• Soft cries,and whispers of despair,awakening my senses they all come to bear.

    The dreams of chaos,they flood into my mind,accompaning the whispers,they all form a line.

    A subtle defense,to block the assault,that I send forth to them,in hopes for a fault.

    A weakening in their armour,a sleight in their shield,my sword cannot bear,as the sunders unveil.

    A plan for their victory,a strategy that will work,it comes from their line in the form of a thwart.

    Here I hold steady.waiting for the chance,I know it will come,but will they advance.

    If they hold true,then victory is mine,but if they pull through,and hold the line.

    My chance will be broken,and victory will be lost,the land will fall into chaos,as the last warrior falls.