It sates itself on the life-blood

of fated men,

paints red the powers’ homes

with crimson gore.

Black become the sun’s beams

in the summers that follow,

weathers all treacherous.

Brothers will fight

and kill each other,

sisters’ children

will defile kinship.

It is harsh in the world,

whoredom rife

—an axe age, a sword age

—shields are riven—

a wind age, a wolf age—

before the world goes headlong.

No man will have

mercy on another.

Weathers All Treacherous

Murglor Ultiville