It was on a moonless night as dark as pitch,
that Malygris cast his runic spell.
For endless aeons tarried body lich,
Within this mortal hell.
The last great show of the mage Malygris,
in necromancy strewn hall.
And with the ardent laughter echoing in darkness,
he let the shadow self hood fall.
A body that had served him well,
through shattered isle and fame ill won.
Wizened flesh whose scrying bowl would foretell,
even those of sorceress empowered succumb.
The spirit freed from restraining host,
no man wrought device to impede its vision.
He thus observed King Gadeiron and conspirators toast,
the success of their plotted mission.
But Malygris with spectral twitch before transcendence,
had one final jest to play.
To curse the king, companions and descendants,
to condemn them - body and spirit - to decay.