The second instalment of this "series"; I'm still deciding on whether to do one on Mani Katti. This is really just an ordinary poem. But somehow, I hope you enjoy reading this. The story of the Armads (I hope I got it right). Bears similarities to the story of the Durandal.
Armads: Cold Trapped Power
I was once a mighty warrior
And I wielded a strength that almost none could rival.
My axe was my prize, a weapon that none else could master
For its sheer brute strength.
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At every battle, I raised it high
Among my companions, it gleamed in the sun
A glorious mark of power, a sign of victory
An assurance to all that we would win.
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No one else could wield the axe as I could
Steel was my most humble servant, strength my companion
It never forsook me; it was always trusty at my hand.
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With it I fought, with it I sailed through the wars
And brought down enemies greater than man
Numbering as many as the stains on its wide blade,
Every success shining like the gold of the handle.
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It was a blade with a history,
Forged upon the metal of the deepest forges
Tested by flame and hammer,
Moulded to its greatest strength with unmatched skill.
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And forged into it, mingled with the metal
Was the strength of a natural spirit.
It was never a willing servant—bound, as if carved into the blade
And tamed like a rabid creature brought to its knees.
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It never brought any problems, only success upon success.
But halfway down our road, it turned on me.
I was taken by surprise, never saw it coming—
But I should have known that the power was too great to hold—
Not for so many years.
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It was a legendary strength, born from nature itself,
And it had been bound and entrapped in steel
For the purpose of mankind's warfare.
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I had always taken that origin for granted
And now it would bring my rightful punishment.
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Power sprang from the blade as I let it fall,
And it rose like a cold torrent, swept through my flesh
Brought numb coldness
And I dropped to the cave ground, my grave,
All my original power faded and gone, as fast as a firework.
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It had brought me only victory all my life
But then it had taken on a life of its own
After being man's prisoner for a century,
And it had taken out its silent rage on me
Brought me to my eternal silence
After a life of overbearing control.
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I dare you, descendants, to claim it as yours
May you be able to master this untamed spirit
Of a weapon that was once mine—
To hold this great blade as once, I did, in battle.
The stains remain on the gleaming steel,
Marks of its glorious past.
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May victory be with you.
