by Ghadis_God Wed May 01, 2013 2:19 pmMine's very stylistic and doesn't work outside the context of DkS (billy and Wyrm's duel to settle the Lifehunter-DS war), nonetheless I think I touched on some nice imagery in it. I did like yours, particularly the single-minded tone, but I would suggest not including old fashioned speech in such a modern-feeling poem, it's a bit jarring. Remember, it doesn't have to rhyme; most modern stuff doesn't.
A hundred bodies on a pyre lay
To light the streets of Lordran’s shadowed slums.
Its crumbling stones were hid from failing day,
Its denizens by blade were each struck dumb.
For soon, the duel that bears the name of war
Will see blood spilt between two hated foes.
And ‘till the gutters flow with clotted gore,
The hazy air will ring with sound of blows.
Two hidden lords against the gods are set;
The great Wyrm-Hero, sworn in staunch defense
To dragon-queen in icy world beset.
From void Abyss the other issued hence
To drain the world of its humanity:
‘Twas Marius, in haunted city crowned;
Invading lord of cruel calamity.
To him the Stalkers of the Dark were bound,
And set against the grim Hunters of Life.
Yet uninterred was mem’ry of past loss
When their leaders did meet to settle strife-
So that but one in grave would turn and toss
On war’s account; a noble sacrifice.
The Oracle of Light did judge the duel;
A single stone from hand did she let fall.
And ere its light did the combatants reach,
The sound of blade did ring, and sing, and call.
Two bright moons on wild seas reflected;
In unison the Dark Lord’s blades did shine.
Relentless was his cold and silent fury,
Keen and unhindered was his ruthless mind.
Dire indeed was the Hero’s passion,
E’er burning like the flame that he did wield.
Head becrowned, from rags his vestments fashioned.
Long was his blade, and sturdy was his shield.
The battle dragged on long, and yet it seemed
That with each strike, cold death should surely deem
The struggle done, his chosen to receive,
And pour th’unlucky soul out through his sieve.
The skill and strength of both were level-matched,
So that it seemed they dueled but with their will.
And then, reborn, in Marius there hatched
From ashes, thoughts he never truly killed.
His servitude to Kaathe seemed but hollow,
His soldiers’ loyalty delusioned dreams.
Lust for battle feels a cruel betrayal,
The Dark Lord’s world naught but futile seems.
For if to serpent’s word he paid no heed,
And ancient soul lay dormant in the flesh,
If he had but adhered to peace’s creed
Perhaps he needn’t lay his love to rest.
For but a moment he forsook his might,
And Marius desired not to fight.
His hand did tremble,
Wyrm did cut him down.
None may stop upon the path
Marching onward toward the bloody crown.
A hundred bodies on a pyre lay
To light the streets of Lordran’s shadowed slums.
Its crumbling stones were hid from failing day,
Its denizens by blade were each struck dumb.
For soon, the duel that bears the name of war
Will see blood spilt between two hated foes.
And ‘till the gutters flow with clotted gore,
The hazy air will ring with sound of blows.
Two hidden lords against the gods are set;
The great Wyrm-Hero, sworn in staunch defense
To dragon-queen in icy world beset.
From void Abyss the other issued hence
To drain the world of its humanity:
‘Twas Marius, in haunted city crowned;
Invading lord of cruel calamity.
To him the Stalkers of the Dark were bound,
And set against the grim Hunters of Life.
Yet uninterred was mem’ry of past loss
When their leaders did meet to settle strife-
So that but one in grave would turn and toss
On war’s account; a noble sacrifice.
The Oracle of Light did judge the duel;
A single stone from hand did she let fall.
And ere its light did the combatants reach,
The sound of blade did ring, and sing, and call.
Two bright moons on wild seas reflected;
In unison the Dark Lord’s blades did shine.
Relentless was his cold and silent fury,
Keen and unhindered was his ruthless mind.
Dire indeed was the Hero’s passion,
E’er burning like the flame that he did wield.
Head becrowned, from rags his vestments fashioned.
Long was his blade, and sturdy was his shield.
The battle dragged on long, and yet it seemed
That with each strike, cold death should surely deem
The struggle done, his chosen to receive,
And pour th’unlucky soul out through his sieve.
The skill and strength of both were level-matched,
So that it seemed they dueled but with their will.
And then, reborn, in Marius there hatched
From ashes, thoughts he never truly killed.
His servitude to Kaathe seemed but hollow,
His soldiers’ loyalty delusioned dreams.
Lust for battle feels a cruel betrayal,
The Dark Lord’s world naught but futile seems.
For if to serpent’s word he paid no heed,
And ancient soul lay dormant in the flesh,
If he had but adhered to peace’s creed
Perhaps he needn’t lay his love to rest.
For but a moment he forsook his might,
And Marius desired not to fight.
His hand did tremble,
Wyrm did cut him down.
None may stop upon the path
Marching onward toward the bloody crown.
