The Being outstretched it’s hand from beyond it’s cage
Upon the turning of an age
For when the wheel turns, the nations of men shall burn
And Empires shall rise like the dawn of a new day
Those who established power rose higher and higher
And the lowest of the low sunk lower and lower
No mercy for the weak, no thoughts for the meek
They knew more of killing than helping each other
And the hand of the Being got closer and closer
It’s essence caressed the mortal plain
As fingers would trace the droplets of rain…upon the leaves of trees
And the simple shepherd who was travelling the mountains of Tau’rs teeth
Was brought to his knees
He was struck with awe when the Voice bellowed and his name was called
“O’ Sirat know that this life is as the sand that you hold
Slipping between your fingers till you become empty and cold
Hereafter you shall join me in the void
Go to your people and tell them to end their ways
For their worship of power will bring them nothing but the end of their days”
With his back to the dusty plains
Sirat descended the peak upon his bare feet
‘Till he arrived to the beauty of Ha’ut’s vale
The city stood upon the hill embraced by magnificent walls
Where the slums spilled over it into a terrible sprawl
He walked through, this shepherd in rags
Among the beggars, diseased and ageing hags
The sheep trailed behind, pristine white as the purest snow
Among the dirt, and against the flow
When they gazed upon him, he said
“To the king I go! To the king I go!”
Passed the iron doors, the city’s jaws
Into the depths of the beast’s giant maw
He walked through, the shepherd in rags
Among the merchants, craftsmen and artisans
The sheep trailed behind, pristine white as the purest snow
Among stone and wood, and against the flow
When they gazed upon him, he said
“To the king I go! To the king I go!”
Past the silver gates, the city’s praise
Into the depths of the richest estates
He walked through, the shepherd in rags
Among the nobles who clutched their laden purses and bags
The sheep trailed behind, pristine white as the purest snow
Among the silk and gold, and against the flow
When they gazed upon him, he said
“To the King I go! To the King I go!”
Only they laughed and mocked him, until of a sudden…
They turned into stone
Past the estates, through the golden gates
Into the magnificent King’s place
He walked through, the shepherd in rags
And the guards raised their spears, shouting “stay back!”
But he simply said “to the King I go”
A deathly wind gripped them, and the blood started to flow
From the eyes, ears, mouth and nose
‘Till they collapsed into lifeless forms
Everyone else turned and fled with haste upon seeing their fate
But the wind gripped them too and it was too late
Sweeping the palace, no remorse or mercy
‘Till the grounds were left cold and empty
Save for the King, only he was spared
And he strode down the steps outside, not worried or scared
His face betrayed nothing but a festering anger
And he drew his black bejewelled dagger
Saying “in the name of my blade you shall rue the day
Of committing these crimes”
And he lunged forward with a fearsome battle cry
The Being again, holding the king in place
Voice booming “clearly I have not shaken your faith”
His eyes wide, his tongue frozen, his mouth agape
More vulnerable than a suckling babe
“Sirat, take the blade from king Horon’s hand
And release his blood so that it may crawl upon the land
And quench the thirst of the earth
For his death shall bring a new birth”
Sirat did as he was bid
Cutting his throat with an intricate slit as if it where a piece of art
And he turned around with an anxious beating heart, for he felt the presence behind
Kneeling down were all the poor women and men
The craftsmen and artisans were never to be seen again
The remaining knelt still, sprawled like the slums in which they live
And from this day forth, they were known as the people of Gol’em…reborn
And they named their city the Blood of Horon
