Exile

This track is instrumental.

Is this song not instrumental?

V. Horde’s Ride [Tanric, exiled and rightful ruler to the Imperial duchy of Lokstad]: Following the siege of Lokstad and my escape aided by Dragomir of the hill-men whom I had now elevated to the rank of general of the rabble still loyal to the black banner of my house, I travelled east: Moving at night when able and swathed in rags of itinerant beggars and pilgrims, we pressed on until, at last, we were in lands free from influence of both Emperor and Cleric. The Steppe lay before us and, in the vain hope of finding the might which may one day lead me to regain my lands, we continued across that barren waste. Within days, with sparse vegetation and little hunting to be had, the few loyal men I possessed began to flag and we left a trail of corpses in our wake. I began to fancy I heard the sound of hoof beats on the wind and the cries of charging warriors, the howling flurry was the only sound to be heard – that and the thunder of my own heartbeat and panting breath. The Lost Hordes of the Steppe, we sought, yet found nothing but veiled mentions and cloaked reference to the venomous band still said to rage across these benighted lands. [The voice of the raging winds of the Steppe]: I bear witness To realms beyond the void Swirling shadows Surround riders deployed I have tasted Of the flesh of man Forged in hatred I summon their souls Again the pyres shall burn With demonic winds ride Steel by my side Vengeance to claim The hordes shall ride once again... Into the mountain snows Into the night Hearts aflame and eyes alight With Hatred’s ravishing inferno Upon sweat-lathered ethereal steed, I shall sweep as storm winds - personified ire Eternal vengeance on the unredeemed. Pick your targets Hold the line Loose your arrows For this stolen bride With desire’s all-consuming fire A demented dash on a dying steed I shall lay waste to all that would conspire To rob me of that one I need By what foul cosmic jest Am I now beset? With immortality now blessed I attest to her last exhale Onward through mounting snows And deeper night Hearts aflame and eyes alight With Hatred’s ravishing inferno A demented dash on a dying steed, Bring storm winds and harness your ire Vengeful jaws on their flesh to feed. Targets aligned – Arrows loosed Through mists of blood, we charge By rage seduced "By the spirits – I shall ignite an inferno To blacken the flesh of these treacherous foes! And unleash such a torrent of terror That all men will tremble to behold!" We built the pyres, we built them high And fed to them the condemned, Honourless men who dared steal a bride From me who did ascend To the height of Khan of the tribes unified Who to the fire threw screaming men, Whose guile granted forfeiture of their lives And on whose blistered flesh I fed, Devouring meat and soul both Consuming malevolence and strength, ‘Neath the gaze of their screaming comrades, Blood and fat ran down my neck Incantations unbidden came, From where the Sky-Father knows, Denying their souls the grace of whatever rest Elysium may hold, ‘Neath baleful gaze of the cold, screaming stars, I felt the change within, And the coldness grew within my flesh, Despite the flames searing heat. I arose, mortal sweat still glistening, Upon my metamorphosed form, Bitterness and hatred in a crucible sealed Of humanity forlorn. Beneath benighted tread To walk this cold earth’s soil Countless to behead My eternal, bloody toil Cursed by gods hatred sublime the deities’ blood Shall wet my lips as wine My flesh now cold As the lips which ignited my soul. If this be the gods’ curse, Then I curse the gods in turn! A new banner now billows Over barren plain I'll taste sweet vindication Ere my essence wanes. This is no redemption I seek Further vengeance I shall wreak With this Argyr-Lyrrian spawn The walls of heaven I’ll storm! [Tanric]: The Plain now empty - I stare as if in a daze - Though the thunderous clamour Of hoof-beats still remains! What arcane powers Have granted fealty? Soon all nations Shall bend the knee to me!

Submitted by NecroLord — Apr 25, 2025

VI. An Ensign Consigned King George’s colours stir in the fog-laden air - roiling and snapping in the gust which rent the night with a chill as sharp as the keenest cutlass; slicing to the very marrow. . . Enshrouded against the unending tirade of the Tempest’s harbingers, the waxed, enveloping fabric no bane of the steady saturation which deluged a figure of nigh-legend, whose sea-grey eye cast bitter and brooding gaze across the viscillation far below the coils and confusion of rope and sail; and offered up vengeful prayers to whatever maritime gods may pay heed. Reginald James Coram, equally drenched as the tormented ensign, cut a shadowy figure perched, as he was, high in the reaches of the Insuperable’s rigging and one that did much to belie his status as Captain of the lost and limping sea-wolf which dragged its tattered frame through unknown waters and against unknown numbers of an unknown foe... [Captain Reginald James Coram]: Thalassic vista from corvine promontory; How my blood burns to see adversarial sails engulfed in flame! Summon the storms! Upon tumultuous waves To Poseidon sworn - Lend me thy rage! The sail is trimmed As we turn in to the wind (Though sea-fogs abound) Raise the ensign! Let cannon resound! With fire and iron let us take them down! For Britannia - She who rules the waves, Death or Glory shall we taste this day. Through the fog’s enveloping shroud A black mast stark against white background What hellish portent is this? Incendiary doom emerges from the mist Crimson tongues the pitched boards lick We face the fire-ship! For I always knew I would die at sea . . . But by such cowardly recourse? My pistol’s primed - I draw my sword Ready the cannon once again! The sea it’s own shall claim Nine miles from the Infernal Gates, The Green awaits, Luscious and verdant, Where the Ocean's tumult cannot reach Nor Damnation penetrate. Burning cinders caught on the wind, (searing eyes and scorching already parched throats...) Give no quarter and steel yourselves to fear: (We shall greet death with war-songs on our lips!) Hail the ensign! Guns again resound! Soon enough, these splintered decks shall drown. Not for Britannia but our souls themselves, If we're to perish we'll drag them down to Hell! Such peace when damnation beckons... Burning cinders: rise on the wind! Destruction carried as if on Phoenix’ wing Wolves of inclement seas In cacophony And violence meet In rage collide; A pyre alight (To ravage the skies) Caught between the burning decks And ocean's depths To which an ensign is consigned! While the Insuperable’s legend lives on, history does not record the fate of the revered and much beleaguered vessel, much less it’s erstwhile captain; the latter of which came as something of a relief to the rigidly starched and structured ranks of the officers whose positions were gained far more by wealth than merit. Yet, those born to wave, spray,wind and surf know well the stories of the Captain Atop the Mast, whose indistinct figure can be glimpsed in seabourne mists and fogs of cannon-smoke; whose laughter echoes as the discharge of that fearsome battery and whose fate is to be forever carried on the selfsame waves ‘neath which that heraldic blazon flies still.

Submitted by Corpse Grinder — Apr 25, 2025

VII. Pax Imperialis The Triumvirate united: The proud cities of Argyrr, Ferra and Aurelia form the heart of Severius' might and the crowns of silver, iron and gold are reforged as a single diadem as the word 'empire' spills forth from the lips of the people. Yet the enemies of a newly incorporated empire are many and in the north the barbarians of the forests grew restless. To quell the continual harrying of mist-enshrouded outposts, and to secure the yoke of imperial dominance securely around the necks of the dissidents thus far unenlightened to the Empire’s might and under the leadership of one Malleus Ferrus, the First Legion marches north: [Song of the First Legion]: “By blood and by steel, By the banner of black. Keep moving forward – press the attack! By fire and iron, For the Golden Throne, We’ll route the accursed And make their women our own!” [Imperial battle-cry]: Pax Imperialis! Invictus Imperium! [Malleus Ferrus, head of the First Legion]: Out of shining Argyr, the Silver City, we marched, A newly coalesced empire – our dominance to impart! With gleaming catafracta, cassis & scutum, Each man with pila, spatha and well-oiled gladius. The dew of the forested hills Lent glamour to our arms. The rabble’s attacks – we pushed them back With disciplined advance. Shields locked in grim formation, Steadily we pressed on, ‘Till the hills ran red, With the blood of the dead And Pax Imperialis was won! But within our ardour, We underestimated this foe. With battle songs still fresh on our lips And in a land unknown. The bestial cries of the Hillmen, Came echoing through the trees. To avenge the dead Whose blood marked us red And in which we were soaked from head to greaves. In a narrow path they took us, And our shields were as nought, Routed by the fury of this Lyrian onslaught. Spitting curses as if they were fire, Rushed our ash-painted enemies. The few left who could breathe Were forced to flee Into the icy embrace of the sea. (Accompanied by shameful odes to defeat, Dying cries of wounded brothers – a cacophonous symphony.) Pax Imperialis! Victis Legionibus! Sanctuary sought in this place of the dead, The moment we entered, our very souls were condemned! What use is sword and spear, Within these onyx halls When our adversaries are shadows? One by one I watch my brothers fall. For many years did Emperor Severius send scouts and spies north to discover the fate of his beloved First Legion. And although many rumours abounded and legends grew in their wake - ranging from tales of the mundane to the supernatural - even when the Imperial Forces had quelled the uprising of the Thulean rable and incorporated their ferocity into the armies of the Empire, none could tell with any certainty what grim fate had befallen them. Yet, on a cold shore, in a forgotten tomb, a wordless scream echoes from obsidian walls deep within a lightless chamber.

Submitted by Nargaroth — Apr 25, 2025

No lyrics have been submitted for this track yet.

IX. Of Stone & Tears [From “The Chronicle of Kings”] ...Having sent messengers on foot, hoof and wing, it was on the ninth day of that month, in the year 1213 of the Empire’s founding, Duke Tanric marshalled his forces and led his column toward the seat of the Clerical Council - long may it stand by the will of the gods. The planned assault was to come from three sides with armies led by Leofric, bolstered by mercenaries travelling from the blessed city of Ferra, to arrive by sea to the west, those of Dragomir to circumvent the Duke’s own ancestral seat of Lokstad and press in from the east - having enlisted further men to the cause from his fellow tribesmen from the Lyrrian hills - while Tanric would lead his knights on horseback and assault from the south. A day of blood was at hand and many reports of storms and ill-omens came from all corners of the Empire…[Fragment] [under the] guidance of Councillor Cleric Leriak, His Imperial Majesty Erlend (called Pretender those unenlightened to the teachings of the Blessed Council) believing that the Duke would move to reclaim his ancestral lands, secured his armies in the newly reinstated imperial capital, Lokstad. As such, when word of the course of the Duke Leofric reached Erlend’s ear and reports of Tanric’s contingent brought news of bypassing the North Road to enter the on the southern reaches of the Emperor’s demense, forces were quickly divided to ensure the security of the Duke’s true goal - the Council’s chambers themselves. [Leriak - At the dawn of the ninth cycle, at the height of the sacred tower of the Council]: Hear the choirs of malefic devils on the wind – something arcane stirs in the pool of this reality… In all his pomp and glory, man comes to disassemble a bastion far surpassing his own understanding. Such almighty insolence, such uncompared arrogance, such absurd presumption to think that he could fell this towering oak of stone and tears. Does he not know that this place was a conduit to things far greater than his pitiful mammalian brain could grasp, for ages long before the towers were raised upon the natural citadel, many lifetimes before the raising of the Council’s seat to this place? I now stand as a conduit, myself. A channel through which those servants of the Great Serpent work their will on this pitiful scrap of land - for all its unknown wonders and countless treasures, this world is as nothing to Him - Set-Nakt-Heh! [Duke Tanric]: ‘Neath Citadel’s shadow we stand! Now we shall see a last reverie Blood’s revelry in the tumult of packed flesh Here we attest – behold the death Of those cloaked in the robes of the Dark! [Leriak - (atop the citadel of the council)]: Darkness – it’s coming, The pool is as blood: Each ripple a tide that will wash away This fool upstart With such presumption. Release the bonds And devour the light of the day! [Dragomir - General of Duke Tanric’s forces]: Rise up, lock shields and advance! Embrace the pain – Bellum Dea reigns! Her form glimpsed grinning with bloodlight in her eyes [Duke Tanric]: Let this sacrifice be of their lives Bathed in their blood I shall reclaim what is mine! Go – push onwards, though in mud sinking The light of their fires the dead illumine Advance! [Dragomir - in the throes of Leriak’s ensorcellment]: Hark - the whisper Doubt assaults me: This war is not mine! The Serpent wakes within…. [Leriak]: Mired in ignorance, they have no concept of for they have not yet tasted true Fear. What has thusfar been manifest is but a precursor, for Dusk is but a shadow of Night…. [Duke Tanric]: No - it cannot be! To what treachery have I now succumbed? Overrun - we are undone Is this how the end’s to come?! [Leriak]: I see the bleeding face of gods Writhing on the spit of my disdain The boughs of the Blood-oak bend! Yet still the Serpent reigns! [Duke Tanric]: Though all around me they die, I yet live! Face me, foul demon! [Leriak]: This is my triumph! Feel now, (how the shadow burns!) [Tanric]: Loathsome Fate! If this was thine altar, I would wrench each pitiful morsel of strength To see it broken in two; If this was Thy name, curses would rain To leave smouldering ruin from lips Ignited to black hatred’s flame. How can you profess to fulfill His will when the Predator’s eye Is cold at the time of the kill?! [Chants from the quorum of the Clerical Council echo as annihilation spreads before the Citadel]: Serpentis deus rex in eternum invictus [The Chronicle]: That day the Gods made their will known. Though there was no clear victor on the field, the Godssword shone brightly in the carnage spewed forth from the Blessed Citadel, cutting down all who stood upon that bloody patch of earth as with a flaming blade of unfathomable magnitude. Yet, what became of the erstwhile Duke Tanric, it was not known. Some rambled about ghostly hooves that came to the Exiled’s aid but were, no doubt, the voices of those demented from witnessing first hand the power of the True Gods. The power which decided the fate of the Empire and ensured that the Blessed Tower remained unbreached.

Submitted by SerpentEve — Apr 25, 2025

X. Aeolian Supremacy: Wrath of the Anemoi Betwixt the fall of the Empire in the south and the rise of it’s northern descendent, a dark time mostly lost to the chroniclers, the strength of the Serpent saw a dominance hitherto unimagined. Towers to His name rose seemingly overnight in many of the cities fallen to decadence in the void left by imperial surety. The cult, justified by certainty in their dark cause, unscrupulously amassed wealth and power. Fearful whispers of arcane rites and the disappearance of those who dared voice opposition, ensured their unrivalled supremacy and the subjugation of the populous. [Beyond the nighted veil]: Hark the writ of Father Set! The Serpent’s rise in black aspect Envenomed fang shall strike and spread It’s venom through the world of men. The bulwark that will stand against: Rampant dragon with flame bedecked. How futile is the splendid strife, When two masks of one god’s visage unite! [Arcane rites in the sanctum of the Black Temple]: Alabaster limbs, eyes of jet Air weighted with succulent scent Oiled limbs entwined, undulating bodies writhe…. The riders amass - purification is nigh! [High-priest of the Black Temple]: A taste of Death’s bitter-sweet sting With inhuman voice sing A pact thus sealed with unnatural sin [Aeddan - scout in service to Mael Phelan]: Stories of these loathesome dogs have reached even me on the distant isles of Immyrh. It is said they lie with their gods and eat of their dead…. [Mael Phelan - lord of the Boreal Riders and guardians of the Northern Sanctum]: Fresh winds from the north, come forth; Ride with the wrath of the storm From the high peaks we swarm Death from on high Wreathed in righteous decree, with gods’ speed We fly to glory To carve our story, With bright steel at our sides. Onwards we ride! To sun-scorched lands’ desert sands, Where the Black Serpent rises In numerous guises, Yet all bear His mark. From the frost-forged lands of the Borealis: The light ever brightest In the midst of the dark! To triumph we charge! [High-priest of the Black Temple]: Open the gate - Let forth the swarm, it is but fate A sacrifice shall be made! Loose the chains! Let the devils rage - it is His way! Let nothing of them now remain! [War-cries of the armies of the Black Serpent]: Cut them down - let them die Leave their bones where they lie Carve their souls from their flesh To ingest... [Mael Phelan]: Ye Southern lords, raise your swords! Beneath one banner, a glorious clamour As armies unite! From the east and the west At our behest Come riding the zephyr A tempest that knows no fear - Together we strike And shall lay waste, a conquest Nothing less They shall all fall before us, Either fealty or a sword thrust Shall mark the way And when the smoke clears On revered earth so newly blessed with bloodshed None alive shall doubt then That we have won the day. Who can say whether the pitiless, uncaring eye even perceives the torment which unfolds in the realms of man? Even as the stars align in such portentous display to those dwellers below, far beyond mortal understanding His coils reach, ensnaring all creation in obdurate grip.

Submitted by Sexy Gargoyle — Nov 17, 2025

XI. Of Setting Suns and Rising Moons [Dragomir - in the aftermath of the Battle of the Citadel 1214]: Such an ending, i never foresaw: The heavenly cascade does little to purify the travesty of sodden earth - this mire of blood and excrement. Foul miasmas rise to torment me with visions of the inevitable, mirroring the fate of this mortally broken flesh. Of salvation there is no hope. And peace? The only such balm I shall receive is that which I find in this moment, just as the sweet rain wets my parched, broken lips and dilutes the iron-strong taste that shall remain with me now and at the end. Glories I have known. I remember… or remembered. Their memory grows dim as shadows viewed through a diaphanous screen or reflections in murky and unbecalmed waters. Are these mine, these victories? Or are these but passing reveries - dreams of how I wish to be remembered and know that it will not be so? I die a traitor to my chosen lord and, if I am even graced with the like, “recreant” shall be my epitaph. [Command of the Crown Prince of the Void]: Behold ye now the voices of the ten thousand thrice-damned. Tell me not of great deeds you have dreamed, tell me now of the carnage, of the slaughter committed at your hand. [Dragomir]: I stand. Soft susurration beckons, (urgent and seductive). The chill encloses as the fog all about me. (Though seemingly alone), shadowed figures move in the mist and eyes gleam from somewhere beyond the entwined limbs of this arboreal enclave. What sorcery? What vile mesmerist's jest now lays before me? [Crown Prince of the Void]: You ask for succor - I send you a sword on which to die! You ask for vindication, I give you the means to end all life. Equinox. The thirteenth conjunction. Alignment, alight from vernal injunction, Embrace the tempest’s unerring compulsion, Give succor to Shadow for callow light is hereby expunged. [Dragomir’s Epiphany]: From an unknown rampart, do I see The advance of some unknown enemy and I perceive that all exists within me! [Dragomir]: I will not take up this sword that you offer I see the abyssic winds that rage in the Shadow If the eternal torments of the void shall be my only succor Let it be done! No instrument of devils or divinities Shall I be I am of the earth And the earth is me! The voices of ten thousand thousand void-lost souls scream in supplication. Innumerable, unknowable inflictions - this my beckoning damnation. Bloodied at the stone foot of the dais, Of She who reclines resplendent in silk and steel Masks of destroyer and mother both adorn her tantalising form revealed Now unto me: [Prayer to the War-Goddess]: Aid me, Mother War, you who have seen the fires of my soul. Grant me strength to be stalwart in the face of such sweet temptation And not be swayed from the course of unalterable end... [Bellum Dea speaks]: Embrace the pain of corporeal flesh Return the soul to the temple of unrest Stray not and seek no refuge Drink deep from the cup that you cannot refuse This prophecy that has now come to pass Shall see that these breaths are your last Savour each and every rasping exhale: Your heralds to lands beyond the veil. [Dragomir]: I return…. the plains of existence falling away beneath my feet. Stoic glee for now I am free Though bound by the chains of mortality Once again, I can see The bodies of those that have preceded me. For what have I fought and died? I know not, though a servitor’s role denied, (And) realised, that though significance resides There is no great meaning to life. None hath won, for all is one! Seek not the shadow nor the sun, For all is one. All is one!

Submitted by Celtic Frost — Apr 25, 2025