Thalnok, Fanatic of Crota

Laugh and laugh at Thalnok! He is easily deceived

He will never hear this song

Diminished in sense

Small of purpose

In all ways Thalnok mantles Crota, My Son

He comes to the High War, My Court

Greedy to hear me say

Welcome, child

My Son Crota, Hope-Eater, I taught him

with cold edge and spiteful word

To ask for nothing

I create Thalnok to My Court

So that I may observe my son

by faithful, foolish proxy

Listen —

The last true shape

depends on, asks for, venerates

nothing