The Fighter

His armor was battered and torn from use.
He had a sword to guide him through every quest.
His mind was pure, yet bothered;
And a fighting heart for every breath.
Death wasn't new to him, for his dreams were all but slaughtered.

In the guidance of his horse, draped in thick mail
He will be taken far from home
Where he will go through hell;
But valour is all he will show.

Through lonely wanderlust, he will find a way,
To avenge his past of horrors:
No matter the beasts he must slay.
Until then, he won't be freed
From the sinews of death that he has journeyed.

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