Author Topic: A rallying cry in the Ward for the Cinquefoil Rose  (Read 201 times)

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on: November 14, 2022, 06:16:57 AM
Who was it that tamed you my lion, my brother? Was it the arbiter bound to scroll and and the fear of the druthers?

Who was it that dulled your blade, my Lord Kristoff? Was it the return of our gracious Lord Anders and all of his might, or was it the Count upon that singular night?
When he tossed the hound like a moth and ripped the wings of it off. I bet that they both, gave a grave fright. Who was it that made you quiet, Lord Bernard? Was it the drink and the loss, until your daugther came to guard?

Perhaps it were the shattering of your lands and highlanders afar, or more dreadful their burning flesh left scarred.

I would dare tread these grounds with my words as if wandering the Nothing itself for they are not insult to any whom I would name. Instead I speak to remind you of our greatest game. While poor of form, lacking prose, I dare now say, rally forth to me, my Cinquefoil Rose.

But I will stand and face these fears, alone - while you sit upon a throne up three tiers, of stone. I'll rely not upon an any Owl's stone, yet courage and might enough charm a Prince, alone. Peers of mine you are not, for all within a coward's rot, taken to heart, paid for and bought

But I shall stand where you will not, bring out the Knife from this peace knot.
And I will walk where you dare not tread, all to protect your daughter's head.
I will fight claw and tooth, to feed the yellow beast, forsooth
And I will hunt them all, beast and boar, even if without our Lyon's roar.