Droner

Mists linger on a frost filled dawn sunlight glimmers on blade and thorn grim, illumined but no not all much remains in decay's dark thrall Slow, certain the true demise proving ground for all things that die the wounds that whiten the spikes that bind the cords that tighten the roots that bind All in darkness is not corrupted all that beckons cannot be trusted beneath the sway of deepest night dark woods awake far from mortal sight 'Through sodden ancient pathways we tread to the home of witch-elms and singing blades of liquid frost dancing like lucid steam-beasts that blow the breath between the hawthorn stems' 'Await the signs of our fathers The circle is closed The doors to reality are closed you, me, the gods, and the grinding of our steel The boundary where ancient spectres rise not in torment, but in eternal conquest' Into the Wychwood!

Submitted by BloodShrine — Apr 26, 2025

At last upon the whale's road On heathen tides and winds that scream Where potent murmers ride the haunted skies and rune-wise prows eager for the shore Beneath the ice-capped vaults of middle-earth where sword wolves sail across infernal seas By skill of sail, by force of oar, by steel and sinew, raise the tide of gore! Each fool's lament, a wasted breath Our heroes leave a wake that bleeds where mail clad axemen prowl perception's edge In ragged mass, black ravens reap the wind Ice and fire!

Submitted by Corpse Grinder — Apr 26, 2025

At times I have observed the world while standing on the higher ground while on the horizon two crows pierce the dark veils of mist From the gnashing waves upon the sea to the lightest breeze that stirs the trees in the churning air I have heard the whispers of gods

Submitted by Cyberwaste — Apr 26, 2025

Grim men in ages past kept watch from these heights Now only the wind keeps this lonely vigil The lines of the ramparts still to be seen their pride now tempered by the passing of time Weapons lay rusting in forgotten places The shields have rotted these men are no more None now remember the burning of the gates the shattered palisades the heaps of carrion Rain lashed gorse spikes a blanket of elk-sedge the seeds of protection carried by storms Too late for the wounded who bled in the ditches to be covered in elk-sedge grim orphans of death Pits of pride and war beneath the footfalls of weakling spectators who knew us no more Weapons lay rusting in forgotten places The shields have rotted in heaps of carrion

Submitted by NecroGod — Apr 26, 2025

Who is this that strokes my cold face? I'm here, beneath the sloping heather Come...close your eyes put your head against this earth I'll tell you my story of death by invader's blade A dragon from the south, red gold it shone in the heat of Haerfestmonath winding its way unto the fort of Wych Some braced with a stake we took our place on slingshot skyline We children all knew the war song I rained my stones at the tribes and felt the battle inside as elders slew, and fell at long range I heard the gate crash and the swords clash and the stab in my side, open wide as I fell into the red and wet ditch And I cried for my father, my mother my sisters, my brothers and then the gods Come with me...it's alright

Submitted by Corpse Defiler — Apr 26, 2025

When this frail house of flesh can no longer hold my spirit if my enemies take me in war or if fate leaves me prey to the ravage of years I ask this of you this and no more Place my bones in the ground Let me face to the north give me axe give me shield give me sword As the crow reels in flight and the teeth of death bite raise a mound over me and my hoard When the last drop is drained when the mead hall runs dry when the fire burns low on the hearth as the hammers are crossed on the midwinter frost I will walk on the gods' starlit path

Submitted by Nargaroth — Apr 26, 2025