I, wielder of the arts, have traveled far,

Through the conscious sea of the Akar and the harsh lands of inevitable pain,

With the wings of the Draconi I soar high amongst the white clouds,

Which covers the Three Mystic Suns of Alvak'Kundalizku,

Unveiled Kabbalah of the hardened faith.

To bring forth the occult teachings of Typhonian Magic,

An old magic long forgotten through the passing of aeons,

I am one of the very few who wield this old power,

How I descended deep within the simmering bowels of Libarae searching for these ancient books,

Which their covers would have the ignorant aghast,

Magic that is beyond good and evil, which is neutral like the blood of 

Gollumek that drops on his sanctum sanctorum of secrets,

Devoid of holiness and evil itself.

I, wielder of the arts, and spirit of Sagittarius,

Who can bend the stars and the empire into flesh,

And let the Astral force course in my scarred hand,

For I am the sorcerer whose spells can materialize into stars and galaxies from space.

I am the Esophorias of the Cosmic Phoenix,

The Cosmic Sorcerer who walks upon the stars of consciousness.