In the halls of Midreal:

A noble old soul who sits in watch
Under the powers of Lord Kurne
The black skies spread, the yyslan army grows
But left, pearched on throne, to wait.

In him the evil grows,
The blood of the dark Lord pulses through his veins
His blade decays at his side
Wartime hard lines aging each passing day.

Lord Andrus Kalgan
Slave to the dark Lord Kurne

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