Legends of Belariath
Mozenwrathe
Unclean.... The Demons Within
There is a legend about a Chirot who was born with the soul of a Torian. This legend is based around the snippets of history surrounding the weaponsmaster Elur Anieral. None ever tried to slay him outright... at least not after he proved himself in combat against a small cadre of seasoned veterans from one of the human-dwarven wars. The unscrupulous mercenary humans were set to raping an elven maiden, when the Chirot came across them by accident. Those they did attack him first, he slew them all without damaging a single membrane on his wings. (It should be noted, he took the elven maiden as a personal slave, one who outlived him by centuries.) This particular poem was the first thing he wrote after the battle which he claimed human lives for his first time.
blood
upon my wings
in my hands
coating the tip and hilt of my blade
none of it mine
none of it holy
none of it sacred
yet upon these foolish pools do my tears fall
blood
giver of life
rivers of passion
and with that passion comes rage
small at first
like the distant thunder in the ear
yet does it rumble still
stalking the unwary and cautious
until upon you does it crash
and with it torrential downpour
washing you away like spiders
falling down wells of horrific emotion
anger
the hatred which brought it
the cold fury which was produced
all of it mine
easily avoided
for such was not my place
such was not my time to interfere
my wings need not have been shown
my talons would not be cover'd in gore
my face increased by heavy rage
and death would not lie upon the forest floor
before
was my life unsullied
purity of thought mine alone
unlike the opinions of the others
communal though my people are
were they never people my own
my stars are crossed in on themselves
twisting my heart around its own dagger
for I am not whole
I am not pure
as I am two things
and yet not one
soul
of one with wings of feathers have I
ordained at ominous birth
shown true for my separation
not from my mother
but beliefs of those of my kind
yet can I not refute my skin
flesh within I reside still honorable Chirot
still blood of warriors rushes through me
still might my wings reach the heavens
and will my goddess reach for me with open wing
nestling me to her when Eternal Rapture I achieve
blood
not of clan
not of soul
of merest mortals known by names many
yet cruelty and suffering speak they
in so common a tongue
might even I read their lips
their voices forever silenced this night
and their hearts will feed the hungry well
for the forest removes and repairs
and even this tragedy before me
shall be made ruin and then memory
blood
upon my wings
making sheen of ochre
like sweat of red upon my brow
yet can I not remove it thus
as this shall I wear as banner
with pride will this stain remain
until my prize I take back to lair my own
and savour delights once forbidden