The Watch----short story/poem entry----

[Mirimaran]

Too late came the warning cry
as orc arrows filled the sky
and the band of Rangers fell
into the mists of a craggy dell
blending into the night
to escape Angmar's blight
but an arrow had found it's mark
blindly fired in the dark
and a young Ranger stumbled away
from the din of the melee
his hand clutched his side
the bloody arrow cast aside
his run now just a stumble
and then he fell in a tumble
to rest against a stone in the night
clouds hiding the pale moonlight
and stiff fingers try to draw his blade
but the effort was poorly made
as in the darkness fell voices rise
looking for their missing prize
the Ranger tried with all his might
to lift himself and take to flight
but he fell again and crashed down
to lie helpless on the cold ground
his breath now gasping, his voice faint and low
"my doom is here, with none to know"
He felt himself drawn to sleep
from which he would never creep
but as his eyes began to fade
stood before him as a shade
a figure, tall and grim
his cloak like darkness, his blade cold and slim
his face hood-hidden with eyes like glass
his voice like the cold of winters past,
"rest now Ranger, for the watch is mine
till dawn breaks over the tree line"
and like a statue he stood like stone
never leaving the Ranger alone
no more did he speak, but stood the watch
sword at the ready, arrow notched
and just before the dawn would break
came the Orcs, intent to take
the wounded Ranger away to death
and revel in his last breath
but between them and their prey
steadfast the figure did not sway
but raised his bow in the growing light
and his silent arrows took flight
Orcs falling to his aim
and his blade flashed as he exclaimed
in a voice like the blast of a silver horn,
"Lacho calad! Drego morn!"
as Orcs fell and fled from that man
who could be no other than Dunadan
and in the distance came cries
from the young Ranger's allies...
The light of day broke over the trees
and the band of Rangers raced to see
if their brother still drew breath
or wore the chill of death
and they exclaimed at the orcs that were felled
"Even wounded he did well!"
but the young Ranger protested and said,
"Not I left those orcs dead
one of us laid them low
one of us, of our fellows."
Puzzled, they searched the field
but nothing there would yield
any sign of that silent man
like the mist was that Dunadan
but then they saw where he had made his bed
where the young Ranger had rest his head
where a nameless Ranger was laid low
who's doom had come, with none to know
who could not rest on that night
who stood the watch till the morning light
his grave now a blanket of clover and grass
and a stone which told the last
for on that stone so long ago carved
was the sign of the Ranger star...

[Chris Russo]

Niiiiiice.

Reminds me of that Robert E. Howard poem where Sir Richard Grenville (who had been dead for seven years) woke Solomon Kane up before his enemies came.

[Greg]

Awesome.

[Mirimaran]

Many thanks and I am honored to be mentioned alongside REH. I love his poems and have a big volume around here somewhere of his poetry. Very underrated, imo!