(from the Jedanaestine Scrolls of the Elleves)
“Flight Of Souls”
Through long lenses, that our eyes did behold.
Toroblanc, the "White Prince", of Chianina strode.
Upon the far hills, the minotaur legions massed.
Calling forth the captives, wicked sword he grasped.
He tore from their bodies, the battle armor in gold.
His blade cleanly sliced, and like water, blood flowed.
His white fur stained crimson, our kindred’s lives lapsed.
Powering cursed weapon, grey blade, red at last.
Raging eyes and thundering hooves, tore our lands that were hallowed.
The bloodstained prince, rampaged and overshadowed.
Arrows rebounded, through defenses he crashed.
Escape was the cry, as fleeing souls he harassed.
"To the shore", "To the docks", the survivors bellowed.
Panicked and fearful, as voices crescendoed.
Once cheerful and vibrant, now ruin and sadness contrast.
Ancestral home decimated, we sailed away aghast.
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