[The following is from the Saga of the Outlanders and the Death of the Vanogg, an epic poem written about the group's victory over the Vanogg that would form the basis for a religion in the far future. Written by the Nordvyrr's shaman, its information was gained through a vision quest, completed after the death of Gor'Kuul was confirmed, and once it was clear that neither Mord Bit or Ulframm would be returning to the village.]
So having spoken, with the spirit foul, into the lair did they descend,
To seek the foul, immortal lord, and to speed his bloody end.
Through dank and loathsome halls and rooms,
They bravely travelled on,
Until a place of ancient wrongs, was found before too long.
A place of blood and rotting stones, alive with ancient dire,
A place of mists and slimed bones, this rancid, bloody mire.
A place where all the heroes might, was thrown against the foe,
The ancient Vanogg dead, 'round whom hungry mists did flow.
And in the heart of this foulest place, a door to blighted night,
The way to dark Gor'Kuul's domain, to which the band must fight.
The hungry mists did chill and drain, all life with ghastly ease,
Whilst ancient Vanogg and corrupted corpse, near brought them to their knees.
But strong and true, the blades and chants,
Of all the party fell,
And soon slaughtered, the unquiet ones,
Froze in Tharyzon's Hell!
And so the stones, so vile and dank,
That clustered round the door,
Were made by might and strength of will,
To allow doomed Gor'Kuul's fall,
For opened by the learned aelfs,
Their magic, quickly yielded,
And bravely onward, through the gate,
The outlanders near stampeded.
And into a place, of wrongness forged,
A place of blood and horror,
A lake of sacrificial gore,
A place of primal terror.
“See now my foes, my own kin slain,
To call upon all sin and vice,
A daemon I shall call to thee,
Your mortal forms to rip and slice”
“What chance have you, to spell my doom,
When this I gladly sacrifice,
my own kin's souls, I offer up,
Turn back or die, is my advice!”
And to foul Gor'Kuul, the groups did yell,
“Bring on your nightmare tool,
Our blades are hungry for its blood,
And yours soon after fool!”
And so the blood, in which they stood,
Did rise and take on the form,
Of skinned man, a wolf headed ram,
With antlers made of thorns.
A mighty battle then ensued,
In which our heroes suffered,
And wounded in body, but not in pride,
Put down all Gor'Kuul offered.
“Is that the best, that ye can bring!”
The heroes into the dark did call,
“You slow us down, in fear I think,
You know we surely bring your fall.”
And so the lake of Vanogg blood,
Was washed away in fury,
Into the heart of Gor'Kuul's lair,
And all of them did worry,
For there stood he, the twisted Lord, his minions all around,
Their maddened chanting and battle cries,
A warped and terrible sound.
“See now your end, pathetic aelfs,
Too late now to lament,
Your blood shall make my power grow,
Soon all tribes shall relent,
Unto my will, my masters too,
their souls a worthy tithe,
And by my masters' awesome side,
Through all creation scythe.”
Though small in stature, the aelf's were stronger,
Than even Gor'Kuul could know,
And with our brother Ulframm's aid,
They clove into the foe.
With magic, sword and bastard grit,
The took the foul one's guard,
And calling on the daemon Shator,
Struck at the Vanogg hard.
The wights of winter, fell from them,
Gor'Kuul's elite as well,
The spectres of our ancient dead,
Forced by his hand to dwell,
Under his rule, as enemies,
To kin they loved in life,
Now freed from darkling slavery,
Wrought by foul Gor'Kuul's might.
And Gor'Kuul tried, with all his spells,
And curses to prevent, the outlanders,
And Ulframm too, along with Shator's help,
From spilling out, his entrails coils,
Onto the blood soaked floor,
Alas for him, though joy for us,
His life was soon no more.
For blasted by the she-drakes spells, and cut by
Flaming swords, poisoned by the dark ones bolts,
And hammered by the warlord,
Clove and hacked by Ulnyrr axe,
Pierced by Nordvyrr spear,
He stood not a chance, to survive the day,
And soon began to fear.
And yet if all the truths be told,
It was a stranger fate,
That ended foul Gor'Kuul's vile life,
And cleansed away his taint.
For it is said, it was the scream,
Of a winter wight, when wounded,
That withered away the dark Lord's life,
The Vanogg's time concluded.
And with their enspelled shackles gone,
Our ancestors shades grew vengeful,
And in a night, of glorious slaughter,
Fell on the Vanogg faithful.
And when the suns light came with dawn,
The Vanogg were no more,
But bones and memories, now washed away,
No longer to be abhorred.
And grateful for their freedom,
The ancient ghosts did tell,
The aelf's that they must find their way,
To where the Gorgom dwell.
“An altar, hidden by veil of spells,
Through which the doorway lies,
Here, take my eye, to pierce the glammer,
To make the illusion fly”
“But know this now, poor mortal friends,
The Path of Shadows is for when life ends,
For only the dead, its ways can walk,
And from this you must surely baulk,”
“The blood of dead Gods, would surely aid,
You in this quest, for it is said,
That to drink of it, is a task most noisome,
For to mortal kind, 'tis a deadly poison.”
“But if this path you truly seek,
The final Titan by the entrance sleeps,
His blood is the toxin that you desire,
If you truly wish to expire.”
“I wish you luck, my eye shall guide,
And hope that from death you can hide,
But truly I fear your future is bleak,
Think carefully of what I speak.”
And so with hearts heavy with doubt,
Our heroes rested and then without,
A single thought of turning back,
Towards the altar began to track...