Carnage of Men
Part I
~
Too Strange of days are these of Men . . .
Gone to past, be the days of Gods, of Honor, of Magik . . .
‘Tis Mayhem which strikes its mighty fist, rending this final Hour tragic!
As the blood of innocence runs lukewarm and soaks within the barren lands;
We fought well; valiantly we stood, then fell; lost to the bloodlust of murderous hands.
Our entrails spilled by reckless cleaving of merciless, soulless Men.
I look about mine trembling blood caked form, weak and spent,
And witness the carnage that is mine brethren;
Twisted bodies of those I knew, burned and rent,
What good to be born?
What good I ask!
Part II
~
Only to lie our ends in frozen woe, without dignity, within the sucking mire . . .
‘Tis the aftermath of honor; all bravery spent in forlorn wretchedness, now fated to lie in pyre—
as men no more, but as so much rotting meat, carcasses for naught but scavengers to whittle—
I breathe deep of the acrid stench of death as I wipe away this bitter spittle-
and meet mine brother’s open stares of fear and piteous anguish—
the mask of death’s parody . . .
they go to a better place, with honor, to partake of an otherworldly rhapsody . . .
Part III
~
Mine pride brought us to this moment,
And now within these, the darkest hours of mine people . . . I lament . . .
for in the name of vengeance I did thrust mine fist toward the heavens . . .
and vow to take mine revenge for those of mine neighboring brethren . . .
so foolishly did I mock . . . thinking to taunt an absent God . . .
“Come, do thine worst!” I shouted in mine folly of arrogance—
“Bid thee I do, to reckon with mine vengeance thirst!”
“Thou shall not be the fallen first!”
These careless words didst burst forth from mine own lips . . .
Mocking the means to that of death’s ruin—
For the days had grown too long, and mine fury grew in the waiting—
Mine thirst for revenge was all that need be sating—
Mine swordsmiths worked day through eventide to forge our steel—
Mine men trained bitterly to the clangor of the metals’ peal—
Too long we waited, wearied to our very bones of standing idle;
Yearning to mount, and clench within our righteous fists our equine’s bridle;
To ride forth and meet the dawn—
To greet such demon’s spawn—
I longed to challenge the worth of their pagan gods . . .
Part IV
~
And the tidings of their imminent treachery came upon horseback, from miles away,
The nearby village, weak in numbers, could not hold them at bay —
The herald stood in the square spouting of bloodletting in trembling dismay . . .
His words, sputtered and broken, spilled of the slaughter, the butchery of the day . . .
Finally . . . the battle was near, and we donned our weapons of choice and readied our steeds,
we knelt upon bent knee and prayed . . . that an absent god bless this day and our deeds . . .
I vowed in that moment. . . “I shall not blink until the last . . . by mine own hand . . . bleeds!” . . .
We gathered to ourselves . . .
Our loved ones to speak our farewells . . .
Mine Bethan, mine bride, stood proudly at mine side . . .
As I addressed those of our people, I saw in mine conviction, her pride . . .
Part V
~
And when they came . . . they outnumbered us . . . more than twenty to ten . . .
Summoning a rage that burned . . . fed by the fires of odium upon those they rend . . .
They came . . . for naught . . . but the spoils . . . lusting to ravage innocence . . .
Seeking to prove to those they deemed inferior to they . . . their omnipotence . . .
They came . . . beneath naught . . . but a shroud of bear’s clothing . . .
A vile breed . . . painted lewdly . . . crazed . . . spouting their loathing . . .
And the battle line was drawn . . .
I addressed mine men who waited anxiously for mine call to battle . . .
As they sat restlessly upon their mounts . . . I attempt to ease their nervous prattle . . .
“Come men! . . . What say you?”
“Shall we greet thine foul and terrible guests and grant them their due?”
“Let us not forget our manners as we do behest—”
“Let us show we are but gracious hosts as they come to rest—”
“To lay bloody without glory nor mercy upon the ground at our feet—”
“Left to do naught but strangle upon their wretched angst due their own defeat!”
“And before we send them to that freezing realm to greet their Goddess Hel—”
“We shall drink to their valiant efforts to each clamorous ring of the tolling bell!”
And as the sun ruptured the dawn . . . it ushered with it Fairhair’s spawn . . .
So arrogantly had I anticipated our victory . . . and then I turned to greet our enemy . . .
As mine mount strut and stomp the ground nervously beneath me . . .
“Come then! Bring thine vile lust and hate forth to meet with violent accord!”
“That we may taste at the bitter tip of thine jagged sword!”
“Notched and worn by thine ravaging crusades!”
“Come! . . . I pray thee! . . . Lead thine countless Berserkers to invade!”
Part VI
~
With muscles taut . . . and weapons drawn . . .
We faced the broad expanse . . . of what portend a bloody dawn . . .
Upon horseback . . . with lance, and sword, and arrow . . . we faced these . . . aberrations . . .
As the stillness of the new morn ushered the clash of our warring nations . . .
And again . . . I prayed to an absent God . . .
“Abet me in this dark task you have set before me!”
“Gift me a true and mighty stroke, as I cut away, piece by piece, their ghastly features!”
“Grant us all bravery . . . as we bathe in the blood . . . of such monstrous creatures!”
“Bestow upon these righteous hands . . . death’s touch . . . to rid thine world of such evil!”
“Lend to these valiant hearts . . . a warrior’s rhythm . . . so we may thwart such upheaval!”
“And thusly . . . restore balance to these fertile lands. . . and dignity to mine sovereign people!”
And so it began . . .
The darkest of hours . . .
Part I
~
Too Strange of days are these of Men . . .
Gone to past, be the days of Gods, of Honor, of Magik . . .
‘Tis Mayhem which strikes its mighty fist, rending this final Hour tragic!
As the blood of innocence runs lukewarm and soaks within the barren lands;
We fought well; valiantly we stood, then fell; lost to the bloodlust of murderous hands.
Our entrails spilled by reckless cleaving of merciless, soulless Men.
I look about mine trembling blood caked form, weak and spent,
And witness the carnage that is mine brethren;
Twisted bodies of those I knew, burned and rent,
What good to be born?
What good I ask!
Part II
~
Only to lie our ends in frozen woe, without dignity, within the sucking mire . . .
‘Tis the aftermath of honor; all bravery spent in forlorn wretchedness, now fated to lie in pyre—
as men no more, but as so much rotting meat, carcasses for naught but scavengers to whittle—
I breathe deep of the acrid stench of death as I wipe away this bitter spittle-
and meet mine brother’s open stares of fear and piteous anguish—
the mask of death’s parody . . .
they go to a better place, with honor, to partake of an otherworldly rhapsody . . .
Part III
~
Mine pride brought us to this moment,
And now within these, the darkest hours of mine people . . . I lament . . .
for in the name of vengeance I did thrust mine fist toward the heavens . . .
and vow to take mine revenge for those of mine neighboring brethren . . .
so foolishly did I mock . . . thinking to taunt an absent God . . .
“Come, do thine worst!” I shouted in mine folly of arrogance—
“Bid thee I do, to reckon with mine vengeance thirst!”
“Thou shall not be the fallen first!”
These careless words didst burst forth from mine own lips . . .
Mocking the means to that of death’s ruin—
For the days had grown too long, and mine fury grew in the waiting—
Mine thirst for revenge was all that need be sating—
Mine swordsmiths worked day through eventide to forge our steel—
Mine men trained bitterly to the clangor of the metals’ peal—
Too long we waited, wearied to our very bones of standing idle;
Yearning to mount, and clench within our righteous fists our equine’s bridle;
To ride forth and meet the dawn—
To greet such demon’s spawn—
I longed to challenge the worth of their pagan gods . . .
Part IV
~
And the tidings of their imminent treachery came upon horseback, from miles away,
The nearby village, weak in numbers, could not hold them at bay —
The herald stood in the square spouting of bloodletting in trembling dismay . . .
His words, sputtered and broken, spilled of the slaughter, the butchery of the day . . .
Finally . . . the battle was near, and we donned our weapons of choice and readied our steeds,
we knelt upon bent knee and prayed . . . that an absent god bless this day and our deeds . . .
I vowed in that moment. . . “I shall not blink until the last . . . by mine own hand . . . bleeds!” . . .
We gathered to ourselves . . .
Our loved ones to speak our farewells . . .
Mine Bethan, mine bride, stood proudly at mine side . . .
As I addressed those of our people, I saw in mine conviction, her pride . . .
Part V
~
And when they came . . . they outnumbered us . . . more than twenty to ten . . .
Summoning a rage that burned . . . fed by the fires of odium upon those they rend . . .
They came . . . for naught . . . but the spoils . . . lusting to ravage innocence . . .
Seeking to prove to those they deemed inferior to they . . . their omnipotence . . .
They came . . . beneath naught . . . but a shroud of bear’s clothing . . .
A vile breed . . . painted lewdly . . . crazed . . . spouting their loathing . . .
And the battle line was drawn . . .
I addressed mine men who waited anxiously for mine call to battle . . .
As they sat restlessly upon their mounts . . . I attempt to ease their nervous prattle . . .
“Come men! . . . What say you?”
“Shall we greet thine foul and terrible guests and grant them their due?”
“Let us not forget our manners as we do behest—”
“Let us show we are but gracious hosts as they come to rest—”
“To lay bloody without glory nor mercy upon the ground at our feet—”
“Left to do naught but strangle upon their wretched angst due their own defeat!”
“And before we send them to that freezing realm to greet their Goddess Hel—”
“We shall drink to their valiant efforts to each clamorous ring of the tolling bell!”
And as the sun ruptured the dawn . . . it ushered with it Fairhair’s spawn . . .
So arrogantly had I anticipated our victory . . . and then I turned to greet our enemy . . .
As mine mount strut and stomp the ground nervously beneath me . . .
“Come then! Bring thine vile lust and hate forth to meet with violent accord!”
“That we may taste at the bitter tip of thine jagged sword!”
“Notched and worn by thine ravaging crusades!”
“Come! . . . I pray thee! . . . Lead thine countless Berserkers to invade!”
Part VI
~
With muscles taut . . . and weapons drawn . . .
We faced the broad expanse . . . of what portend a bloody dawn . . .
Upon horseback . . . with lance, and sword, and arrow . . . we faced these . . . aberrations . . .
As the stillness of the new morn ushered the clash of our warring nations . . .
And again . . . I prayed to an absent God . . .
“Abet me in this dark task you have set before me!”
“Gift me a true and mighty stroke, as I cut away, piece by piece, their ghastly features!”
“Grant us all bravery . . . as we bathe in the blood . . . of such monstrous creatures!”
“Bestow upon these righteous hands . . . death’s touch . . . to rid thine world of such evil!”
“Lend to these valiant hearts . . . a warrior’s rhythm . . . so we may thwart such upheaval!”
“And thusly . . . restore balance to these fertile lands. . . and dignity to mine sovereign people!”
And so it began . . .
The darkest of hours . . .
