The Battle of Chalice Peak ( Mythic Series Volume Two)

Across the valleys,

In the night and through the snow,

Men fall in frigid fright,

Awful demons made of ice,

But we are many, unafraid to die,

 Despite their strength and their might,

Their numbers are slight; they underestimate man’s will to fight,

One thousand forty three,

Yet only one is required to reach the peak,

We battled strong, with disregard,

Many generations will sing our praise,

Many men and women, know they will our battle cry,

With axe, with sword,

With shield and hand,

We battled with all we had,

One by one the men would fall,

But with every hundred

We took down one,

Shards of frost dismembered and destroyed

Sons were lost and fathers buried beneath the ice,

Many days our spirit tested by the Gods,

Severed limbs and bludgeoned deep,

Gashed and dissected

Our blood melted the cold below,

Two hundred forty five,

Against a clan whose only goal is Ragnarok to make,

Of ice built men towering high,

Only three of which remained to die,

Each of us were bruised and damaged,

 Weary from the year we’ve spent,

Our will to protect was gone sometime

Yet, we stayed, dedicated to this plight,

Each night, after the daily bloodshed ends,

We count who’s left, then bury our dead,

And just before I immerse myself in cloth

I pray to those up in the sky,

Return soon, this I beg from you,

Many more seasons past,

Only a handful remained to stand,

Each having met death’s opened door,

And slammed it shut, we were meant for more,

Then as but one frost giant left to slay,

A bolt escaped the kingdom high,

Ice then festered through the sky,

After one week to regain health

The six remaining trekked forth

Knowing this was not the only

Battle we would see,

On our path towards the chaliced peak,

We have rested,

We are ready,

We are the last defense to the Gods,

Keeping Asgaards border safe

Remorse of a Giant

And to the East there are giants high, coveting the mountains in the sky,

Below skylines tainted in an amber glow,

The days of burgundy, the times of brightly dripping stone,

After this evening, never more,

The kings of the east deny involvement,

The Queens, far to the west, want no part,

The Northern fields and Southern plains,

With their brilliant castles and glorious waterways,

Is no contest, for a giant infused by death,

I’m incorrigible, I’m divine,

Made of rock, chiseled with purpose,

I will not retreat, nor denied,

With pointed horns, taut to the clouds,

My eyes proclaim, my hands decree,

Come.  Cease this surfeit if you can,

Invoke your sleeping giant, crusader I’m standing here!

Call upon your champion lest this feast will never yield,

This wrath, this scourge I alone cannot control,

Absolved singular, at the hands of a giant god,

Chance he fails or refuse acceptance,

To tear away this flesh, to set this molten free,

And fertilize these same fields, where I stand high

Brother, I pray release me from the curse I’m bound to,

I know this warning has been listened to,

Incongruity will pass, but I shall not,

Do not ignore me in this time of needfulness,

You must slay your youngest brother dead,

Our connection is ever more,

If this curse does not die however, with me this eve,

Forever their blood, their souls will eat constantly upon you,

Starting with your heart, feasting on your head

I shall persevere within this fight, if my blood does spill as I suspect it might,

Than loneliness will never harm me again,

And to the west there will be giants high, coveting the mountains in the sky