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The Victor
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Just For Fun Their faces like stone
Cold, gray, and alined in a row
Silken banners like twisted serpents writhe above their heads
Great clouds like ash choke the sun's warmth and throw gloom across the valleys expance.
The steel is strapped to their flesh with rough strips of leather
Cracked and worn and weathered
Providing contrast to the gleaming glint of the cold polished plates
Dark yet glittering
Simple yet elegant
Perhapes the only bit of beauty in so desolate a land
Their steps are weary and carefully placed
Memories, trapped in tears, stain their skin and fall to the broken earth
But they must be left behind now...
For the momment requires an immaculate concentration
A fullness of focus
An unstraining sharpness of the senses
So that all is gone save the task
It's dreaded columns are now in full view
A glorious and terrible structure of discipline
A seething mass promising death
A promise of pain and destruction
The stomach forms a fist of the tightest clench
And the handle of horror's instrument grows slicker with sweat
It trembles in the hands of the anxious men who wield them
The lines of the world around sharpen
And each sound echoes a thousand times
Reverberating like an un-yielding drum
Matching in perfect accordance to the hum of chaotic energy that fills the air.
Until that moment of finality
Long and sad the ram horn calls
A building rumble of the deepest kind
Till forces meet
And by god, the victor is chosen
