A night that reeks of taint and cosmic flame
A Nihilist who seeks to make his name
Within the crimson mist, he kneels and prays
He's lived off only carrion for days

He bids Lord Fain farewell, and then he stands
He conjures forth black fire in both hands
With wings outspread, he takes to the night sky
Somewhere, something surely soon will die

The Nihilist happens upon a fae,
He scoffs, he turns, he goes the other way
Soon after, he encounters an elfen
As he takes his stance he starts to grin

Within an hour, the battle he has won
He grabs the body, his work is not yet done
He returns now to the Shrine where he just prayed
And at his Patron's feet, his kill is laid.

Penned by my hand on the 18th of Klangiary, in the year 382 CE.