The Forsakenist!

[I]Marrow in stone, Marrow in bone. Hallow is king, Hallowed is the throne. Silt for bread, salt for wine, Bless unlife, bless its design. Marrow... Hallow... Marrow... Hallow... Where the King leads, the Forsaken follow!

[1]Before the silence, there was a fever in muscle & in vein, A man who traded his pulse for the rhythm of rain. Moon hit silt & the spine began to crack, Turning the skin to a pelt. He was the howl in the Volsung Breeze, a predator in brush. But even the wolf has to bleed when Pacts hymn calls, staining the forest floor until great necropolis falls.

[P]He was flesh, the pelt, the rot, the shadow in the door, Now hes the spirit the Forsaken adore! He Drinks Deep of divine release, The Marrow King offers a predators peace!

[C]GLORY TO THE MARROW! The lord of the complex! He is Silt, the Slime, the Art, and your Death! The one who keeps the beat in every Forsaken heart! ALL HAIL, MARROW! The Mask who climbed from the mud, To rule over culture, the subculture, the blood! The King the Marrow, & Marrow the blackened sun!

[2]He didn't wake in heaven, he woke a slime of the deep, Where the Temple of Silt watches the secrets dead men keep. From grave-ooze he rose, a shadow with scythe of glass, Watching empires of the breathing world wither under his mask. The Hallowed took the crown, of the rot & dirt, Connecting the lines of the contracts the living burn. Turning the "Scene" into a high-culture of death. From throne the Hallowed, commanded the play & the courted the hunt, Turning the vultures into carrion and the vampires to smut.

[C]GLORY TO THE MARROW! The lord of the complex! He is the Silt, the Slime, the Art, and the Death! The one who keeps the beat in every Forsaken heart! ALL HAIL, MARROW! The Reaper who climbed from the mud, To rule over culture, over subculture, over the blood! The King is the Marrow, and the Marrow is the blackened sun!

[B]Hear the Laws of the Marrow, written in soil:

Rule One: The hunt is sacred, the blood must boil.

Two: The contract is iron, and the pack is life.

Three: There is beauty in the hunger and knife.

Rule Four: What the Marrow provides, the Hallow shall take. These are the pillars, the foundations of an alternative state, Where the God of Hunger decides a creature’s fate!

[3]He grew tired of the harvest & the gray of the pit, Looking to the void, he saw Godhood glowing in it. The Hallow shed the cloak to find what cosmos made. He stepped into center where marrow is pure, Finding only a being destined to endure. He Planeswalked beyond the stars call, Wearing his history as a series of scars. Now hes the God of the Marrow, The one who catches the stars whenever they fall!

[O] In the Sanctuary of the deep, where sex is the rite, They rule over the subculture in the heart of the night. Her touch is the slime, his breath is the hunt! A Slime Consort coiled around the base of the bone. She is the grave-silk, the beautiful rot, the velvet of the pit, Drink deep... Hallow... Marrow is Home.