by TheServant » Thu Jun 20, 2024 10:13 pm
I met a herald from a distant realm
Who spake:—Two shattered shields, bereft of pride,
Lie in the vale. Nearby upon the ground,
Half-buried, a broken helm does rest, whose grim
And scornful grin and eyes of cruel disdain
Reveal that their creators well discerned
The haughty spirit that once thrived within,
Now vanished, slain by valor and resolve.
And on the pedestal these words inscribed:
"We are the oppressors, rulers of the weak:
Behold our might, ye humble, and cower!"
Yet nothing else endures: around the ruin
Of their fallen fortress, wide and desolate,
The quiet plains stretch on, a testament
To Storm of Swords, and to the brave united.
Gone are Snail and his gang, their reign of fear
Laid low by Whatever Bay's mighty strike.
Their boasts and jeers now echo in the void,
Defeated by the courage of the meek.
"Occasionally I drop a teacup to shatter on the floor. On purpose. I'm not satisfied when it doesn't gather itself up again. Someday perhaps, a cup will come together."