"He rises bloodless from dust,
with dead eyes that are pits
twin reaches to eternal pain.

He is the lodestone
to the gathering clan,
made anew and dream-racked.

The standard a rotted hide,
the throne a bone cage, the king
a ghost from dark fields of battle.

And now the horn moans
on this grey clad dawn
drawing the disparate host

To war, to war,
and the charging frenzy
of unbidden memories of ice.
―"Lay of the First Sword"
Irig Thann Delusa (b. 1091)[src]

Notes and referencesEdit

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