The drums of battle have come to call,
Feathered fiend and crystalman it summons,
Feasting upon our Brothers as they fall.

Cry out O' Gaudiguch, land without its children,
We fight this war that time has forgotten,
Struggling onward in a hope beyond our mortal ken.

Shout upon the dunes, O nomads!
Eschew the Flame, Guardians of the sands,
And stand triumphant holding up the Hand!

Fair Charestu Thech has fallen, has fallen,
We mourn her, but onward we must press,
For Vanaka's warcry
Is sounded about the next dune's crest.

Tzaraziko stands of stone, her arm severed,
Stopped short of beckoning her lost children home.
Run forth, run forth, by the Ebony Wakabi,
We will triumph

Her Hand is found, a joyus chorus ring,
The sands have bled, and Gaudiguch is King.
What victory have we tasted here?

What joke hath divine hand wrought,
To make our trials, strived for fall short,
Tzaraziko's blessing and her curse.

A bit of power, and not a freedoms purse.

---

Very well done, bravo! The last line, especially. Pulls it together well. *smile*

Very well done.

Excellent phrasing.

Hey! I thought I was
The "poetic" one 'round here
I demand a duel!

Edittu: that was supposed to be a compliment. I have a migraine today. It affects my sense of "oh, that could be taken badly."