Two worlds, a juxta position of persona
a blue gate stems... a lunar visage ...is given shape
a crude existence of temporary phase
stepping through, this earth-umbilicus severed
a promise wrought of whim, realized.
Britannia, beauty personified...
familiar faces, a better place
time negated, nay, displaced.
Under the ankh, comaraderie
side by side... virtues permeate.
Though tainted still
as blood on steel,
wicked laughter, the howling of wolves...
the guttural wail of the orcish lord...
the prestidijitation of runes,
coaxed into spell:
"In Vas Ort Corp"
Death spills, clumsily, eternal unto us
washing clean (fruitless indeed) our struggle.
Remembering the ankh...
accepted its seed.