| 'As grey traces of dawn tinge the eastern sky
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| The three travelers, men of Willowdale
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| Emerge from the forest shadow
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| Fording the River Don, they turn south, journeying
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| Into the dark and forbidding lands of the Necromancer
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| Even now the intensity of his dread power can be felt
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| Weakening the body and saddening the heart
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| Ultimately they will become empty, mindless spectres…
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| Stripped of will and soul, only
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| Their thirst for freedom gives them hunger for vengeance…'
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| Silence shrouds the forest
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| As the birds announce the dawn
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| Three trav’llers ford the river
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| And southward journey on
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| The road is lined with peril
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| The air is charged with fear
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| The shadow of his nearness
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| Weighs like iron tears
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| 'Shreds of black cloud loom in overcast skies
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| The Necromancer keeps watch with his magic prism eyes
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| He views all his lands and is already aware of the three helpless invaders
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| Trapped in his lair…'
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| Brooding in the tower
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| Watching o’er his land
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| Holding ev’ry creature
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| Helplessly they stand
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| Gaze into his prisms
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| Knowing they are near
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| Lead them to the dungeons
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| Spectres numb with fear
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| They bow defeated
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| 'Enter the Champion
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| Prince By-Tor appears to battle for freedom from chains of long years
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| The spell has been broken… the Dark Lands are bright
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| The Wraith of the Necromancer soars
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| Away in the night.'
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| Stealthily attacking
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| By-Tor slays his foe
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| The men are free to run now
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| From labyrinths below
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| The Wraith of Necromancer
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| Shadows through the sky
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| Another land to darken
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| With evil prism eye |