The March
The dawn fades to blackness, into the abyss
A thousand footfalls, see the armies dispatches
An unsuspecting town on the wrong side of the border
The shadow falls across them now; time for the slaughter
There's an old lady drawing water, theres someone's grandaughter
Going about their lives, unaware that they're caught up
Now the arrows start flying in a mercliless hail
Pattering like raindrops, with a burst of entrails
Inside the Town
A lone samurai sips on some aged sake
The equilibrium unbalanced; although not aged badly
This is a waystation on his wanderings, he sits, pondering
In this alcholics den, thinking of solid things
A warrior without a master, seeking a cause
Trained in martial arts, swords, reaping with scars
His senses sharpen up at the thudding on the roof
He's on his feet in a second, looking for proof
Escapes the bar, out into the street, he see's them
The dark lords regiments... he feels fatigue then
The Battle
The town miltia raise their weapons but are caught off guard
They clash steel but their enemies charge is hard
In the space of 5 minutes, half their numbers are gone
But then lighting strikes it seems, the lone wolf has come
Assassination
He's a blur, barely qualifies as human
His razor sharp swings decimates a few men
He weaves through the ranks like a snake with legs
Makes it to the back line where archers quake in dread
15 dead later they fled, wolf turns on the spot
Blocks a neck-height swing, almost burning to drop
He recogises the sneak attack, the legions commander
"Balthius!"
"Traitor! I've got orders to hang you!"
They dance with blades, draw blood like twisted art
This is the sickest part, vengence and hatred remarks
"Lord Larsa sends his regards! Die, you dog!
A blade decends to wolf's neck through the rising fog...
To be continued.
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