The Traitor Betrayed: An Ode to Arch-Curate Vyrthur
Deep in the depths of his old ruined home,
The Traitor Betrayed sat upon his cold throne
And surrounded by ice covered monsters like stone
He pondered, and waited. He broods all alone
He cared not the price for his dark wrathful pledge
His whole species has dwindled, been pushed to the edge
And still he cries war and decrees to the gods
That it was to the sun he was standing at odds
He broke time itself and wrote into it's scroll
"The blood of pure dead shall thus damn my lords Bow
And by this begins the tyranny of sun
Auri-el shall be lost to this world when I'm done"
He sits and he waits and he broods and he plans
For when the vampire Daughter shall enter his lands
But like the Betrayed he is blinded by hate
And thus cannot see what will come of his fate
An ironic twist that it ended for he
Destroyed by the one who he had claimed to foresee
Thus in the light of the thing that he hated the most
So ends the Curate and with him his ghost
His sinister menace, his wrath: cold and pale
That shadowy presence is cleansed from the Vale
The Chantry restored and the bow claimed instead
Perhaps the lord Harkon is next to be dead?