---

By the coming of the Old One, the harbinger of the end times

Demonic hordes despoil and ravage the land.

Virtuous mortals step forth to trespass the mist to interdict this incursion

Bravely, they face the soul-starved husks and the ravenous behemoths

And as carnage grips the cities and darkened kingdoms, some venture to the depths of carrion and ordure.

What began as a divine mission to castigate and scour the filth of an execrable vale was crushed by the weight of plague and abominations.

She lays beside her fallen knights

White robes stained by waters borne of blight

Their cleansing crusade was broken by malaise

And she deigned to be the one who stays.

One pure demon's soul became this maiden’s boon

Matron to the wretched folk, please heal our wounds.

Thus did she become as a saint to the leprous and vagrant ones, dispossessed of home and comfort.

The infernal essence within her did atrophy and wane by the light of her rectitude, and compassion eclipsed all traces of corruption.

Her guardian and lover stands firmly in defense

And sees intruders slain or driven hence

Circumscribed by those discarded and torn

In a sanctum of pythogenic unborn.

Alas, not all would share and bask in reverential bliss

That which is fair shall ever engender a cancerous envy

The malignant, spiteful crone emboldens and leads travelers amiss

To rid the maiden of blood and soul, and render her sanctum empty.

In the valley of feculent rains, where the dross populace reside

The ostracized and unwanted are callously cast aside.

But deep within this afflicted gulf, a humble priestess prays

For mercy and deliverance for pariahs consigned to decay.

One pure demon’s soul brought grace to defilement

The lady of white cloth laments God’s abandonment.

Her benevolence transcends the maker she entreats

Yet she is fated as prey for demon slayers to defeat.