- The Foe Hammer
King of pestilence,
Lord of Pain,
This Black Shadow,
Takes flight again.

This goat herder,
He will not abide.
He’ll tear apart,
its armored hide.

He unnerves its steed,
with his dreadful will.
And now closes in,
For the final kill.

But an upstart whelp,
With golden hair,
Stands in the way,
Why would it dare?

“They know the tales,
As well as I,
By no man’s hand,
Will this King die!”

But it takes a swing,
And the beast is cleft,
And without a mount,
He too is left.

The King breaks clear,
And taunts this fool,
Reminding him of
the prophet’s rule.

He breaks its shield,
With his mighty mace.
And sees cold fear
Upon the implings face.

But it pulls the helm,
Off of its head,
And now unveiled
SHE fills him with dread.

And then a pain
Strikes behind his knee.
A blade of old,
He thought ne'er to see.

His guard now down,
His wards dispelled.
She strikes his mantle,
And the King is felled!