Tis will be my first entry ever.
Dead
The land I travel slowly; unto dimly lit rows,
I tardily advance toward an endless source of woes.
And whether day or night: engulfed in darkness verily,
Not to explain it airily...
But I'm reknowned throghout the land.
I am a shaman, binder - grand
Within the circle'o the occult.
I speak with dead, that's my exult.
I cleanse the living, that's my task.
And smiting evil, that's my bask.
"Show yourselves, thee evil souls!
From your vile and wretched holes,
And lo, for braught here I hath been
By King Arsenium the Quin!" -
- In the center corridor
Thundered I, the orator.
Little time for me was left:
Moaning ghouls and shades bereft,
Ghosts, and shadows, and a lich,
Creeping dead covered in midge,
Zombies crawling unrestored,
And vampires lead the horde.
I knew t'was no time for slumber;
They were more than I could number,
But I had faith in the divine,
Knew my god's power was mine.
And from my scabbard I released,
My father's sword, whom I have missed.
Its hilt was as that of a lord,
Edge of a finely crafted sword.
But more, it shone with my desire,
For all my foes dead in a fire.
A mighty swing was all it took -
Ignite a few, the rest rebuke.
The flames of ardor made them suffer,
When they fought back, my faith as buffer,
And my swordsmanship took 'em down.
If shades had faces, they would frown,
As even incorporeals I struck,
The vampires, more, were out of luck.
Nearing the end of my exalted
Slaughter of the dead, I halted.
There was an eerie sound nearby,
And there, couldn't believe my eyes!
Floated my father, as a ghost:
Without legs and without a nose.
Translucent lips a sigh evaded:
"So many years for you I've waited!"
"But...dad? How come? How can it be?"
"You see, you see,
T'was long ago,
When you were small, and crops were low.
A hag descended on my land,
With a deal I could not withstand."
"What was it?" "She'd make lettuce grow
But if I died in battle, I was to bind my soul
To this dungeon. And so you know...
An axe strike was just how I'd go."
"And went, you not."
"Stood with this lot.
This evil lot
Of which you saved me..."
"But I should bring you too nepenthe...
As binder, shaman, man of word,
Blood still ain't water, but I'm sworn..."
"Oh son, please, do not speak that way!
Oh, how I miss the light of day...
Give me a bady to walk free."
"But that's necromancy!"
"Indeed,
And without it, I can't be freed."
I pondered hard and bode my time.
He was my father, my blood, MINE!
But who was I? A cleanser, pure,
Oath to my god, I would for sure,
Endure any temptation...
Close my imagination.
And that's exactly what I did
"Father, advance.""As you say, kid
Wait, what is with that glowing globe
Which you have tucket from 'neath your robe?"
I said no word, listened to none,
On globe I sprinkled chicken bone.
The spell was set, sorcery primed,
Perfectly chimed, perfectly timed.
I honed my skill. Had no remorse.
Come on, father, bring out your worse.
But all he did was cry alone,
Fading away, through spell of bone.
I found myself sighing in tears.
What have I done...but then, the years
Of banishing came kicking in.
And then I said: "Father, give in,
I hate to banish you this way,
You are my blood, you were my ray."
"Then why, my son...you went ahead?"
"I realised...yes, you are dead."
