Apocrypha is calling
Like Nirncrux within Craglorn’s mines
Knowledge lies embedded within the mortal mind
So like a pickaxe digging deep
I crack into their thoughts in search of what I can find
I am the voice whispering
When it looks like no one’s there
I am the eyes watching you
All your secrets lying bare
Herma-Mora, Herma-Mora
The gardener of men
Herma-Mora, Herma-Mora
Trickster of the Woodland
Herma-Mora, Herma-Mora
Speak my name again
Hoarding answers within my realm
A fathomless catacomb of truth
With ancient servants categorizing
The scrolls and tomes that are strewn
Dive into the wretched abyss
Halls lined with books like scales
Twisting towards infinity
Down an endless trail
I am the voice whispering
When it looks like no one’s there
I am the eyes watching you
All your secrets lying bare
Herma-Mora, Herma-Mora
The gardener of men
Herma-Mora, Herma-Mora
Trickster of the Woodland
Herma-Mora, Herma-Mora
Speak my name again
Ever-famished, ever-craving
The maw opens to consume
Information, never-ending
That my thralls exhume
Tentacles weaved between
the threads of fate itself
Esoteric prophecies
filling every winding shelf
No mysteries shall remain
As my tendrils probe and pry
Even in the blackest darkness
There is nothing that can hide
I know the unknown
I guard the unseen
An omniscient master
Seeking an emissary
Fate’s Proxy
Gaze into the Black Book
Open your fragile intellect
Growing madder with each look
You will see what few have ever seen
As you serve your Eldritch king
The Call of Apocrypha
Rooting indelibly inside
Submerge yourself
beneath the murky tide
You are my Champion
Free will, a grand illusion
This bleak enlightenment
Refusal, your delusion
Heed the call
Heed the call
Heed the call
Heed the call