F'taghn collecting Itself from the ashes of men and women, melting and sharing their heritage of the past.
It rose from the grey mists that deluged the barren planes of the cold lands, It chose as Its silent homestead.
From pure alien origin It once had been, feared and hunted profusely by a race now removed from Its close vicinity, from this land's solemn existence, by a gentle stroke of Its hand.
It was mastering the arts of this planet's materialisation.
It alone was with many, who were but small parts of It self.
F'taghn was the blessed name It carried, dating back from beyond the vortex of dimensions, from the grounds of the Elder lords.
On the top of the frozen hill It appeared in all Its might, clouded by the particles It had risen from, summoning the ghosts from Its gasseous body.
Accompanied by the chanting choirs of tormented ancient souls, the misty shapes that dwelled the ground, crystallised.
F'taghn, Beast of a thousand souls, ancient dweller of the Siberian landscapes, feared by the lonely men sleeping restlessly in Its domain.
Its four eyes watched the four horizons of the earth, scanning for a prey to be fetched by the materialised ghostly wolfclan.
It remembered how he once recited the forbidden sentences, being bonded by the mortal human flesh, and glanced upon the spiralled vortex in the dry desert sands.
He knew then that his destiny lay on a different level than that of his fellow human men and women.
And the moment the purple lightning struck his eyes and burned his flesh he knew he was of the alien F'taghn, reaper of souls, scout of the Ancient Ones.
It remembered how she once played with the Dhogh-Nubilum Gem and fragmentated into the sand she sat in, sailed on Sahara winds towards the open spheres of the vortex of creation, disappearing into the sentient thing called F'taghn Yog, dogmatist of wolfclans, harvester of human souls in barren wastes.
She was renewed and beyond all grasp.
It remembered how It joined with the souls It lured into Its ritual bonding.
The owners of human memories embedded in Its vapour flesh.
And now they dwelled Siberia as wolves of light and darkness, optic illusions just as deadly as bullets from a gun, obeying Its mind.
It rose from the grey mists that deluged the barren planes of the cold lands, It chose as Its silent homestead.
From pure alien origin It once had been, feared and hunted profusely by a race now removed from Its close vicinity, from this land's solemn existence, by a gentle stroke of Its hand.
It was mastering the arts of this planet's materialisation.
It alone was with many, who were but small parts of It self.
F'taghn was the blessed name It carried, dating back from beyond the vortex of dimensions, from the grounds of the Elder lords.
On the top of the frozen hill It appeared in all Its might, clouded by the particles It had risen from, summoning the ghosts from Its gasseous body.
Accompanied by the chanting choirs of tormented ancient souls, the misty shapes that dwelled the ground, crystallised.
F'taghn, Beast of a thousand souls, ancient dweller of the Siberian landscapes, feared by the lonely men sleeping restlessly in Its domain.
Its four eyes watched the four horizons of the earth, scanning for a prey to be fetched by the materialised ghostly wolfclan.
It remembered how he once recited the forbidden sentences, being bonded by the mortal human flesh, and glanced upon the spiralled vortex in the dry desert sands.
He knew then that his destiny lay on a different level than that of his fellow human men and women.
And the moment the purple lightning struck his eyes and burned his flesh he knew he was of the alien F'taghn, reaper of souls, scout of the Ancient Ones.
It remembered how she once played with the Dhogh-Nubilum Gem and fragmentated into the sand she sat in, sailed on Sahara winds towards the open spheres of the vortex of creation, disappearing into the sentient thing called F'taghn Yog, dogmatist of wolfclans, harvester of human souls in barren wastes.
She was renewed and beyond all grasp.
It remembered how It joined with the souls It lured into Its ritual bonding.
The owners of human memories embedded in Its vapour flesh.
And now they dwelled Siberia as wolves of light and darkness, optic illusions just as deadly as bullets from a gun, obeying Its mind.