Congratulations to our winners!
Here is this month’s winning entry:
Blood of Anzari-Tarin
Vivania, sweet Muse of Poetry,
Please bless mine song with eloquence of verse.
This tale speaks not of Heroes running free,
But those instead by lineage accursed,
Bequeathed with cumbrous legacies and fates,
Dark tragedies played on the greatest stage.
O Adchachel, thou ate a heart to sate
A lust for power; did that meal assuage
Thy hunger as it launched a Tsol’teth plot?
For ’twas not thou that bore the burden thus
But progeny who caused despair and wrought
Death in thy stead through actions treasonous.
I sing of tainted blood and fallen stars,
Contenders for the throne of Seleucar.
The Brangwin rose who could not shed her thorns
Matured a stone’s throw from the northern gate,
With rage like rising water, suff’ring borne
Alone, no hope the flooding would abate.
O Castomira, victim of a past
Thou hadst no way to alter on thy own,
‘Ere birth, thy destiny had long been cast.
Yet still, the faintest hope thou couldst atone
Burned somewhere in thy clever, pensive mind
‘Til light was snuffed, and naught remained but hate
For Catarin, thine lives fore’er entwined;
Great Nicator’s blood won, by luck or fate.
An actress in a cruel playwright’s song,
Afraid and pained, but forced to play along.
The union of deSangre and Tsol’teth
Begot a dissonance of mind and soul;
The Man in Grey, a legacy of death,
And sundered blood forever unconsoled.
O Parni, Castomira’s royal claim,
Thou looked on Seleucar with sharp disgust,
Corruption’s bane, the sovereign cleansing flame
That burned great House deSangre down to dust.
A life of suffering would follow thee;
By athanasia, lasting peace denied,
An emperor shackled, never to be freed
‘Til naught remained but desolate mourning cries.
A lonely song of blood and bloodlines’ end,
Perhaps, at last, his coda hath been penned.
The master of the house of Death deposed,
Tlalaiad rose to take a throne Divine;
With Parni went our last chance to oppose
Amalgamation of the Tsol’teth line.
When dire Chaos Wars came to a head,
And ancient races fought for elder Lords;
Strong Qui’anar repelled Slith’s fell undead
But paid a price: their hearts grew cold as swords.
In honour of their bravery, Lord Death
Would call His chosen few His Qui’anar;
Thoth’s plundered essence granted nascent breath
The Genesis of Tsol’teth blood, their star.
This litany’s for those who sought to reign,
Freed at last from fate’s unyielding chain.