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

(The Legend Of The Battle Of Vale)

THE CHRONICLES OF
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THE WAR TESTAMENT OF
(ON THE NIGHT OF THE OF SWORDS):
O' grim gods of battle, us this night...
Anoint us the crimson rain, feed our steel with slaughter...
Let every blow be a killing blow, grant us victory, or a death.
Come, moon-fogs, Descend to our numbers,
the scent of battle beckons,
My ash-hafted spear good in my hands,
girt 'round with spells (our gloriously) woad anointed,
awaiting slaughter soar high above,
blood-worms on red carnage,
I'll the moon-wheel in their flesh,
as havoc the heather!

A swirling mantle of mist-magic swathes us, powerful woven by
the fen-witches of the mere... Deep night and moon-mist shall be
our allies as we surge into the fray! At my bidding, the fog
for a brief moment, and I gaze down the V alley to behold the
army of the Witch-Queen... great arrayed upon the heather,
steeds 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,
the thirst of steel burning bright,
Reap the harvest of entrails,
we'll return with many this night.
The black fury fills me,
The spatter of hot blood on my lips,
This yard of steel sings a deadly in my grasp!
Cleaving left and right,
a head falls with swing of my blade,
A storm of screaming form yew-bows,
(through their ranks we shall)
carve a with steel, a blood-drenched swath!

And the thirst of the earth shall be
with at the fields of carnage...
A staggering sea of crimson, a towering mountain of flesh,
All enraptured by the kiss of steel,
All surfeit from supping deep of the grim of battle...

Brooding of the north,
display to these outlander thine ire,
Envenom our with the death-kiss of a thousand serpents,
the dread war-wolves within 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,
Grim mountains crowned snows,
great rings of stones, 'neath the stars,
The storms extol our glory,
great feed us, power from the sacred earth.
With faith and we walk our shadowed paths,
our blood runs as fire, swords by sorcery.

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

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

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