Hymn of the Last Warrior

The great mob of men chanted out
In the great stream of whips and steel
"We will stand our ground! Firm and stout,
To the fight: to the Mandate of the Imperial Seal!"

Fearful, the heat and passion of Father King
On the opposition: he could not bear.
"Soon I shall be the one who bears that ring,
for I am the one who lay fair."

Grimacing in a clad of iced armor
Father King continued to cry
across the lands between the sheep and the boar
"Damn you! Your army shall wither and die!"

And still, the mob of men chanted out
In the great stream of mace and steel
"We will stand our ground! Firm and stout,
To the fight: to the Mandate of the Imperial Seal!"

"A great mob of men whom are bretheren
Ascent to this day, twelve thousand stand firm,
Embrace the heat of battle: embrace the rythm
You shall die, scream of agony, and squirm!"

"And if in the heat of battle, we shall fall
we swing until many of our enemy have perished
Varian will answer our prayers, and answer our call
Embrace the heat of the battle: let us cherish!"

With the sound of a horn, the king's men attacked
as they had sung, the opposition stood their ground
crossbows were fired: heads were smashed.
The gruesome of the bows brought ecstacy: profound!

The King's men lay shocked yet enraged,
as their friends fell beside them to the shock of the bow
The scream of all battalions, "Engage, engage!"
A great battle it was; a great day for the crows!

With the opposing battalions fifty paces away,
the horn was sounded, all ranks would charge.
The sound of the general, "only they shall die this day,
not us, we will fight well and fight free, act as a barge!"

The two parties met at the middle of fifty paces
Swords clashed and the pool of blood came forward
An officer saw the King, and chased him through spaces
With a murmur of blood, his last words: "You damn coward."

"Imagine a war where kings fought their own
part of the effort, not the face on the cover
so that they musn't cower, they must fight blood and bone!"
He looked up; it was the face of his brother.

With great vengeance the officer sliced at many legs
crawling with spear still amid his chest
The sound of victory, of ale and of kegs!
But the young man lay bleeding, blood upon his crest.

There was little he could do but continue to slash
and cry out with great vigor, "Bastards, bastards!"
Until the wound in his chest became to great of a gash
"Go back to your homes, go back to your masters!"

The fear of defeat was common in the King's men
Their morale continued to decrease
Bestowed upon them: a great lesson.
A King's Man cried out: "I'm going home, back to my niece."

The tyrant uproared in the heavens, and called to thee
Descending his chariot from the sky
The crackle of lightning, brought damn to the creed
"We will live for the fight, we will gladly die!"

The swords began to clash to the beat of the hymn
"We will live for the fight, we will gladly die!
We shall look down on your corpse with a grin,
and with that, your Empire will cry!"

The cries of the battle were sure to be heard
Miles away, where the shephards cared not
Cared not for the battle, simply for the herd
Cared not for the battles, for only the crop.

With the sound of two horns, a king's man yelled "Retreat"
The dawn of the next day, not seen by many
Only by that field where many were seeded
To be never heard: Never seen by any.

And the great halls of the King lay folded
The bastion of great warriors united
Took the great halls and sold it
To a new King, one who has fighted.

And the hymn of the lost warrior, to one's great appeal
"We will stand our ground! Firm and stout,
To the fight: to the Mandate of the Imperial Seal!"
And the old king was taken out.

The streets of his kingdom full of solace
For the corrupted king now lay to rest
No longer shall he tempt them with his malice
The kingdom now bear the face of a new crest!

Penned by my hand on the 8th of Khepary, in the year 154 MA.