Prophetic Prata: Sinlit Revelations I

Deep in the navel of the world,

Where shadows and secrets creep,

A monstrous tale, unfurls

For in the city of fallen dreams,

In the whispers of the damned,

In the dreams of a mad alchemist,

The cries of a scornful savage wandered

By the Mekhonata Kul, forwandered.

It’s hateful bellowing ringing through the catacombs.

Some said it had a thousand eyes, as thousand limbs, or a thousand screams.

But forsoothe, it brought nigh a thousand eons of pain.

Through fog and filth it roams and crawls

Its form a nightmare's shroud,

Its visage twisted, darkness spawned,

A horror ne'er avowed.

No prophet could reveal its buried reflection,

No templar could pierce its shadowed veil,

No mage could break its curse,

Broken chains of great gold,

Broken promises of slaying,

Broken hearts of weeping saints.

In the depths of the Faux Fissures,

Where madness and sorrow unite,

The abomination fed on human despair,

And bathed in brimstone.

A beast fashioned from men and metal,

Saint Augustine’s monster