A WIP

The start of an idea, feel free to pick it to pieces. Final format not set in stone, stay tuned for further updates. Basically a poet/minstrel type person followed Mahray on a campaign (on occasion straying too close to the front line for comfort) and has decided to immortalise Mahray in poetry.

Mahray looked out over the open plains,
Searching for meaning, he couldn't comprehend,
Looking around at his army's gains,
He watched the blood flow down, past the river's bend.

Wearied by slaughter he put down his mace.
How many men killed, how many were lost?
He could see the same look on every face,
Victory was theirs, was it worth the cost?

Friends, collegues, all gone to die,
For an unknown cause, theirs not to know
Theirs but to do, they had to try
And beat the relentless foe.

Legions on foot, many more on horse,
Facing their fears, the edge of a knife.
The battle had raged, there was no recourse,
But to fight, for glory, for life.

They fought for themselves, they fought for him,
Their own great Lord, the one up on high.
Risking their all, losing life and limb,
They fought 'till the end was nigh.

Then he was there, handsome and tall,
Facing his foe, he did not bend.
For him these men had given their all,
For him they would fight to the end.

Some random stanzas, not sure where these will fit yet (if they go in at all).

Night had fallen, yet the sound remained,
Sounds of joy, sounds of pain,
The jubulant shouts, the screams of the maimed,
Mingling, all mixed with the rain.

The vows he had made, to spill no blood,
Never to use the sharpened edge,
Now lives would end to the sound of a thud,
*Here's where I ran out of inspiration*