Dust sets over cracked realms,
The red bloody sun sinks,
fragments of the false peace.

joy harks the warlord's cheer,
apathy draws it blade.
The proud stumble the path,
where the craven stride bold.

And yet as shade is cast,
cloying fingers grasping.
They shall sally, raging,
Braying, screaming, consumed,
By Wrath, guided by Truth.

Penned by my hand on the 22nd of Sarapin, in the year 801 AF.