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To Dethrone The Witch-queen Of Mytos K'unn
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Bal-sagoth
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(The Legend Of The Battle Of Blackhelm Vale)
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THE CHRONICLES OF WAR:
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???
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THE WAR TESTAMENT OF CAYLEN-TOR
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(ON THE NIGHT OF THE BLOODYING OF SWORDS):
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O' grim gods of battle, empower us this night...
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Anoint us with the crimson rain, feed our steel with slaughter...
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Let every blow be a killing blow, grant us victory, or a warrior's death.
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Come, moon-fogs, Descend to cloak our numbers,
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the heady scent of battle beckons,
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My ash-hafted spear feels good in my hands,
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girt 'round with spells (our flesh gloriously) woad anointed,
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Ravens awaiting slaughter soar high above,
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blood-worms bloat on red carnage,
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I'll carve the moon-wheel in their flesh,
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as havoc churns the heather!
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A swirling mantle of mist-magic swathes us, powerful spells woven by
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the fen-witches of the great mere... Deep night and moon-mist shall be
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our allies as we surge into the fray! At my bidding, the fog clears
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for a brief moment, and I gaze down upon the V alley to behold the
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army of the Witch-Queen... great tents arrayed upon the heather,
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powerful steeds tethered, the light from countless burning brands
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illumining the night, many warriors standing, weapons in hand...
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aye, all sword fodder.
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Entwined in war-fogs...
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Entwined by war-spells...
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Blessed in blood as raven-saters,
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slake the thirst of steel burning bright,
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Reap the harvest of spilled entrails,
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we'll return with many heads this night.
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The death-ravening black fury fills me,
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The spatter of hot blood seet on my lips,
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This yard of steel sings a deadly song in my grasp!
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Cleaving bodies left and right,
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a head falls with each swing of my blade,
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A storm of shafts screaming form yew-bows,
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(through their armoured ranks we shall)
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carve a path with steel, a blood-drenched swath!
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And the thirst of the earth shall be slaked
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with blood at the fields of carnage...
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A staggering sea of crimson, a towering mountain of ravaged flesh,
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All enraptured by the searing kiss of steel,
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All surfeit from supping deep of the grim chalice of battle...
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Brooding gods of the north,
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display to these outlander thralls thine ire,
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Envenom our blades with the death-kiss of a thousand serpents,
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Unfetter the dread war-wolves within us,
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That their claws may rend, and their jaws may be reddened.
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The bloodying is at hand!
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???
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Bright moon, gleam o'er moor and heather,
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wood and vale, deep fen and lake,
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Grim mountains crowned with snows,
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great rings of stones, black 'neath the stars,
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The storms extol our ancient glory,
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great mounds feed us, power from the sacred earth.
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With faith and steel we walk our shadowed paths,
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our blood runs as fire, swords blessed by sorcery.
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Wolves of the north, raise thine steel to the skies,
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revel in the pride of your wounds,
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Let our victory-song ride the winds of this blood-gorged eve,
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For on this night of red swords we have wrought a legend,
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Forged in the fires of our rage,
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and tempered with the spilled blood of the slain...
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O' grim gods of battle, empower us this night and always,
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Anoint us with the crimson rain,
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forever feed our steel with slaughter...
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Let every blow be a killing blow,
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grant us eternal victory, 'til we die a warrior's death.
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???
Victoria Carbol - Song of the Witch King...
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