The Arrival

A Poem by Sabarts leader

In the depths of the woods a person is facing an unbeatable foe, who waits for the arrivals of the unlucky.

The dark sky fills me with dread.
As I place my hands upon my head.

My feet cling to the cold snow.
My life force draining slow.

For as much as I think, I remember
to fight with this contender.

It is fruitless in every way suicide
Even with my sword Iodide.

The pure white light gleamed from his sword
A metal gauntlet connected to a cord.

I breathed heavily in and out
Knowing I'll go out with a shout.

And he won't be finish, no he's just getting started
Next, he's going to the Market.