365 Poems in 365 Days: Elf Poem 6
6. Third Age, 72nd Year. Third War in the West.
The mortals tell stories of me.
They speak of a figure who comes from the desert.
The wind is my herald, the sandstorm my sword.
The Lord of the Lower Air some call me,
The One Who Chokes others say.
Those who, mistaken, choose to fight against me,
To defend the strongholds of my enemies,
Who stand with death and chaos
And against those who would dance the seasons
Learn to fear the slightest breath of wind.
My teachers taught me to let the fearful flee
To hurt only those who stand against us
To kill only those who will not surrender.
A storm will choke mortals, drive them to shelter,
And if they do not make it and the driven sand
Strips flesh from bone, then they are to blame
As much as I.
My companions did not understand.
So I took the war to the deep desert.
Just myself, my sword, my winds
And my enemy.
I suspect our protagonist has gone crazy here. Not to worry though, he's immortal and goes through phases. When he's had enough being a one elf whirlwind of war in the desert he'll figure out something else to be. Just in case you're not clear, he is especially skilled at killing. Also I hope it's now obvious that his element is air; he can control the wind. He's pretty good at it, and may get better. Poem 95.
The mortals tell stories of me.
They speak of a figure who comes from the desert.
The wind is my herald, the sandstorm my sword.
The Lord of the Lower Air some call me,
The One Who Chokes others say.
Those who, mistaken, choose to fight against me,
To defend the strongholds of my enemies,
Who stand with death and chaos
And against those who would dance the seasons
Learn to fear the slightest breath of wind.
My teachers taught me to let the fearful flee
To hurt only those who stand against us
To kill only those who will not surrender.
A storm will choke mortals, drive them to shelter,
And if they do not make it and the driven sand
Strips flesh from bone, then they are to blame
As much as I.
My companions did not understand.
So I took the war to the deep desert.
Just myself, my sword, my winds
And my enemy.
I suspect our protagonist has gone crazy here. Not to worry though, he's immortal and goes through phases. When he's had enough being a one elf whirlwind of war in the desert he'll figure out something else to be. Just in case you're not clear, he is especially skilled at killing. Also I hope it's now obvious that his element is air; he can control the wind. He's pretty good at it, and may get better. Poem 95.
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