The hunting grounds are foreign as she searches for fresh prey
She silently treks the shadows in hopes for quarry
But something stirs in the air that makes the huntress wary

She seeks the skies as her haven
This new forest her home away from home
She treads the grounds quite softly as though hunting down a gnome

She listens to the air and sea
She listens to Nature’s whispers
She listens to the singings
Of the muses in their dithers

She bows her head in bated breath
Her heart beating heavily
She cries aloud as she plunges into the depths of Tartarus
Where she calls upon her hidden power
Only to emerge as an instrument...

An instrument of war...

An instrument of destruction...

An instrument of death...

All hail the goddess of death and destruction…