It's naught but a drizzle, the 'gale' is just bracing,
searching all over, we'll call it Storm chasing-
From plains of Nish to the Seat of the Squall,
Unless prodded by Spear, no Farethi at all.

While we fight the Crusade they go nip at a shrine,
Defiling with rats to avenge their Divine.
So we turn to Arcadia to draw out a fight,
They stayed home instead to lament and to write.

The Fist has arrived now what will you do?
You fled from the field. You'll flee me here too.
I've seen you afield so I find no surprise.
That even with prep time you can't organize.

Does Arcadia watch with amusement and horror?
Do you think that it rains when He looks to His Order?

Who wants an explosion but can't make a spark?
It's Devilsworn Zargoth the three-feathered lark.
If I turned to that Page I'd put down the book,
He thinks himself clever but hasn't the look.

Ildiko I know though the reader may not,
That hidden away this Farethi will plot-
Poison to steal away innocent life,
Aught else even coup is left to her wife.

I'd have to know Tannivh to have much to say,
Emboldened by numbers, or else runs away.
So oft in Cyrene Uaithne novice along,
Starting to realize he might've chose wrong?

Archaosa isn't worth even this couplet,
I hope for your sake that the Archon's a puppet.

I'll give Maedhros a nod, at least sometimes he'll show,
Granted it's only when guards are in tow.
He fights like a child, flopped on the ground,
screaming his head off and rolling around.

Khalayx the Champion, paragon shone,
Stood against murder, subverted his home.
Although Ildiko's schemes now put him in a bind,
When one's already Daunted, good help's hard to find.

So harp on your 'Freedom' and spread out your wings,
shuffle your parchment, pretend to do things-
A victory glimpsed through the Nihilist's eyes,
You won't get the triumph, you might get the prize.


Smile through the pain, and ignore how this stings:
You only can boast what Oblivion brings.

Penned by my hand on the 18th of Aeguary, in the year 988 AF.