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

(The Of The Battle Of Blackhelm Vale)

THE CHRONICLES OF
???

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

A swirling of mist-magic swathes us, powerful spells woven by
the fen-witches of the great mere... 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 tents arrayed the heather,
powerful steeds tethered, the from countless burning brands
illumining the night, many standing, weapons 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,
return 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 deadly in my grasp!
Cleaving left and right,
a head falls each swing of my blade,
A storm of shafts screaming yew-bows,
(through their ranks we shall)
carve a path with steel, a swath!

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

gods of the north,
display to these thralls thine ire,
our blades with the death-kiss of a thousand serpents,
Unfetter the war-wolves within us,
That their claws may rend, and jaws may be reddened.

The is at hand!

???

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

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

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

???