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A somewhat gory poem that I wrote while waiting for mission briefs a few Sundays ago:
What cheer my love?
Does Death's pale finger stroke your trembling cheek?
Is the mist that swirls what causes you to pause?
Or is it the axe buried in your chest?
What news my love?
Is that bone that juts from where your lip once was?
The cartilage of your nose is gleaming white,
Matching the bone-hard ground and bleached grass.
Why so slow my love?
Is your skipping step marred by your dismembered legs?
Do the trailing vultures make you fear,
For the guts that spill from your abdomen?
Why no voice my love?
Do the buzzing flies choke you when you breathe?
Is the blood congealing in your throat?
At least the wind whistles cheerfully through your ribcage...
What cheer my love?
Does Death's pale finger stroke your trembling cheek?
Is the mist that swirls what causes you to pause?
Or is it the axe buried in your chest?
What news my love?
Is that bone that juts from where your lip once was?
The cartilage of your nose is gleaming white,
Matching the bone-hard ground and bleached grass.
Why so slow my love?
Is your skipping step marred by your dismembered legs?
Do the trailing vultures make you fear,
For the guts that spill from your abdomen?
Why no voice my love?
Do the buzzing flies choke you when you breathe?
Is the blood congealing in your throat?
At least the wind whistles cheerfully through your ribcage...
This is part of a background for a character that will probably never get played. It's a song sung to young warriors before they go off to war. The last verse is only sung after they have all left.
From the North come I,
From the North come I,
Battle-hardened and ready,
I march with my brethren,
To the Valley of Blood,
And face our foe.
Through the dark come I,
Breath forming in the air,
I hide my brethren well,
In the mouth of the valley,
To wait for death.
Into sight come they,
Panting from the long journey,
They form and raise blades,
And vow to their chieftain,
To bleed us dry.
From the mouth come I.
Freeing my warcry to the wind,
I lead my brethren forth,
Into the teeth of the enemy,
To spill our life.
FOR THE EARTHFIRE!
Victorious home come I,
Less one leg and bloody,
I drag my brethren home,
Back to the Earthfire,
To tell our tale.
Victorious home come I.
I march with my brethren,
To the Valley of Blood,
And face our foe.
Through the dark come I,
Breath forming in the air,
I hide my brethren well,
In the mouth of the valley,
To wait for death.
Into sight come they,
Panting from the long journey,
They form and raise blades,
And vow to their chieftain,
To bleed us dry.
From the mouth come I.
Freeing my warcry to the wind,
I lead my brethren forth,
Into the teeth of the enemy,
To spill our life.
FOR THE EARTHFIRE!
Victorious home come I,
Less one leg and bloody,
I drag my brethren home,
Back to the Earthfire,
To tell our tale.
Victorious home come I.
.
