There once was a snake. Pure scarlet, seagreen and dull-azure.


It swam the oceans without a name,

feeding without refrain.


Until it caught a cthonic. Pure evil, many fanged and son-ashur.


Gnawing at the temple without a name,

feeding without refrain.


Swith was vengeance of that ancient dilemma.

But beneath the thrashing maw and silent cold seas.

The snake slithered through, all of it's aortal tentacle mass.


To summon what should, and we know has come to pass.

But beneath the thrashing maw and bitten to its knees.

Swith was the sunder that became known; Katelma.


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