Returning Hero

After an arduous quest,
She finally returned,
With nary a parade or fanfare,
Not an inkling of celebration,
Quietly gracing our fair township,
Armour sundered and blade shattered,
She had slain the minotaur,
Its labyrinth and reign of bloodshed,
She took no trophy though,
The deed was reward enough,

Exhausted she meandered the streets,
An unknown,
No citizen paid her any mind,
No accolades graced her hands,
Not a single coin as reparation,
No recognition for the gift she’d imparted,
The blood she’d spent,
But alas,
That’s what being a true hero is,
Altruism in plate armour.

Blackguard

Part of the same ‘universe’ as “Hedge Knight“.

During that war betwixt would-be monarchs,
There was one knight who stood monolithic,
The blackguard,
A ghastly terror on and off the hills of battle,
They say he was in love with death herself,

Where his sabatons fell,
All hope finds itself stifled,
A pall of dark smog coats the sky,
Flowers wilt and grass withers,
Game flees out of sight,

And he approached our hamlet,
Decay walking into our agora in full plate,
Zweihander in clenched fist,
Already caked in the wine of loyalist bodies,
His courser slavering and exhaling grave dust,

We could only flee our homes,
Displaced by this effigy of doom,
This horror,
The reapers husband in the flesh,
If he were flesh at all.

The Regent

The king left on a grand crusade,
A campaign ‘gainst that dragon or this demon,
I’m his regent,
His steward,
I was to warm this volcanic throne,
Until his triumphant return,

Yet the kingdom rots without him,
As if its lifeblood has been drained,
The peasants grow skeletal and despondent,
The very earthen foundations of our nation crumble,
Our royal academia lectures only madness now,
Our lone remaining knight now rides a pale horse,

Look yonder to the fields under my reign,
And see that they are barren,
As if a royal magic is dispelled,
This charge seems a curse,
He bade me this unwanted duty,
The crown mocks me from its waiting pedestal.

Forlorn Hope

Plated and iron-willed,
Zweihander in grip,
We are the first,
The forlorn hope,
The first of the army,
The first to charge,
The first to brave that barbed storm,
To climb those ladders,
To brave those battlements,
The first to kill,
The first to be slain,
We are the first,
The forlorn hope,
The first to die screaming,
The first to burn alive,
The first to be impaled,
The first to perish under arrows,
To be pierced,
To be slaughtered,
The first to be buried,
The first to be forgotten.

The Monarch War

A continuation of ‘Hedge Knight‘.

The battle lines were down,
Like an assassins dirk across a map,
A knife through butter,
A plague through a nation,
Somewhere Death was atop a pale courser,
Waiting for his ravens harvest,

The tyrant versus the monarch,
Bloody upheaval versus the status quo,
Two hosts of armoured termites,
Spear and lance and blade,
Village pitted against fellow village,
Serfdom meat shields,

A yelled command,
And the storm of blood and iron began,
Armies collided and spilled crimson,
Mars drank deep that day,
Amidst the sea of levied corpses,
A monarchs and a tyrants eyes met,

Time stopped.

Dirge of the Jester

There once was a court jester named Pimm,
Who did not quite much the life given unto him,
Cursed with a family ever so droll,
Our dear Pimm did elope,
Filled with vigor and hope,
While his family were eaten alive by a troll.

He found employ with a petty king,
King Rodric marveled at Pimms idyllic linguistic strings,
Pimm amused his court with elegant canticles and absurd dances,
He garnered attention from all of the court,
A fair lady did fawn as he did cavort,
Seeing our Pimms dramas as romantic advances.

The fair lady was alluring without compare,
But a dreadful madness her mind did ensnare,
Our clever Pimm her advances he did rebuff,
Pimms rationale was pure and warm,
Yet her bitter mind conjured a dire storm,
She would have her revenge sure enough.

A horrendous plot the lady did concoct,
She would see our Pimm beaten and mocked,
Her fellow courtiers she did poison against him,
His majesty Rodric was next to succumb to her lingual blight,
Enmity and distrust against our Pimm did alight,
A short life of torch and pitchfork awaited our poor Pimm.

Innocent Pimm had to go into hiding,
The kings men were close to finding where Pimm was residing,
All hope was surely gone for good,
Our Pimm gripped that which would give him release,
A self-destructive blade to cause his misery to cease,
I would end on a joyous note if i only could.