoramic perch,
As dawn washes away the night,
The harrowed city burns,
No saviour for the Light.