Do you believe in heroes?
His house rose up in the dark of one night,
the panels and doors caked in dust.
It was clear to the town: the house must come down
but his gate wouldn't budge with the rust.
A small delegation requested migration
but never returned to their wives.
So we formed up a band to clear off his land
and sharpened our spears with our knives.
The torches shone hotly, we angry and motley
as down came his statues and stones.
And dark was the mud that was stained with the blood
of our brethren scraped right to the bones.
Our gasp was a wail on the faces so pale,
our anger was white as the forge.
So many so dead, it boggles the head
that all could fit inside the gorge.
We turned to the house atop the brown hill,
our miens were contortions of violence.
All longed for the kill or the feel of the spill
and the sound of his screams in the silence.
When up on the porch appeared he with torch,
his smile malevolent death.
His evil we felt, his sickness a pelt
apparent in manner and breath.
We gasped in fright as his voice split the night
and the creatures of dark he let fly.
With great montrous wings, these death-spawned black things
tore into the crowd and gave cry!
The ground tore asunder to everyone's wonder,
the moon danced above us in glee,
Its hate the mirror of a madman's sneer
while he tore through his murderous spree.
And the man we did hate stood above us in wait
while the creatures tore limbs from chests.
And never was there any greater despair
than when our hearts were torn from our breasts.
Then only I was left, bereft,
and all around was still.
The monster fray had flown away,
purged, its lust to kill.
The ground had ceased, a tranquil beast,
the moon was full and sated.
I heard the trees breaking apart the breeze
as I crouched and prayed and waited.
"Have you realized how you are abandoned now?
Your friends have joined my side.
They paid with death, their crime is breath!
But not me! I live!" he cried.
"You are dead," I called, my horror galled,
the thunder cracked and rolled,
"a bottomless pit of bile and spit
whose deeds only Evil extolls!"
And he laughed and nodded while I secretly plotted.
"You know so well, I'm astonished...
Come with me, O the sight we'd be
once you gave into yourself," he admonished.
Thus I grasped his hand and silently planned
as he flashed his teeth in my face.
"You will live beside me, guard me and hide me,
and outlive your human race.
I've lived alone so long,
I can't begin to think you'd know
just how crippled time has seemed to me,
the Mage of Sanguine Snow...
If you could see my heart you'd see the trunk of life and pain and Hel,
the base of pain so ringed in same and me its death; oh, well..."
Then as he turned away to hide from day
I stabbed through his heart with my knife.
And his scream was the dream of a world gone downstream
as his blood took out with it his life.
Of his last two words, they were thrown to the birds:
His hands caught the light. He said, "DIE!"
But in his second are letters I feel I know better:
His knees hit the ground. He said, "why?"
And still to this day I can never quite say
how much sorrow and pity I kept
for this creature from Hel, our reaper so well
that lost un-life and finally slept.
-Jorn