Bal-sagoth And Lo When The Imperium Marches Against Gul-kothoth Then Dark Sorceries Shall Enshroud The Citade Lyrics

And Lo When The Imperium Marches Against Gul-kothoth Then Dark Sorceries Shall Enshroud The Citade Lyrics

[Chapter 1: The Voyage of the Sorcerer]

The war between the Imperium and the allied Vyrgothian Kingdoms had raged

for  years.  Beginning as minor disputes over border territories, the
conflict

had  swiftly  escalated  into  a  full-scale bloody war, a vast series of
epic

campaigns,  fervently  perpetua  ted by the Emperor Koord and the Over-King
of

Vyrgothia,  both  eager  to  smite their traditional ancestral foes and to
win

great  glory  and  the adulation of their people by seizing victory in
battle.

Recent  months had seen the forces of the Imperium display a staggering
degree

of tactical mastery and battle prowess, contemptuously crushing the
Vyrgothian

armies  in a series of great battles, 'til at last, following the
slaughterous

Rout  of  the Fields of Kai-Vorg, The Empire's finest fighting force, the
fame

d  and  far-feared  Legion  of  the Ebon Tiger, stood unopposed not five
day's

march  from mighty Gul-Kothoth, the greatest and most ancient fortress-city
in

all  the  Vyrgothian  kingdoms.  The Legion of the Ebon Tiger could not
easily

count  their  numerous  and  r  esounding  victories, and their commander,
the

legendary  warlord  Baalthus  Vane,  made  it clear to the Emperor that he
was

eager  to  press  on  deep  into  the  enemy's lands and seize the prize
which

awaited him; the siege and capture of ancient Gul-Kothoth! And yet the
Emperor

Koord  did  not  order  the Legion to march, for disturbing information had
of

late  been  relayed  to him by his spies in the Vyrgothian Royal Court...
Dire

rumours  abounded that the Vyrgothian mages had at last discovered the
ancient

arcane  r  ites  which  would  unlock  the  aeons-fettered  power of the
dread

Obsidian Crown, a fearsome mystical artefact countless thousands of years
old,

a  black-jewelled  circlet  believed once to have been borne upon the
immortal

brow  of  the  legendary  Shadow-King  him self! And it was written in
legend,

that  should the ancient spells of might entwining the artefact be
reawakened,

then  incredible  near limitless ruinous power would thus be bestowed upon
any

army  carrying  the  Crown  into  battle...  Had the mages of Vyrgoth ia
truly

ascertained the time-lost conjurations required to empower the Obsidian
Crown,

hidden  for centuries deep within the marble vaults of its ebon citadel?
Eager

to  know  the  truth, the Emperor dispatched his most powerful sorcerer
across

the  great  In  land  Sea to the Court of the Over-King, under the pretence
of

offering  the  terms  for  the  Vyrgothian  surrender. He was bade use all
his

sorcerous  skills  to  discover  the  truth...  a truth soon made clear by
the

disdainful  refusal  of the Imperium's terms, an d the grimly fearsome
message

given  the  sorcerer by Vyrgothia's Master Wizard, with which to return to
the

Emperor:  "And  lo,  when  the Imperium marches against Gul-Kothoth, then
dark

sorceries shall enshroud the Citadel of the Obsidian Crown..."



[The Wizards of Vyrgothia:]

Darkly bejewelled circlet of night,

Crown of the Elder King,

Unfettered at last the Trinity of Might,

The sceptre, the sword, and the ring.



[The Sorcerer:]

I stand upon the oaken planks of this great ship, (the splendid flagship of

the Imperium's navies)

Gazing at moon-gleam dancing on the vast, dark sea...

(And in my mind I behold) black crystals gleaming... ensorcellment!

I am enthralled by this nighted spell...

For I know that the slumbering sorceries

Of the Shadow-King's crown shall soon be reawakened...

And as I return to my emperor (shackled to such woefully grim tidings),

My spirit is borne upon the leathern wings of a great sorrow...



[Chapter 2: The March of the Imperium]

[The Emperor:]

Call forth the Ogre-Mage of the Black Lake

And the Swordmaster of Kyrman'ku,

Let them speak the Words Which Unfetter...

Enshrined for countless centuries, within its darksome citadel,

Five score and ten against the Tiger, (curse) the black crown of the

Shadow-King!

By all the dark gods, I swear I'll not be dethroned!

A seething forest of blackened blades,

A churning sea of ebon war-chariots,

A searing storm of flaming shafts,

All this havoc and more shall I unleash against my foe...

Into battle! The Legion shall march... the fall of Gul-Kothoth is nigh!



The  Legion  of  the  Ebon  Tiger...  six  thousand elite warriors of the

Imperium, the pride of the Emperor's forces... Bolstered by heavy cavalry,
and

a  squadron  of  deadly scythed chariots... further reinforced by the
Imperial

Frontier  Army of one hundred tho usand highly trained spearmen and
archers...

and never has this force met its match in battle or siege...



[Baalthus Vane:]

Our banner flies ever glorious, undefeated we stand, steeped in victory.

The Iron Phalanx, six thousand strong, our ever-honed blades, the Tiger's

gleaming claws.

Pride of the Empire, Scourge of the Vraii,

Masters at Turonium, and Kai-Vorg.

Smiters of the Southern Host, Routers of the Horde, Bane of the Over-King,
we

march to war!

And  so,  the  Emperor  himself  rides  to rendezvous with Baalthus Vane,

accompanied  by  his  sorcerous  aide.  The  Legion  of the Ebon Tiger
reaches

Gul-Kothoth  at  dusk  on  the  fifth  day  of  their march from the fields
of

Kai-Vorg,  halting  upon  the great arid plan which stretches before the
city,

the huge dust cloud sent up by their massed arrival obscuring the dying
embers

of  the  setting  sun.  As  the  vast army begins to make camp, arraying
their

splendid  tents  and  banners, and assembling their gargantuan siege-wag 
ons,

the  Emperor  stands  gazing at the huge brooding walls and colossal
cyclopean

gates  of the city-fortress before him, vowing that a torrent of red
slaughter

shall befall Gul-Kothoth, regardless of any sorcerous trinkets the
Vyrgothians

may  possess,  and  that  the  Over-King  shall  pay  dearly  for  his
sublime

arrogance.  And twelve leagues distant, an army of five score and ten,
bearing

the Obsidian Crown, approaches the city...



[To be continued in Chaper 3: The Wizards Do Battle]



[Lyrics: Byron]

[Music: Jonny and Chris Maudling]