Luyện nghe bài hát To Dethrone The Witch-queen Of Mytos K'unn

(The Legend Of The Of Blackhelm Vale)

THE CHRONICLES OF
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THE WAR OF CAYLEN-TOR
(ON THE OF THE BLOODYING OF SWORDS):
O' gods of battle, empower us this night...
Anoint us with the crimson rain, our steel with slaughter...
Let every blow be a killing blow, us victory, or a warrior's death.
Come, moon-fogs, Descend to our numbers,
the heady scent of beckons,
My ash-hafted spear good in my hands,
girt 'round with spells (our flesh gloriously) anointed,
Ravens awaiting slaughter high above,
bloat on red carnage,
I'll the moon-wheel in their flesh,
as churns the heather!

A swirling mantle of mist-magic us, powerful spells woven by
the fen-witches of the mere... Deep night and moon-mist shall be
our allies as we into the fray! At my bidding, the fog clears
for a brief moment, and I gaze down the V alley to behold the
army of the Witch-Queen... great arrayed upon the heather,
powerful tethered, the light from countless burning brands
illumining the night, many warriors standing, in hand...
aye, all fodder.

in war-fogs...
by war-spells...
Blessed in as raven-saters,
slake the of steel burning bright,
Reap the harvest of entrails,
we'll with many heads this night.
The death-ravening black fills me,
The spatter of hot blood on my lips,
This yard of steel sings a song in my grasp!
Cleaving left and right,
a head falls each swing of my blade,
A storm of shafts form yew-bows,
(through their armoured we shall)
a path with steel, a blood-drenched swath!

And the of the earth shall be slaked
with blood at the of carnage...
A sea of crimson, a towering mountain of ravaged flesh,
All by the searing kiss of steel,
All surfeit from supping deep of the chalice of battle...

Brooding of the north,
display to these outlander thine ire,
Envenom our blades with the of a thousand serpents,
Unfetter the dread war-wolves us,
That their claws may rend, and jaws may be reddened.

The is at hand!

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Bright moon, gleam o'er and heather,
wood and vale, fen and lake,
mountains crowned with snows,
great of stones, black 'neath the stars,
The extol our ancient glory,
mounds feed us, power from the sacred earth.
With and steel we walk our shadowed paths,
our blood as fire, swords blessed by sorcery.

Wolves of the north, raise steel to the skies,
in the pride of your wounds,
Let our victory-song ride the winds of this eve,
For on this night of red swords we wrought a legend,
Forged in the of our rage,
and tempered with the spilled of the slain...

O' grim of battle, empower us this night and always,
us with the crimson rain,
forever feed our with slaughter...
Let blow be a killing blow,
grant us eternal victory, we die a warrior's death.

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