Things in the ground thinking their thoughts...
From the rotten underbelly of life
Come forth unholy Necromancer.
Delve inside.
Ravage.
Tear.
Spew out ancient secrets.
Thinking thoughts of blood.
Thibor Ferenczy lays awake.
Awake but not moving.
Awake but not breathing.
Awake but not living.
Nothing but dreams for centuries.
Nothing but time.
They say foul beings of Old Times still lurk.
In dark forgotten corners of the world.
And Gates still gape loose.
Shapes pent in Hell...