Alba s touto skladbou:
Ancient Wars,
F'taghn
collecting Itself from the ashes of men and women,
melting and sharing their heritage of the past.
It rose from the grey mists
that deluged the barren plains of the coldlands,
It chose as Its silent homestead.
From pure alien origin It once had been,
feared and hunted profusely by a race
now removed from Its close vicinity,
from this land's
solemn existence,
by a gentle stroke
of Its hand.
It was mastering the arts of this planet's materialisation.
It alone was with many,
who were but small parts of It self.
F'taghn was the blessed name It carried,
dating back from beyond
the vortex of dimensions,
from the grounds
of the Elder lords.
On the top of the frozen hill
It appeared in all Its might,
clouded by the particles It had risen from,
summoning the ghosts from Its gaseous body.
Accompanied by the chanting choirs of tormented ancient souls,
the misty shapes that dwelled the ground, crystallised.
F'taghn, Beast of a thousand souls, ancient dweller
of the Siberian landscapes, feared by the lonely men
sleeping restlessly in Its domain.
Its four eyes watched the four horizons
of the earth,
scanning for a prey to be
fetched by the materialised
ghostly wolfclan.
It remembered how he once recited
the forbidden sentences, being bonded by
the mortal human flesh,
and glanced upon the spiralled vortex
in the dry desert sands.
He knew then that his destiny lay
on a different level than that
of his fellow human men and women.
And the moment the purple lightning struck
his eyes and burned his flesh
he knew he was of the alien F'taghn,
reaper of souls,
scout of the Ancient Ones.
It remembered how she once played
with the Dhogh-Nubilum Gem
and fragmentated
into the sand she sat in,
sailed on Sahara winds
towards the open spheres
of the vortex of creation,
disappearing into the sentient thing called F'taghn Yog,
dogmatist of wolfclans, harvester of human souls in barren wastes.
She was renewed and beyond all grasp.
It remembered how It joined with the souls It lured into Its ritual bonding.
The owners of human memories embedded in Its vapour flesh.
And now they dwelled Siberia
as wolves of light and darkness,
optic illusions just as deadly
as bullets from a gun,
obeying Its mind.
