“The southern circle elevates the pentagram…” Into the blackest night through perpetual fields so deep. Emperor goat in the fog chanting to me. Blowing so infernal cold with Hades winds I rode… Mayhemic storms of reap that slowly occult our sight. In this cryptic silence I march, crossing abysmal fjords. Searching the sign of the horns, coven of acheronian fantasies… Sabbaotic fivte of apocryphal winter spells. Plays the high priestess, I raise left hand… The sabbat. The goat mistress appeared on nocturnal moon wings. Seduced me with a mystical serenade, her demoniac breath I felt. Drink the wine from her mouth, her tongue wraps mine… On this long winter night, gather wolves on the Castrian Mountains. “…And behold the Ancients’ rising!”