The Summoning
in the darkness he stands aloneunder the soil rests flesh and bone
his hood covering the majority of his face
his movements smooth, slow was his pace
he opened the tome, the great book of the dead
a deed to be done, one all holy dread
opening the pages, browned by time
his eyes to the graves as he spoke a line
using the language of old and in lore
to demand them to rise, his voice in declare
the book before him began to glow blood red
the pressence of death, coming to awake the dead
slowly it dispressed into the dry, arid, earth
where those that had fallen began their rebirth
slowly the ground rose, this dry dirt coffin
now immune to pain, nothing could stop them
as they stood amoungst their graves
the necromancer preeched the end of days
their blood thirsty eyes glanced toward the city
desiring to kill, so hungry, empty, thirsty
an army amassed, the dead do serve
the image of fear, that strikes the very nerve
as his troops assembled, the summoner spoke these words
every man shall die, even the beasts, even the birds!
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