Prologue

Penned on March 23 2008

Beyond the horizons of the earnest terrains,
The hazel light creeps, on the acmes of myriad oceans.
The sentry picketing from their towers,
While the knights trailing in the nearby sand.

Seeing his shadows on the land the sentry cries,
Soon the carillon chimes and the soldiers arrive.
With the chuff of dust in air cavalry descends,
And the troops with the aegis march towards Chorezm.

The expedition commence and they march in unison,
Chanting the runes of Stav (pronounced as Starv it's a rune) and Sires of Nordic men.
The seared sun and the shimmering skies,
All tweaked along with their rallying cry.

Like the stinging wasps they impel,
And withstand the sirocco of sand.
Even their gleaming blade and incisive lance,
Clatters with the wind of  Northumberland.

Yet another day of jaunting accomplished,
And they reached the shores of Caspian Sea.
The stellar besieged the celestial skies,
And the gallant faces rested their bodies.

Requiem of silence begets every hour,
And the Nox descends on the belligerent seas.
The northern zephyr still kissing the fates, 
Of the myriad of Nordic land that vanquished.

The lunatic light on the svelte silent waves,  
Like the conspiracy of peace on the fringes of faded line.
There they are scattered along the mountain side,
By the hearth waiting for the new dawn to slay the fiend.

Behind the black mountain, 
They shuddered the northern freeze.
Looking deep in the fire,
An elderly from the kin uttered.

“Still strange is the night,
Even the vivid moon is fading.
And let's be ready to face the new dawn,
The dawn that Nordic mirages would pride.

The twilight rays on our steel blade,
Reminds me of the ancestral hunger.
Every battle they crusaded with their axe,
We are exalted to belong to Nordic rage.

Now, 
When the dawn embarks amidst the somber night,
With the glimmer of pride in our senses.
We would advance to the far east of this land,
And conclude the conquest that our fathers aspired.

With every march we would quiver our fiends.
Bring back  reminisces of our Nordic souls. 
We would inhibit the Far East frontier.
Or else tomorrow is a fine day to die”