A seed of vengeance sewn within gives birth to bitter roots
Reaching through your sinew spreading sickly tendrils through
Intravenous poison is the harvest that it yields
Bloodstream fit to boiling, bursts, this venom that you wield
Most prevalent of maladies, an ache of violence earned
Darkening the wishes against the enemies you’ve spurned
You play the debtor against a lesser, belied in your view
But a fractal of the woeful pattern here in this milieu
Deeds both grand and loathsome under influence of wrath
What wretched twisting blades have you set along your path
This is all the end complete, your story’s own design
For this pursuit of sweet revenge, you must concede or die.
- Agonodin Morathi of the Seventh Allegienne, Songwielder to the Seraph Verantis
A lament for the failing worlds
Estimated composition 700 years before the fall of Minan.
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