Sable anvil that strikes the sky,
Tempering dark secrets within its core.
In the darkness are those who try,
To mould flesh, and fur forever more.

Bearing a mane of bloody hair,
Bearnath the cultist rules his domain.
Dogs howl, men cry, a foe in lair!
Their foul spells cut short from refrain.

Penned by my hand on the 10th of Valnuary, in the year 587 AF.