A Land Far Away

All ye who lie here dead
Rotting, putrid, bags of flesh
Rise and live again instead
Feast upon something new and fresh

The Slayer, here, mighty and true
Accursed, though she may yet be
And Pavel, stalwart of sword
Will rest within the dirt with thee

Louene, colorful, and swollen with power
Also tainted and cursed of limb
And Rhekka, so eager to die
For a reunion with her long-lost friend

Little Pnuma, with gadgets in tow
A gnome small of stature, and smaller repute
And the rest of you, foolhardy
Soon-to-be dead, you headstrong brutes

All ye gathered, thank you for coming
Overjoyed are we to meet you very soon
For with the setting sun, the fog rises
And so begins the Feast of the Moon