Saturday, 11 January 2014


The frost creeps closer
Leaving gentle lattice of ice on stone
A sign the doom is approaching

Breath creates mist
Run as you like you are slow
And the chill saps strength
Until you have n o choice
But to turn
And face

No sound
No movement
Utter calm
Then a breath
Crystals forming in air
Glistening white
Falling slowly

Dark shapes sweep back
The black of cold night
Without moon or stars
The black of deepest ocean
Far from any light
The black of the endless void
Devouring all

A foot strikes the ground hard
Cracking the frost
At the same time reforming
Shards of ice cut like daggers
Flying through the air
They seek warmth of blood
Another step
And another
As the beast moves forward

A great roar sounds
Stone trembles
In the echo silence greater
Stillness returns for a moment
In the cold, cold air

The enemy revealed
Wings of nothingness
Hooves of ice
Breath freezing the very air
A being of cold
A being of ice
A Balrog of ancient times

Flee if you can
But beware
Flight will only lead to death
Fight and risk losing all
There is no good choice
Only which way
You choose

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