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Friday, June 01, 2007

The Clouds Burst


The Nazgul reared it’s head, the black
Fire in it’s belly raging,
Wings it spread to darken the sky
Mouth open and roaring.

A flap, and the gale lifted
The body high,
The air was thick with the scent
Of death and the death cry.

“Virtue is dead, Death is alive,
Death or destruction, give us either.
We pray, we swear fealty to
The one great Golgoth of the nether.”

But, a light of life cleaved the
Mists that held the earth darkened,
The Lord of the Orcrist, on the
Pegasus had spokened.

‘Orcs and Trolls, Goblins and Wargs,
relish the spell of Immolation’
Ilanwyll was invoked and she waken’d
To cast the incantation.

Thousands and thousands of heads
Did fall while the Nazgul and Pegasus duelled,
The Nazgul flew high, the Pegasus higher,
The Nazgul dove deep, but the Pegasus undercut deeper.

But, ah! What a deception!
The swan that slew a million
Bats could hardly hold sway
Against the dark treacherous fangs
Which blocked it’s way.
It’s life-force was soon swept away.

The Lord of the Orcrist, enraged, lifted
The eight-foot blade and darken’d
Its lustre with the blood of a Nazgul,
Even as Balkoth sat aloft, hearken’d.
Then the Dark Elf smiled and spoken’d.

“Vain are the fools who cross my path,
and you, life-lord, are no better.
Pledged your life to defend a rock,
Now your spirit is but a glimmer!
Such is the fate of ill-gotten splendour!”

And so started the Great Battle
Of spells, curses and anti-curses,
Blessings of destruction, gifts of Death,
Invoking the powers of Nature and her forces
And at times, the aid of the Necromancer!

But, when the night reached her darkest,
The Dark Elf lifted the Axe of Chaos,
And shred the elven mail that held the Lord,
‘Twas a truly great loss.
Then spoke the Lord’s voice.

“The elf-stone is not for you, Balkoth,
nor is it for any infidel.
Remember, the god you serve is treacherous,
And remember, too, your deeds well,
For I shall await you in hell.

The embrace of death is not great
Nor are the feats of mortal rage,
Realise, Balkoth, that belief in Life is true,
Not in the death mage, for,
He speaks lies unbefitting his age.”

‘Balkoth of the Elven race,
Be gone in this Fire-Spire.’
The fire mage, Skald, invoked,
Consumed Balkoth in a pillar of fire.

So it was, that years of mustering armies
Were finished in an instant,
The hope of freeingthe land from Golgoth
Was still too distant.
The Necromancer (one would have
Expected him to vanish from Urak),
Just smiled wearily and lifted
The death staff in the city of N’Ruk.

“Golgoth of the nether, rise m’lord
and let me struggle anew.
Preserve the spirit of Balkoth in shade
For he has yet to fight for you.
Virtue is dead, Death is live
And those who oppose it are very few.
The life-lord is just one more,
His death was long overdue,
Relish his blood and of the swan
That the great Nazgul slew
And give us once more it’s wings
That, in shade, will rule.
Give us, Lord, the spirit of Balkoth
For his belief in death is true.
So I beseech you.

Balkoth of the Dead, arise and fight
As Denethor, Lord of Death.”

The clouds burst, as Golgoth, invoked,
Infused Balkoth’s spirit into the lifeless Elven-Lord.
And so, rose the first bad lord.

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