In Old Bialÿe, long aen long ago,
There liv't a scholar callt Navec the Bryght.
Ey studyët, dawn to dusqe to dawn, to lern
What Morigana's shadows long hath hidde.
Ey liv't in squáler and surviv't on scrapp
Aen gruél wat'red doun to mealï payst.
Ey used each coyne ey found on magik scrolls
Aen inqes to wryte the Shadow-Lady's prais.
Ey stumbëlth down a dark, disýrted path
Of knowlydch, cloakt in mist, from ayges past;
For thiertin yiers ey fieverishlë strowve
To wryght a secryt praër what pleast the Quaene—
Quaene Morigana, Goddys of the Nyght,
Her Secryts hïdde awaë from mortael Syght.
At dawnyng of eyr foretinth yier of toyle,
In mist that cloakt the icy starte of yier,
Navec the Bryght, thro some darke ritteul, pluckt
The stryngs what pull to us the Ears of Godds,
And to Navec the Bryght eyr Quaene appeart.
"Dear Goddys," spake Navec, "if't pleaseth Thee—"
Ere Navec saieth more, the Goddys stoppt
Eyr prayr with Silynse like a bolt afyre.
Her Answër slyppt like snayks to Navec's ear:
"A mortael callt Me forth, and one so ynge?
Devoutiun, I supouse, deserv'th reward.
Great fortiun strykk thee, childe, as go ye forth.
Now, hayst ye 'way, and bothyr Me no more."
Anon ey stumblt into welth untould,
A trove of gemm benäth eyr humbel hut.
But ynge Navec had blesyngs mair to seeke
In Morigana's shadows, hydd since ould.
Ey gath'réd gould aen gemme alaik to paye
More master Scraibes than Tempels e'en hath traint,
To work as fiev'rish as ey hast bifoure
Aen draw the Ear of Morigana more.
Agayne passt thiertin yiers of desp'ryt Prayr,
Agayne, anon eyr foretinth yier broke new,
On icéd shore the sun dimmt neath th buttd
Aen Morigana, throu the dimnys, spake:
"How cunnyng aen how clévyr, mortal childe,
To use My Giftes to draw Me once more foerth.
What els could thou desiÿre? Be it pow'r?
Faeme? A noubel's seat?"
Navec replïde,
"O Dark One, I devoute myself to Thee
For blesyng other Godds could not provÿd.
The knowlydch of the Worlddes above and 'louw,
And mynd to comprihént all Secryts inn."
The Goddys saighed. "A sharpyr Mynd I grant,
But with a Caveät ye must Abyde.
You must not ask My Secryts, mortael childe,
For Syghts I see beyond thy elven ken,
That Maddnys wold immpart as ne'er yet been."
The Scholar's hoepe fulfyld, ey levt the shore,
And bilt a Towr to all eyr knowlydch hold.
Anon Navec grew tÿrd of mortael thynges;
Ey hungr'd for no less than Goddys-Sight.
Navec, with Mynd now bryght as aengle's Fyre,
Pursuet eyr Dark Devoutiun one time mair.
Anouthyr thiertin years ey clawt away
The cobbe-webbes of the Goddysës dysígne.
Once mair, on icéd shore withyn the Fogg,
The Goddys, at the foretinth yier, emerg'd.
"How cunnyng aen how clévyr, mortael childe!
Agayne ye call Me foerth. What dost thou seeke?
I gave thee What Was Promist. What ist levt
Your griedy Prayr may't grovyl for to Find?"
Navec, on bendet knee, implor'd once mair
Eyr dark desiÿre, unchangéd throu the yiers.
"I sought you not for powyr nor for gould,
Nor knowlydch what be gaent from Mortael Mynd.
Show me yven half of what You see!
Immpart to me a Slyvre of Thine Eye!"
"So Goddlike Knowlydch be thy true desiÿre?"
She answer't, throu the Snarl upon Her Lipp.
"So ye shall have it, mortael Soule be Damnd.
Awake, O Eye of Mine! Unmake this Life!
Enfiuse eyr Soule with Secryt-Syght undimmt,
And split in twayne eyr vizion evyrmore:
Half mortael-syght, half Godds' unblynknge Eye.
Now ryse and heed my will, imortael one,
And know thee Powr that cannot be undone."
The mysts about Navec swirlt as She Spake,
And choked the Youth with radyïnt Powr afyre.
Eyr Eye grew silver as a looking-glas,
Whose face reflectet not the world about,
But Syghts of future, past, and worlds Beiyond—
All foldet twixt themselfes as tangilt stringes
Upon a loom as might confownd The Faetes.
The Quaene drawst in the moon that danc't above,
To smother owt the sun as ere it rose.
Across the lant turnt day to eery Nyght,
With only dimm red Eckoes of the Lyght.
As daerknys fell, a madnys seizt Navec.
Ey trembelt from the Knowlydch Ey now Saw.
Ey scalet the tower and locked eymself within
The highest cove to penn a tome of woe.
Eyr writing-hannd grew blackynt from Eyr work,
Bestaint with inqes and evil Secryts' toll,
As flow't unceasing from the scholar's pen.
A fínyll thiertin years' unslömbring toyle
'Tyll eyr vile voluem reach't its wycked ennd.
Upon the Book of Darknyss' finael page
Was signt a naëm now twyxtet, rearrangt.
Long dead was faer young scribe Navec the Bryte;
For now liv't Vecna, Lich-Kyng of the Nyght.
The scholar from Eyr alcove reappeart
Afore Eyr fellow scribes, who thought eym dedd.
Upon beholding Vecna's greusom forme,
Lo, how they wish't the Quaene had been so kind!
Navec had been a youth of handsomm face
With goldyn haire and eyes of foryst green.
But now with sylvir Eye and blackynt Hannd,
Ey loomt in skeltal form, a wicket grynn
Upon eyr sunken, ghostly face; upon
Eyr countenënse the pallyr of the graive.
"O tremble, Mortaels hier, afore thy King!"
Ey spake, with vois that shook the towr itself.
"Since now I hould the Knowlydch of All-Godds,
I am as Godds themselfes a Force of Fear.
I now am aengle's Fyre and eldritch Syght,
Daemonic Wrath and Star-Child's agile Flyte.
No magyks nor known blaeds can stay my path.
My scholars: serve my will, or face my Wrath!"
The Dark Scribe and eyr servents quit their towr
And took to rule oer all of Elvinkynde.
As Vecna the Immortal, hannd aen eye
Corruptét by the Goddys's darke wyll,
No more ey felt the sunn or saw the skye.
In inqes of blackent blood and drainéd souls,
Ey wrote the madnys of eyr Visions still.
A Hero slaid darke Vecna one bryte day,
And took eyr hannd aen eye to loc away.
But Limm and Eye their powyr still retayne,
To ryse—shoud Morigana's Powyr waine.
O, heed the leson of Navec the Bryte!
Ignore not Morigana's Warnyng Words.
Seek not the Goddys-Secryts for thine own,
Lest what ye lerne destroy thy cherish't Mynd.
What lyes deep-shrowded be best left alone.
Some thyngs are not for Mortael Soul to find.
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