Upon the rough, desolate Western Sea,
in the depths of the Northen Vashnarians hidden,
rife with burning trees and blackened lea.
From an immense, bloody, stalagmite risen,

Lies Mhaldor, the great and mighty Black City.

Within the Streets of Sin and the Junctions of Peredition,
scholars pore the tomes and laws that the Twin Lords had bidden,
the char-blackened rapiers sing of the Ebon Knights of ambition
and of the serpents, of the Naga, their secrets so expertly woven.

In Mhaldor, the great and mighty Black City.

Whence sinister, insane scientists conduct unequitable experiments
and whence unspeakable horrors dwelve deep in the red, fetid fog.
On the stones of the Courtyard floor, the Baelgrim battlements
doth the Mhun and Orc work, fearing, lest they shall feel the flog

Of Mhaldor, the great and mighty Black City.

At the Unholy Cathedral, where shouts and screams are rend,
Irilan suffers, the Haruspex dwells and the Illuminatrix uncovers.
At the Red Square, where many flock to sit or to stand,
quivering with mirth, at the luckless head that Theoren recovers.

At Mhaldor, the great and mighty Black City.

Under the iron-fisted rule of the Tyrannaus
and the law of the Apocrypha,
Mhaldorians guided by the Seven Truths
will crush those of weakness, of the light and of the tree.
Their heathen footsteps, desperate and hasty.
Under the Twin Lords' crimson blinding star,
their cowardly, fearful faces are illuminated,
illuminated in the darkest light as they flee.

From Mhaldor, the great and mighty Black City.

Penned by my hand on the 5th of Chronos, in the year 523 AF.