Stooped now the wraith, more shadow than flesh.
Once mighty hews lie sunken in chest.
Spectral hoar frost spat on breath.
A pulse ebbs, yet, still Lord of Death.
A silent tongue whispers tumours in head.
Bending will of wardogs led.
A world quailed in terror
Beneath vast crush of crag
Entombed in gut of molten slag
An Archon-King cursed to live
As regent in Abyss of eldritch Necropolis.
Revenant sits on his throne.
At World's Edge a mighty range
Cuts through cloud impaling Heaven
Follow fissures down - Behold:
The Root of the Mountain.