Circle of the Castrian Mountains

“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!”