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Distinguished Wordsmith
Fleetfoot
Posts: 495
Registered: ‎05-14-2011

Final Volley: A Farewell.

Fleetfoot: Lore of the Aerial Dancer.

 

The Awakening of Tokoli

 

 

Eroc, High King of the Slain, riding out,

Hard and long.

Felt the earth quiver and buckle as it swallowed,

The Lore born Song.

Into the breach by dragon talons torn,

Flowed the lost refrains of the great Lore Horn.

The Dragon Oath was fulfilled.

The stone became a living thing.

Magma simmered, shimmered and flowed.

As an ominous creaking groan broke forth.

Iron, for an aeon frozen, cried in protest,

As in the burning glow,

A huge form began to shift.

 

Upon a massive head, crowned in quartz and gold,

Was the helm of the Gollum King.

By size alone, this, creature had been born to rule.

His heart, warped.

His disposition, cruel.

An aeon of dust and decay shivered like a cloak,

Shifted and fell away.

Pounding, tumbling, crashing down.

Fell the rock and ash which hid his crown.

 

A deep, deep howl of blackest rage,

Broke from the chest of this beast,

As he stepped free of his Lore sworn cage.

The great horn of war was singing out.

Long and loud and lush.

Tokoli's blood began to heat and rush.

 

His hammer at his side was laid.

His axe to right, rested.

With the right hand and then the other,

He gathered up his hammer and his double headed blade,

An ancient debt he had sworn to repay.

That hammer, a dark and weighted thing,

He hefted and brought down upon a boulder,

With veins of copper running through.

 

And into the black,

At the edge of that molten, boiling lake,

His army from its slumber,

Tokoli did wake.

Into the deepest reaches of that place,

The song of that hammer and stone,

Began to ring and hum.

Bodies frozen, by time turned numb...

Stirred and shifted.

Shaking the world...

That to Tokoli's faction, mighty,

Remained blind and deaf and dumb.

 

 

 

 

The Volley of Violet Bright

 

 

Clattering...Bounding....Pounding.

Fleet feet flying.

Arrows singing, sighing.

The symphony of war...

A bloody refrain rising up from the shore.

A chorus lifting above the call of the Lore.

Blades glowing...

Banners and cloven strides flying.

Hundreds dying....

Thousands crying...

Echoes of the blood and of the bone.

The voice that summoned Fleetfoot home.

 

One foot...touching.

Two feet...reaching.

Three feet...gather.

Four feet...bounding.

Over the stones, pinnacles rising.

Fleet feet flying.

Legions dying.

To the rifts and edges, tattered...

Cloven toes are clinging.

Pebbles flung into the chasms,

A dark refrain are singing.

Lily, a limpet, with Fleetfoot,

To the shore is winging.

 

Pressing close upon Violet Bright,

Astride the Herald,

Swift and light.

Comes Eroc,

Crowned of the Slain.

Hell hound baying, the scent of fear,

It taints the air.

Violet nocks an arrow with delicate care.

One foot...leading.

Two feet...reaching.

Three feet...gather.

Four feet...leaping.

Pressing harder.

Faster. Now. Faster.

Fleet feet flying.

But those of the Dancer Scarred.

Fleetfoot and Lily...

Are pressing in from the rear.

The high path they have taken...

Across the pass.

Eroc, unknowing, Fleetfoot is no longer the Last.

The glint of white between the stones.

The clouds.  The grey.

The Herald surges...

Violet holding,

To the unicorn's flexing form, a fluid molding.

 

Now.  Now. Now.

Arrow nocked,

Fletched and waiting.

Violet Bright sighting long,

In her heart,

The rhythm of an ancient song.

Fleet feet holding...

Strong and hard and fast and true.

Eroc is now tight upon the Herald's heels.

In an instant, he shifts and wheels.

Blowing hard, nostrils flaring...

Violet knows the time is right,

She needs no daring.

Fingers trembling...

Breath frozen, her target in her sight

She draws the bowstring tight.

Arrow. Arrow.

Strong and true...

Fly fast.  Fly far.

The eye upon the eye.

Pluck it out.

Let him die.

 

Then that bowstring, it was singing...

As up and down gorge,

The silver cast Lore Horn was ringing.

Never had the quiet Violet missed a shot.

Her volley flew out.

Straight and true.

Beneath the helm,

'round the guard of bronze...

Into the eye of the Goblin King, High...

Did the arrow of Violet Bright fly.

'Posted: Do not feed the Trolls, not even reindeer flattened fruitcake...Feeding of Trolls will result in gnome revolts, gremlin induced chaos, and other strangeness...' - Darkkin, the Tedious