Tremble, weak at heart, with fear
And throw yourselves upon the grass.
Ignominy, your end is near!
Your final breath shall come to pass
Through parted lips with none to cheer,
And thereby grace, that dying gasp.

By whose hand is faith restored
In Honour, timeless code of truth?
By fairest maid with fiercest sword,
A flower in bloom, possessed of youth
And beauty, patience, harmonious accord;
The strength of a troll, but not uncouth.

Black-haired sister, Darkmist blood
Runs deep and red, forever true:
A river surging 'midst the flood
Of disrepute and rage undue.

Penned by my hand on the 18th of Glacian, in the year 384 AF.