From a Guard’s Journal
Before the dawn I heard them gather,
waking me from still cadaver.
Then to the rampart with my bow,
I took the field and saw my foe.
A host of fools had gathered there;
beyond their hope, beyond my care.
I shout, "We are the Castle Archer Guard!
The Mighty Eagle! The Razor Shard!"
My heart breaks 'tis no mistake,
I seek a life to ease it's ache.
I long to stretch my wooden bow
then charge an arrow through my foe.
I hope they climb, this charging horde,
so I might kill them on my sword.
Or, with burning oil I'll scald their eyes
and laugh and laugh above their cries.
I'll drop great stones of awful weight
and smash these infidels with hate.
With cannon I will blast a hole
and kill this army to it's soul.
This, is Black Castle, hard and dark;
against the landscape, hulking, stark.
I've felt the pall of Death not once,
upon our ramparts where She hunts.