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

(The Of The Battle Of Blackhelm Vale)

THE CHRONICLES OF
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THE WAR TESTAMENT OF
(ON THE OF THE BLOODYING OF SWORDS):
O' grim gods of battle, empower us 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 of battle beckons,
My spear feels good in my hands,
girt with spells (our flesh gloriously) woad anointed,
Ravens awaiting slaughter soar above,
bloat on red carnage,
I'll carve the in their flesh,
as havoc 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 upon the V alley to behold the
army of the Witch-Queen... tents arrayed upon the heather,
powerful steeds tethered, the light from countless burning
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 of spilled entrails,
we'll return with heads this night.
The death-ravening black fury me,
The spatter of hot seet on my lips,
This yard of steel a deadly song in my grasp!
Cleaving bodies and right,
a head falls with each of my blade,
A of shafts screaming form yew-bows,
(through their ranks we shall)
carve a path with steel, a swath!

And the thirst of the earth be slaked
blood at the fields of carnage...
A staggering sea of crimson, a mountain of ravaged flesh,
All enraptured by the kiss of steel,
All surfeit from supping of the grim chalice of battle...

gods of the north,
display to these outlander thine ire,
Envenom our blades the death-kiss of a thousand serpents,
Unfetter the dread within us,
their claws may rend, and their 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,
rings of stones, black 'neath the stars,
The storms our ancient glory,
great mounds feed us, power from the earth.
With faith and steel we walk our paths,
our blood as fire, swords blessed by sorcery.

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

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

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