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The maps that trembling cotter sold were old
Older than any he had ever seen,
drawn by gnarled hands in lands he'd never been
How did he find them? The grimoire had told
of a dour clan left to guard, and to hold
these maps no mortal eye should ever glean
Gifting a path to voids and places unseen
In their writing the lake was that threshold

Reading the maps gave him new sensation,
when the footfalls turned to hushed voices:
”Will you risk life to join my cold cabal,
for aeonic wisdom, and all else you'll shun?”
A true scholar loves knowledge, and obsesses
With trembling resolve he exclaimed: ”I shall!”