Desc_Asmodeus: In a black jungle where the smell of fish liver reigns, I have erected a tower the strength of three beasts.  From that tower’s mouth come words of numbers, shapes, and celestial forms.  And by and by I will bow down and kiss your unassaulted ring because I know your prince has left you at the door.  Let him flee.  My army is near the thicket, and I will march mine toward yours.

Desc_Astaroth: How fresh is drink from a white cup!  Soothing, clear, pure: unlike the hollow tube of a pale human leg. Forward is our direction, and a throne that spans the horizon is our destination.  There we will celebrate on a rug of camel’s hair and from dishes made of porcelain and gold.  No longer will our drink take the taste of salt and fat. So forward, my toothy dark ones.  But carry me a spell since my feet tire of the soil and my wings grow weary of the air.  A celebration awaits our laurel procession.

Desc_Azazel: To make one sacred by another’s hand is indeed a powerful gift.  But shame unto the third one, the bearer of guilt, for his given time is ignoble. So release me into the wild, but open my brother’s heart with a tool.  I will walk the desert and carry the sludge of some wandering creed.

Desc_Belial: To what effect do we struggle?  None, I answer.  The chains have casted off our bodies and the fire no longer tongues our flesh.  For that, my friends, we should live out our sentence sans provocation. Often the voiceless and meek are overlooked when the mouthy come with spears.  Yet we chose not this path for our capacity is to struggle and be cast down, then struggle again without ending.  How wicked and yokeless we are. A rose from the North wields no thorns yet it remains unplucked.  Consider this, Moloch.

Desc_Murmur: Often a man of force must do his misdeeds at once and in the foreground.  Subjects held under a tyrant's fist effect to a short reign, and so it proves wiser to let them know of your capacity for force while treating them in a manner better than expected. One may slay his brother, discard his religion, turn on his friends, or act without pity, ethics, or morality in his quest for supremacy, but he does so at the expense of glory and virtue.  These are words often misjudged by our kind.

Desc_Orobus: Green is the color of love.  It is also the color of other things: a drink, a medicine, something bitter, something old. / Green in something gives the appearance of sweetness, growth, and health.  If added through dyes, though, it gives an opposite effect. / A flower pulled from something young and green will yield more harvest in the end.  It will not help with its bitterness, though.  I can assure you this.

Desc_Berith: There are two ways to exercise power: through the mind and through the body.  The latter is sufficient for most, but, truly, one cannot exist without the other.  The leader who commands solely by mind will succumb to a mob, but a single, shrewd man will euchre out the one who rules by force alone. Therefore a balance is needed.  And the leader who can understand how to punish others and then succumb to his own sense of restraint will be the one who commands both fear and respect.

Desc_Balphegor: Observe I you, under cover of moon, to what effect you make use of women and sometimes men.  Unto you I bestow knowledges technical, and you take them and you make yourselves feel as the only living ones above the crust. But I watch.  From my rosy chair.  And as the sun exhales, I watch the materials which craft you and the materials which craft the new ones of you.  And if you ask, I give.

Desc_Mammon: Where my fellow men fail, I exceed.  I am the wearer of chains and links and rings and rings and rings.  While their riches are flesh, charred like cuts of swine, mine number in the cluster of grapes that hang from my ears and thighs. A tower is built with the face of a sun, and it stands if its tweed innards stay dry.  But gold does not rot, nor do I.  And when all your structures soften into earth, I will still be upright.

Desc_Lilith: My feet press into the earth as I walk.  Eagles sound overhead.  I once made a house in the husk of a willow tree, but that was taken from me at early light. Ten thousand years pass like the wind, and now I walk and search for something else.  Clay walls, a thatched roof: these have lost their draw.  A wicker chair to rest my seat carries all my wants.

Desc_Moloch: What is worse than being of the masses?  Death?  No.  Torture by his engine?  I think not.  Nothing is worse than being a passive fool, for they are nameless husks that litter the gutters while the brazen and stalwart carve History’s path. I, Moloch, am the bull; I am brass and steel.  And against any foe I rub my horns. A throne awaits.

Desc_Beelzebub: On a throne of flies I sit.  Look to the east, and there I will be.  I am of all things that does not take ground.  I am of the fire that leaves its place above tinder and fuel.  Carry your old to my mouth.  Carry your damned.  I am consumption.  And I am the opened part of a swine’s head. / A ship enters a room wide and haughty, but not I; I am the veined wings of an insect.  And from Earth’s red heart I push my little body.  Then I sift the air as do the wings of a shapely caterpillar.

Desc_Shax: What pains me most--if I may ever be so bold--is the luster that others carry.  Their faces and neck shine with fresh rain, and I’m left sitting with these dusted coins and the husks of past voices.  Something awaits me, I know, but I can’t make it out from the shadows on the horizon.  

Desc_Sitri: Don’t fear the skin of my face, for I can smile like the most gentle man.  Just open your mouth and let me taste your breath.  I, rider of the double-backed beast.  I, wearer of the circled crown.

Desc_Paimon: Do not call me: I am not home.  I walk the fields afore the crash of cymbals and the lure of harp.  My thoughts are elsewhere: with the papers of man.  And I cannot understand why one disturbs me. Beckon my steed.  Beckon his thickened eyes, for the dawn’s light calls my services.  And I take with me the faces of cat and toad and woman behind the soft tingle of a finger bell.

EOF