Mephisto, god of the night

As the shadows meld and bestow substance to the land, weariness sets in on the people of the day. For others this convergence of power symbolises the return of their own vitality and a sharpening of the senses as the Night wind sighs cool breath back into their lungs. The profundity of the Night dances with images of starlit lakes, darkened forests and the beauty of a different world. Fleeting mortality flickers from expression to expression as each new star winks into its rightful place once more. Some sleep in order to avoid it, others celebrate with their own poetry. Singing their choirs of laments or stories of passionate love into the star spangled firmament. Their voices, in whatever form, do not go unheard. They give and take suffering as capriciously and diversely as man-kind itself.

You, who are gazing anxiously after the descending sun, strain your ears. You will hear the sound of jet black blades creeping out of their sheaths; hooves clacking their way up along the pathway from the underworld; vats of dripping wax hardening into images; essence being mixed into bottles and whispering political plots and schemes which will change the shape of the land. Listen, for as the Night clouds your world and this reanimation takes place, these people's goals are set into motion and their movements will be the last you ever hear.