The Idyll of Arkengard

Girdled in its umbral shroud,
A citadel juts tall and proud -
Looking oe’r the darkling vale
And holding back with stony pale
The fell and unrelenting brake,
Whence strange beasts crawl and horrors wake.

Aloft the alabaster’d tor:
Sanguine, Seven Stars of Or.
From yon verdant palace yard
Writhes a passage high and scarred,
Whose pink cliffs creep
To woodlands deep
Where lie loose ends in Arkengard


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