The festering wind blowing hope’s scent into fiery lungs.
Mortal Men to forge Immortal days.
On the shores of hopes edge, they stood, clicking and clanking,
Weighing and neighing chariots of woe they rode.
Blistering and glittering in shiny and singing armor of metal and steel,
Sounding horns echoing to the rising sun so she hears her crying sons.
The stench and funk of an endless era, pestering and enduring for millennia, of foul and sour.
Now they must not waver and non shall cower.
Men bold and brave,
Kings of gold and their glade,
And champions of old and their blade,
Standing at the end of life’s edge.
The final days of a lasting strain,
Moments carved into the beating heart of history,
Unveiling the mysteries of a forgotten story.
And so to world’s ending they matched, into wars blending they charged,
Drowning fears and screaming for all to hear,
Surrendering all to the impending doom and calling on death to lead them into the awaiting gloom.
Kin and blood…
Oath and friendship…
To ride for ruin and desolation.
Emmalase.
Emmalase