Legends of Belariath

Mozenwrathe

Indirectly - Crying For Terror

*this was a poem given to Ehlanna back during the time Tolwyn was alive many years ago. she was given to this by Hylera during one of Tolwyn's random disappearances. when Ehlanna went through her collection of old scrolls and parchments recently, she found this one stashed away with a few of her old shortswords and longbows. not sure why she had placed this particular work of Tolwyn's in with a collection of old weapons, she opened it by sliding off the purple ribbon keeping it closed. the ribbon was the same as Hylera had given her from her long hair, and Ehlanna had never even thought to replace it.*

underbrush will not hide forever my prey
bow drawn and nocked with death
one arrow to bring the end
soft-soled leather boots on my feet
making no sound as I approach
yet does my heart pound so loudly
my ears almost defeaned with the sound

eyes narrow in light of early dawn
dew glistening in sun's blissful gaze
causing forest leaves to be turned into jade
breeze carrying no scents on its back
while it winds through narrow pathways
drawing strength from my soul
leaving me a shadow of my former self

skin of my naked arms forms goosebumps
knowing the unnatural chill of this morning intimately
yet have I never stalked before what I do now
so then how could I remember what I have never done
be familiar with something I could not have seen
all my instincts tell me I ought fear greatly
however shall I press onward to my goal

silver linings do not line dark clouds overhead
or would heavenly pillows crash upon highest trees
exploding in torrential fury
removing all ways to track my chosen prey
as does it know this forest as I do
being gentle with the shrubs and blooms
creating no set trail for me to follow

my knees are slightly bent
pressure of my step not forceful any longer
as if I skate upon thin ice with every motion
whispering inside my heart for success
preparing my nerves for the worst
as my fingers do not quiver and shift
ruining whatever shot I may have

before me now do I hear the threshing
each movement from my prey a beacon
my arm in full pose
with my eye already homing in
the line of my breath parallel to my wooden shaft
heart keeping my timing in sync with my step
while my thoughts turn to possible endings

and finally before me does it stand
creature straight from nightmares mine
tentacles lashing about wildly
gaping maw filled with dagger-like teeth
though does it seem to be wailing a dirge
as if it were crying for terror to take it home
unwilling to face the light of day alone

my first natural desire is to run
flee this Plague-ridden horror's presence
and hide underneath blanket in my village
yet do I not do the wise thing
instead staying to battle this beast without aid
knowing that if I fail this early morn
shall I not need to worry for anything again

one arrow lets fly from my taut bowstring
soon to be traced along the same path by another
quiver strapped to my back swiftly becoming lighter
as wooden finality graces the flesh of the beast
though all the while must I avoid its grip
for would it gladly suck me into its gaping jaw
carving up my elven flesh with glee and lust

before it is time do I find myself free of arrows
no longer might I strike at this with impunity
for do I possess only might and magic
and beyond my means does this thing exist
I will pursue this fiend until my end
although now it seems that last breath is here
while it leaks out its vile ichors into the ground

whispering words of power fearfully
do I allow its tendrils of filth to entangle me
luring me into its reach
fetid breath churns my stomach
burning my eyes with foulness inconceivable
yet have I my own tools of trade to wield
and keeping such in mind do I focus

at last second does my first incantation release
sending down into its gullet a rain of fire
followed swiftly by thick slivers of frost
cutting up the diseased throat from the inside
give rise to its releasing me
squealing in unfathomable anguish
slowly oozing away to hide

now is the time not to get squeamish
as my shortsword is drawn to hack away at limbs
making sure to use my blazing fists to sear the wounds
insuring no more will it heal itself and survive another day
coating my brand new armor in viscous ichors
magical blood of the beast rotting it away like acid
and thereby forcing me to cast it away

my rite of passage against the PlagueBeast is done
and have I come out successful
yet shall none ever know of my dance with death
for in the forest does individual bonfire burn
taking with it all that remains of the creature
as the ground it stood on is cleansed by fire
so too have I purified my resolve

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