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.

-

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.

-

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.

-

May victory be with you.