Knightfall

[Babylon]

Knightfall

The Cub sits at his fire with the blade in his grasp. Can't remember his own so he takes the last person he killed's name as a badge. Wherever he goes the stench of decay stays on his ass so he takes the nights silence and just prays that it lasts, but the sound of feet rustle through the plants so he grabs the buckle of his lance as he readies for combat, looks unto the soldiers as they have a puzzled crooked glance approaching the humble lookin' man armed steady with drawn brass.

Clasping the iron in his hand puts a fire in the man, he was built for the war.
So the infantry advanced, sent to siege the camp, the air thick with their roars.
He was a fighter in his stance, grabbed the iron of his lance to have blood spilled on the floor, sympathy was damned, as the men rushed in he visciously began rippin' their core, there was fire in his glance he took his sword, grabbed it tighter and advanced through the thick of the horde, the clash of steel erupts as the savage feels the cuts from his sword in their veins, the ash and squeals are rough but as the havoc steals their fuss a God is forged in the flames.

Days pass through the fighting, the Cub's blade basks in their crying, a staved savage was rising with rage that of a Viking, he was known was the Plague, havoc inside em', but as the dust cloud settles in the rough ploughed medow nothing but bodies lie in the waste. The silence from the crushed crowd bellows as the Cub lets a sound from his hushed mouth echo "The Lion Awakes."

Pretty short piece I randomly wrote, loved the image so it spurred this.

[Babylon]

Knightfall

The Cub sits at his fire with the blade in his grasp. Can't remember his own so he takes the last person he killed's name as a badge. Wherever he goes the stench of decay stays on his ass so he takes the nights silence and just prays that it lasts, but the sound of feet rustle through the plants so he grabs the buckle of his lance as he readies for combat, looks unto the soldiers as they have a puzzled crooked glance approaching the humble lookin' man armed steady with drawn brass.

Clasping the iron in his hand puts a fire in the man, he was built for the war.
So the infantry advanced, sent to siege the camp, the air thick with their roars.
He was a fighter in his stance, grabbed the iron of his lance to have blood spilled on the floor, sympathy was damned, as the men rushed in he visciously began rippin' their core, there was fire in his glance he took his sword, grabbed it tighter and advanced through the thick of the horde, the clash of steel erupts as the savage feels the cuts from his sword in their veins, the ash and squeals are rough but as the havoc steals their fuss a God is forged in the flames.

Days pass through the fighting, the Cub's blade basks in their crying, a staved savage was rising with rage that of a Viking, he was known was the Plague, havoc inside em', but as the dust cloud settles in the rough ploughed medow nothing but bodies lie in the waste. The silence from the crushed crowd bellows as the Cub lets a sound from his hushed mouth echo "The Lion Awakes."

Pretty short piece I randomly wrote, loved the image so it spurred this.