The CRYPT Mag |
The wind blows cold upon a barren land,
And nothing stirs, but for a thin and bony hand,
That gains the freedom of the midnight air,
From within the grave, it has used as it's lair.
The hand moves onward, up toward the moon,
And what it is attached to will come soon,
Slowly emerges a dark and menacing thing,
Emerging from the Crypt, it spreads a wing.
To heed the call of He that calls them forth,
A voice that beckoned ceaseless from the North,
To join those of The Crypt, and bring to man,
The ultimate goal of Ferret's final plan!
© RIYAN Productions |