Beware the Mountain

Beware the deeps of Durrathynthrell,
The pitch-black bitter bleaks of Duurathynthrell,
Where air is smoke,
And smoke is fire,
Where veins of gold,
Lure to the mountain’s ire,

Down to the down,
From where hell doth its spit,
Where the drums of her malice,
Rumble thick with her shifts,
Where no feet may stand,
And no hope may dwell,

Beware of the mountain,
The Duurathynthrell.

Inkling #10:

What is The Seven Thunders?  It is the mountain that boils beneath the runes, the echoes that wait to reach, to touch the sky.