The Gathering of the Accursed Artifacts

From the mists of obscurity
Rises one desperate to be worthy
To inherit the mantle of sin
And from the twilight ascend

To the northern throne
Seeking and searching

A helm of terror
Symbol of wickedness
His mask an emblem of his master
A cursed blade emanating corruption
His own Tyrfing
Demands blood be spilt

A black shroud,
The womb of night
Worn to conceal his sin
He screams for vengeance
For crimes all but unknown to him

Scattered into the winds of history
The accursed artifacts now gathered,
Bound with the spirit of evil,
Surge with unholy power

Terrible forces gnawing at his mind,
Pushing him ever onwards
The path is clear,
He has seen the revelation:
He must apotheosize himself

To the northern throne
Seeking and searching

A final absolution dictated from forces unknowable
He is a tool, a vessel of darkness unfathomable

Create order by destruction
To snuff out the light of the stars
An ancient imperative
From times immemorial